Since my last entry in 2009, much has happened. In 2012, Tom injured his back and was forced into early retirement. He's been in agonizing pain ever since and unable to do the things he needs to do, as well as the things he wants to do. We are reaching the point where his doctors are veering away from opiates and trying other procedures. Hopefully, something will work!

My situation is somewhat different. After being diagnosed with depression for more than twenty years, the doctors here determined that I have bi-polar disorder. After trying numerous medications, we have yet to find any that seem to work. I am still largely inactive, find it difficult to keep up with errands, and even simple tasks around the house. But for the moment, I'm doing somewhat better. A momentary improvement.

At some point, I'll talk about the pitfalls and stigma of mental illness. But not today.

Today I am going to show you the face of mental illness - my face. I took these pictures some time ago for a lark. It was a dreary day, I wanted to play with my very nice camera, and I wanted to see how I looked in a few new clothes. I posted some of them on Facebook. They were the cheerful shots, but here you will see the ones that are not cheerful. Well, you'll see what I mean.

When I looked at these photos, I saw a woman hiding....wrapped up in scarves, shielding her face. I saw sorrow. Almost all of these photos show depression. And yet, I thought I was doing better. But the shadow is there. It is always there. It never goes away.

It's four-thirty in the morning and I'm sitting in the dark, trying to find words for something that cannot be expressed. The inevitability of grief creeping over the mountain like the cold mist in the morning. The knowledge that it will come again and again, and all the learned men and all the carefully consumed pills, will never defeat it.  The prayers and the pleas, the rest of my life on my knees, won't touch it.

And yet today I chased ten little chicks down the road, and looked up at the sky through the slowly unfurling leaves of spring. Touched violets in the long green grass and chose not to pick them, but to let them grow as long as they might. Rubbed the velvety ears of a little dog sleeping.

I cannot reconcile these things. The great grief and the blinding beauty of this life. I don't understand. And I have had a long time to think about them. A long, long time. I don't think an answer will come anytime soon.