Earth is crammed with heaven

My name’s Karen and I live with depression. It’s been three years since my last major episode. On World Mental Health Day I want to write something, but I almost didn’t for a number of reasons. 1. The second sentence above. It’s been three years. 2. I have spoken to friends as recently as this week, who are really ill with depression. 3. I’m not superstitious, but there is a sense of not wanting to tempt fate. So here are the things I know: Depression is a physical illness that affects the whole body, and has little to do with feeling sad. I haven’t had a depressive episode in three years. When I say that, it means I haven’t been floored by it, or had to have a lengthy period off sick. It doesn’t mean I haven’t had depression during that time, I have. It doesn’t mean I’m thinking of reducing my medication, I wouldn’t dream of it. It doesn’t mean I don’t have days at a time, when I need to batten down the hatches and hibernate, I do. I have treatment-resistant depression that I’ve lived

“In the dedication of this child, you desire to give him fully to God.  You wish to thank God for entrusting this precious life into your hands And you want him to be nurtured in all that is pure, lovely, and honest.” Those words are ringing in my ears tonight. Mainly because we had the honour of dedicating a baby earlier today. Partly because, the baby we made those promises for, almost 19 years ago, Is flying the nest in the morning. It’s right. I know it is. Roots and wings and all that. I know he’s only going to be an hour away. I know he’ll be back. I know I’ll appreciate a bit less testosterone in Testosterone Towers. But give me a moment. He knows I’ll cry tomorrow. He’s been warned. He also knows that doesn’t mean I’m not happy. I’ll miss his cheek,  his jokes, his infinite supply of rude remarks about my height. I’ll miss him talking in his sleep (Right now). His chuckle  his smile  and his deep, long, hugs. But as he leaves a space in the Towers, He takes with him our love, O