Things have been quiet around here for a while. I’ve just logged on and seen my last post was nearly four months ago.
The truth is, I have been in a bit of a pit, and have only just managed to scramble out. I’m looking around me and wondering why on earth I thought the mud walls of my hole were all there was to see, because look: friends! I have actual friends! And the sky is so big and beautiful. And there are things to look forward to like roast chicken for dinner and the Easter break.
I’m not sure if I was actually depressed for a while there. Probably a little. Low energy? Check. Low self-esteem? Check. Loss of interest in normal pleasures? Check. And so on down the jolly list of delight. Maybe all that was just a rational response to the wrong side of Christmas and a long slog through family illness with all the cooped-up-ness and sleep deprivation that implies. Whatever: it wasn’t fun.
And now here I am above ground again, kicking myself for sitting down there thinking it was an accurate perspective on reality.
I have no intention of arguing that flying a planeful of people into the ground can be justified or even understood by the fact that the co-pilot had depression. And my recent blip doesn’t give me the right to claim any particular insight into the desperate darkness of Andreas Lubitz. But oh my heart aches for him, and for all who see no way out but death.