Metaphor

I have this pain in my elbow that's pretty much always there. But tonight, I noticed it felt fine. In fact, I couldn't remember the last time it hurt.

I straighten my arm slowly, just to be sure. Maybe a small twinge because I was kinda looking for it, but then...nothing. No pain.

I move it back and forth a couple times and then pick up a pen to write. I feel like a phantom limb has been replaced, whole again as the words flow. Paragraphs are pushing to be released and I oblige. Hours pass without my notice. I am in my element. I am me.

I know it won't last. Eventually I'll feel a dull ache begin in my arm, at first just that small twinge again. I will ignore it, keep writing if it worsens. It will feel like ice is crawling down my arm and I'll flex my fingers between lines to get some the kinks out.  The pain will become undeniably present and eventually turn my hand numb. My elbow will scream and I will have to put the pen down.

I will need to learn to live with it again.

This is what my depression is like. It is an ache that is always present, but one that ebbs and flows. Some days I'm writing prose and smiling, happy in my creative moment. Some days I'm crying from a hidden story.

But not today.  Today there is no pain.

I can write.