At first, when the down days come, they are almost comforting in their inevitability. A thick, familiar blanket to sink into. I bury beneath them and block out the bombardment of sounds and feelings of an ordinary life, let my skin go numb.

A few days in and the mustiness of that blanket is no longer pleasant. I’m ready to break free, but the decision is taken from me. I cannot find the edges of that damp, clinging depression. I tear at my face, fighting for all those times I’ve breathed fresh love, joy and curiosity, and remain piteously tangled. Cocooned in an invisible solitude.