Regular readers will know that I often refer to my depression as the 'black dog'.
I think it was that wise old boy Winston Churchill, who first described his depression in this way, and there is also a brilliant book by Matthew Johnstone, which also uses this metaphor.
Any who, I have now discovered that the black dog likes to disguise himself. He is not just a black dog, but he can turn into a mouldy old rat too.
Let me explain.
I came back from work on Saturday tired and worn out. My feet were aching, my back was aching, my brain was aching, you get the picture. But those things felt insignificant compared to the mangled and torn up creature inside of me.
It was as if a mouldy old rat had got right inside of my body, and was poisoning me.
I felt horrible inside.
I wanted to scream and shout.
Bury myself in my bed and not come out again.
I could feel the creature cruelly manipulating each part of my body and my mind.
There was no logical reason for it. Yes, I was tired, but I had a relaxing evening with Mr B to look forward to, and the rest of the weekend.
Then I remembered that this was how the black dog liked to work. It liked to take over my mind when I was tired, trick me into submission, and dominate my world.
That's when I realised that the mouldy old rat must be the black dog in disguise. He'd just found a new way to get inside of me.
And once I had recognised what it was, I didn't feel quite so disgusting. I told Mr B too, and although most people would have thought I'm bonkers, he listened and understood.
Slowly, the mouldy old rat became smaller and I became bigger.
He turned up again today, but at least now I know who he is, I can get my rat trap out. Ha!