A Haunted House
It’s dark and heavy all around. Everywhere I look, it appears the same - only in shades of grey. But I need to get up and move around, don’t I? It’s been hours, or wait, has it been ... days? Where am I and how long has it been? I wonder and wander.
I traverse slowly and cautiously, afraid to move in a body that’s since felt foreign to me, though it seems to be mine. Into the living room, I find a sofa as soft landing of myself. A strange familiarity wash over me as memories enter my mind without invitation. I see my guests mingling, chatting and laughing. Laughter that feels so delightful yet also so sharply painful. It’s been a while since the living room was filled with entertainment and music. It’s been a while since I’ve been out with friends. How both desire and despair can co-exist! I have to lie down for a while; this is all too much for me ...
Suddenly, I wake up in shock from my state of slumber - how long have I been out for? I draw a long, deep breath of musty air, and get up from the sofa that cradled me.
I walk as if I still remember this house and without much thought, gravitate towards the faint silhouette of the French door. I see some light through the glass panels. Did I instinctively move towards light? Opening the door, into the garden I find myself. The sweet aroma of flowers and leaves and grass rush to greet me in the crisp chill wind. They still recognise me despite my avoidance of them. I realise how I have missed them. Yet. How can I enjoy them when I’m feeling so low in myself? How can both desire and despair meet in this garden? Feeling alone and overwhelmed, I raise my eyes to the skies in resignation.
A light meet me. Hidden but there. Behind the clouds. I shudder and shrink away in despair. Am I ready to meet the light? Am I ready to welcome delight back into the house?
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My reflections as a phenomenologically experience of feeling depressed.