It's the small stuff that makes the big stuff. Tuesday September 13, 2016
This time it's been harder. I have felt as though I am being seared over hot coals, and in front of an arena of baying natives. And yet, there is an upside.
For those of us who suffer the hideosity of the insult of living alongside depression... we have an upside. When we are exposed, violated, on display, hurt, sore and thrashed, the smallest thing can mean the world. For the man with the Midas touch, the beauty of a simple gold ring was not enough. But for us... it is enough. And that must be celebrated.
My dad knows. I blurted it out to him about 18 months ago. He is a silent gem. Either too embarrassed, or not wishing to embarrass, he doesn't discuss it. That is strength, comfort and a fierce security for me. Because I know he is not ignoring it. He jumps to attention the second I ask for help. He hugs properly. And he never tells.
And when he turned up today, dressed smartly, carrying a coolbox filled with tonight's dinner for me and mine, I could have run naked through the streets in celebration.
We do not always need someone to fix us. That is our job. Sometimes, we simply need the bigness of the small stuff.
The room above the garage
A Moodscope member.
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