Yesterday a Kereru flew into a window. It made the most almighty crash. The poor thing hit the window, dropped to the sloped roof, and rolled down to the car park with a thud.
It was in a public building. Everyone stood by windows,
staring. Most people’s initial response was “wow, that gave me a fright”. They didn’t ask “is it ok?” in fact, they didn’t
ask much to do with the bird at all. Responses varied, but it was mostly around
how they felt. That’s the world though. We live in our own reality responding
to the world through our own perceptions of how it makes us feel, keen to share
our feelings with others.
I raced outside to see if it was ok and it sat on the ground
stunned. Conscious, but seemingly unable to move. As I crouched beside it, I reached out and
gently stroked its beautiful green plumage with the back of my finger. It didn’t
even try to get away, and I felt a twinge of sadness that it was too stunned to
even edge away from me. That stupid bird was going to get hit by a car if it didn’t
move. Die by accident, after surviving the original fall.
I called the bird rescue people and the lovely lady on the
phone told me to “pop in in a box with a towel, and if it isn’t mobile in 30
minutes call the SPCA.” So I raced around trying to find a towel, getting a box
the right side, and ran back outside. As
I walked towards the bird, I gently crooned about how I was going to help it.
It took one look at me, shook its head, and flew for the nearest tree, crashing
through the branches with a reassuring racket of a sturdy wing-flap.
I stood like an idiot in the middle of the car park, holding
a box and a towel, feeling a bit grumpy that I have wasted my time when it was
going to get better anyway. And as I wandered off my heart gave a twinge.
Depression is so much like hitting a glass window.
All of a sudden, all you can see is what’s right in front of
You don’t really care about the risks, the dangers, the things you are blindly
sitting in front of, because you are too damn fuzzy to think that far out from
your glass bubble. And the scary thing is that the longer you sit there, the
more danger there is outside that bubble, the more you are scared to break out
and look up and see, really see what’s there. There isn’t really anything out
there, your own fears build up, caught in that bubble with no where to go. Whats out there? Just the good stuff you are missing while you stay still.
The reality is that there are probably people looking at you
worrying, scared to pick you up, scared you are so badly hurt, that they will
damage you more if they try. Scared that you will flap your wings and hurt
them, make them look a fool, make them the bad guy. Scared that you will get
better while they are watching and know that they were staring. Scared to
witness you getting worse, will it be their fault now they know?
All you need is a box. A safe place to just be, so that when
you are ready to shake your head and try to fly again, there aren’t any real
dangers outside your bubble, just your own fears, staring back at you.
Thank you to those who are my box.
Thank you to those who line it, warm it, feed me, continue to
love me even though I don’t show any sign of wanting anyone to. Thanks to the
people who watch, who care, even if they can’t do anything, or are scared.
Thank you. It’s annoying, and frustrating, and scary, and not everyone is good
But sometimes all I need is a safe place to sit, until I can
see my horizon again.