Say that ten times fast. It’s one of the tongue twisters those of us from the other side of the Atlantic learn as kids. A Lorry is a truck. (Luar-ee). That’s sometimes how depression feels. Something you can’t quite grasp. Like you’re nearly able to comprehend, to get a hold of, but never completely. You get better and better at it, but realize over time, that you will never master it. Sometimes you are okay with that, sometimes it feels dreadfully frustrating. So you need to decide to fight it, to keep pushing against that fact and trying to prove the world wrong and indeed mastering the lorries. Or to accept that you will not win, but will learn to coexist with the ‘problem‘. That there is a middle ground, and you can learn to improve over time, until you reach a best case scenario, and then maintain that. Sometimes that is all that can be hoped for.
Maybe there are some people who can master the problem. Just because I have not met them, does not mean they do not exist. For me, I know ‘Yellow Lorry’ will always be just out of reach. I must learn how I can get as close to pronouncing correctly, in order to be able to live as full a life as possible. I need to be okay with that. The former without the latter is pointless. If I learn to live a good life, not perfect, but good, but cannot accept it, then I might as well me living my current miserable depressed life. So whether I’m driving yellow lorries, selling sea shells on the sea shore, or hanging out with Thomas A Tattamus, I’ll try my best, but not freak out as I approach my limitation. It’s okay not to be perfect. It’s not okay to expect failure. It is okay to have a contingency plan. It’s called reality.
‘Red Lorry, Yellow Lolly, Lel Lolly….”
Running Half Empty 