The Face of Depression
A little over a week ago , I stood in the dim light of my bedroom, shaking my head. Disorganized jumbles of junk lay strewn across any available hard surface, Across the floor, a two-foot high by four-foot long pile of dirty laundry was expanding into the closet, and the floor was gritty from kitty litter having repeatedly been tread into the room for I don't know how long. Dirty tissue balls laid haphazardly beside my side of the bed, which hadn't seen fresh sheets since the new year, and clean clothes lay crumpled on top of the other side of the bed. An overflowing wastebasket finished the scene. I didn't dare open the curtains - someone might see the pigsty my private space had become. I turned around once again, and sighed quietly to myself, shaking my head. "This is what the face of depression looks like," I thought, then started to do what I could to shovel some of worst of the trash into a paper sack before the deep cleaning housecleaners showed up. ...