Darling, you're allowed to find this hard. It's depression, it's an aching grief in your bones. You don't have to find something to do every minute of every day to push, push, push it away.
Today you smelled the most beautiful fragranced yellow laburnum tree, remember? The bees were a symphony. You were there, darling husband hand in hand - it's all that counts. You floated on the tarn hearing in the water “you are held, nothing can separate you from Love”
You are allowed to lie motionless now under the weighted blanket wondering how the hell to survive until you can medicate your bedtime. The beauty and the pain, the start and the stop. The ache and the breath. You're allowed to wish it wasn't depression again darling, darling one. I wish it wasn't, too.