The theory of dung heaps

Depression is not exactly like having fallen in a septic tank, floating in shit and trying to get outta there. It's rather like...

Imagine life as a landscape littered with dung. It may be a bird dropping here and there, or dung heaps and pools od fœtid diarrhœa, scattered here and there between swaths of solid land, reliable parhs or even large areas of pleasant countryside.

You weave your way through and it may be okay, you see the shit in advance and you safely avoid it. Or someone marked a piece of nice trail. Or you may have a friend who knows the area and will help you out. Sometimes you find yourself surrounded with dung heaps in all directions but you have a shovel and with a bit of manual labour which is actually relaxing at the end, you can clear your path. Then a pleasant summer rain comes and cleans everything.

Or the pleasant greenery changes into nettles and brambles which are, after all, nitrophilic. You step on what seems like a decent lawn but it was a but of grass on the top of a shit-mire and you're waist-deep or nose-deep in excrements, having hard time to keep afloat. Then you get out of there and your friends want nothing to have to do with you because you look less than presentable and stink awful and from their solid ground, they tell you that you should have choosen a better path, only losers and weaklings need a shovel to dig their way through and you should try harder. The pleasant summer rain comes and it doesn't bring ablution but a shit-slide. And you are spitting shit out and you have no better path to take, no shovel, there's just cold, hunger and the politburo.

The landscape is ever-changing, what worked the other day might not work tomorrow. It's complicated and not always predictable. 

So, yes, i tried not to be depressed but it's like trying not to smell foul when knee deep in guano. Doesn't work, sorry not sorry, and if you haven't helped me out of the crap, you have no right to complain.