A neat experience.

When in depression. I often didn’t know it. Because I compensated. By making for a reasonably comfortable life. By creating a cocoon. That suited me. A place to retreat. To escape. For solace. Where I thrived. In solitude. That’s how I coped. Survived. When I was a care-giver. Didn’t consciously plan it that way. It came naturally. Without forethought. For instance, I put amber bulbs. Into all of my lamps. To sooth me. Collected far more books. Than I could ever have read. Birdhouses caught my fancy. I bought them. Non-stop.  Not only hanging them in the yard. But indoors. From the ceilings. My, oh my. Visitors to my cocoon thought I flipped out. It wasn’t until later. After the care-giving experience. That I finally left the darkness. And put light back into my life. At the behest of my Italian amore, Cristina. All in all. Depression was a neat experience. --Jim Broede