Today started heavy. Depression does that—it numbs, isolates, and pulls like gravity. But I’ve learned through years of therapy, especially MBT (Mentalization-Based Treatment), that passivity feeds the darkness.
So I fought. Gently. I got up, told my loved ones how I felt, grabbed my camera, and walked. Not far—just through my neighborhood. But far enough.
I started with a black-and-white shot of crows over a church—still feeling the weight. Then, purple campanula—color pushing through the gray. At the museum gates, the structured lines mirrored the limits depression imposes. I saw old doors, one with a “poop scraper” from centuries past—a reminder that darkness was always part of history, and we’ve always found ways to clean it off. The next door, a symbol of resilience, built in the 1930s—a time of rebuilding.
Then came the Goldstrum, tall and open to the sun. I stood tall too. I felt the warmth. At Spoorpark, I watched people relax, ducks glide, a young coot close to me—a quiet connection. A boy gazed over the water in stillness. Just like me. Still. Strong. Present.
Photography helped me reconnect. If you’re struggling: talk to someone. Move. Create. It doesn’t fix everything—but it can make everything feel possible again.
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