I’ve started seeing the shadows again.

I can see them out of the corners of my eyes when I walk into a room, or when I look up from a book I’m reading. I have tried to ignore them. The trees may have given me shelter when I no longer wanted to interact with the world, but they demanded a price. I hoped that I would never see them again.

I try to ignore the shadows at first, but they’re growing stronger. I’m having difficulty paying attention to the world around me as I’m always on edge, waiting for them to reappear. I remember the shadows well. Though the forest has given me safety, it’s also taken so much from me; increasingly, I gave the forest so much of myself that I disappeared almost completely.

***

And yet, lately, it has been like a river.

This is new for me; it’s always been a forest before. I know those leaves so well; I can still hear the crunch of the twigs beneath my feet, the feeling of the bark against my fingers, and the scent of smoke in the air. Always.

Now, it feels like I’m filling up with water throughout the day. Every morning, I start taking on the weight of my emotions. It rains inside my body, and by the end of each evening I’m heavy with my unshed tears. The water flows into my dreams, taking me on strange and different voyages. By the morning, my body is dry and waits to be refilled.

This river frightens me like the forest used to. It feels like I’m drowning and by day’s end, I can’t breathe. I knew the forest so well, had given so much of myself to it. I don’t know what this river will take from me. I don’t know if I have anything left to give.

I hear my husband speaking to me, his words coming from far away. I turn to look at him, at his eyes that bring me calm, and I can see the shadows behind him, wavering along the walls.  If I tilt my head, I can hear a crow calling out to me. I wonder what game it’s playing at. I can also hear the water within me; the gentle lapping sound calls to me, bidding me give in to the flow of the water so that I won’t resurface.

“I’m sorry?” I ask him. It’s a struggle to get the words out. My mouth is full of water, rocks, and the grit of sand.

“What time are we waking up tomorrow?” He asks. “We’re going to see your parents for dinner. Did you want to go out for lunch beforehand?”

I say yes, and I try to look happy. I look around and it’s as if I’m looking at everything from far away. I’m looking down at my life from the top of a mountain, and even from here the sound of water climbs up the rockface, towards me. I don’t think I’m doing a very good job of seeming like I’m happy, and part of me wonders why I’m not happy. The home I’ve built with my husband should be a place of joy, but I’m finding it so difficult to find that joy within.

It’s so confusing to look out at my husband, best friend and soul mate, and feel only sadness when I see the shadows behind his head. I don’t want my depression to leech into him, or take away the light inside his eyes that has always ben able to guide me through the shadows when they have taken me over before.

Once, not so long ago, there was a time when the forest had begun to become my reality. I would walk outside and see only the shadows of the trees, hear only the harsh cry of the birds as they called out to me, jeering and laughing. Each caw was like a note of condemnation that I held onto wholeheartedly. I deserved all of them, every hateful one. It was no worse than what I had told myself a thousand times.

The forest almost took me that time.

I let the trees cut into me, not caring about the blood that had begun to flow from my cuts. Tears slid down my cheeks, even when I had no more tears to spare, nor water left in me. I watched as the river of my tears slid into the trails of blood, making it look as if they too were crying.

Michael found me in the shadows, and he took my hand in his. He led me to the stream that I knew weaved its way through the trees of the forest, and gently, he washed away the blood that marked my skin like a roadmap. I knew that he was hurting too, but he only cared about me. He used more water to wash away the tears that had streaked my face. When we rose together, we walked towards home so that we could start healing together, leaving the forest behind us for now.

***

The forest was always there, but eventually there was so much joy in my life that I was able to shine brighter than I had before. Shadows could not live within the light, yet each could not exist without the other. Depression is like that, it’s always within me, no matter how hard I try to fight against it. The forest always takes me back, and I find that I have to weave in and out of the trees, finding my way back home, to my husband. I’ve had to find a balance inside my own mind.

Help came to me because I asked for it. I found someone objective I could talk to; therapy is a great help, as is the medication I’m taking. These are two lifelines in a world full of shadows, real and imaginary. However, sometimes no matter how hard I work at shining brightly, the balance is thrown off and I find the shadows appearing around me, no matter what I do.

***

Inside myself, I know that I’ve run away to the forest.

Walking along the path is difficult. The water has found its way to my forest and the river that runs through the trees has flooded. As I make my way forward, my feet and ankles are covered by the water, its touch is cold.

I turned toward the mountain, knowing and hoping that salvation somehow lay beyond it. It’s only when I have climbed the mountain that I can see my way out of the forest, to find the light that has been trying to show me the way. The mountain takes everything from me, but gives me hope when I can overcome it.

I shiver and make my way further into the trees to find some kind of shelter. The water is up to my shins now, and I’m grabbing onto the tree branches on either side to find my footing as the leaves slice at my skin. I can feel the blood beginning to run down my arms, even as the water tries to overtake me.

I hear a voice above me. “Get up here,” the voice says. “Quickly, before the water rises any more.”

I look up into the leaves of the tree nearest to me. “Hello?” I ask. There has never been anyone else in my forest. My voice is loud even though I’m whispering.

“Can you reach my hand?” He says.

I see a hand come down from amongst the leaves. Without thinking, I grab hold and try to use my bare feet to clamber up the trunk of the tree. I let the hand pull me up, into the darkness. I can hear his breathing and the cascade of leaves around me as if the tree itself is taking in a breath. I’m safe in the branches; they protect me from the water. In the darkness, I can hear my heartbeat matching the thrum of the water. I can also hear his.

“Come with me,” he says. “We’re almost there, I’ll keep you safe. I’ll always keep you safe.” We climb up to another branch and then I can hear the rustle of leaves as he pushes them aside.

In the sunlight that shines through the trees, I can see my husband’s face, the light in his eyes and his smile as he looks at me more brightly than any sun I have known.

***

“Babe?” I try to find my voice; it sounds different with my mouth filled with water and sediment. “I’m not doing well,” I tell him.

My beautiful husband, Michael, looks at me, “What do you need from me?” He asks, encircling me in his arms. I feel safe when I look into his eyes; they look like the sea, changing from blue to grey to green.

I know that I can’t do this alone, that if I go on much longer, I will not be able to stay afloat and eventually the water and the dark will take me. I can’t let that happen again. I can’t let the dark win, and I know that I can’t continue on the same path as I have been. I’m lost in the forest and can’t find the sun.

“The water is so strong; in my head, you know?” I take a chance and look at him, seeing only warmth in his eyes. His gaze pleads with me to go on. “It’s just too much. I’ve been so sad, but I want you to know that it’s not you.”

“What do you need from me?” he asks me again.

“I think I need to call my doctor and increase my antidepressants.”

There is no judgement in his eyes, no hatred or revulsion. There is only concern. “It’s a lot,” he said. “You deal with a lot, and I don’t know how you do it. I think it’s a good idea that you talk to your doctor about what you’re going through. You know that you always have me, and your parents. You are not alone.”

He hugs me and I feel safe in his arms. I can still hear the water and the wind in the leaves, but I can hear other things, too. I can hear the beating of my husband’s heart, my heart answering back, and I let myself be rocked gently by that sound. The sounds of animals in the forest begin to emerge, too: the call of sparrows as they land in the trees, the chatter of rabbits and squirrels, the long low howl of a dog.

I can also hear the call of a bear as it lumbers through the forest, its roars loud and fierce enough to quiet the endless cawing of the birds.