when i grow up i wanna ride a pony called Depression

‘I want a dapple-grey pony and I’m gonna call her Depression.’

‘You could have Sorrow, Sadness and Misery, too.’

‘And Melancholy, of course.’

These are the things me and my husband say when we are out walking. I said I used to canter in the fields on the back of a shire horse named Esmeralda when I was a teenager at the child and family psychiatric unit, near to where we live now. We are not sad. Esmeralda was a black horse, a really beautiful animal trained for teaching children with disabilities to ride. I really loved Esmeralda. They said the only time I ever really looked happy was when I was riding her.

We are not sad.

This evening we walked and these boys walked by:

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These boys smelled of their mother’s washing. Tough lads. This is the White Path. I have walked this mile long route all my life between towns and it can be a sinister place – always talk of people being stopped, strangers talking to children, would-be abductors and then we saw this:

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Someone committed suicide here, on the White Path. In fact, many people have.

We walked by the pylon where a man was burned alive.

We are not sad.

We cannot be sad.

Every night I list all the ideas I have in my head but I don’t have the time to get them all done, and often I don’t have the resources, and sometimes the ideas are just too big for me, but I am going to set up a mental health support group in Great Harwood and I’m making enquiries into suitable venues. Some things are achievable. And we are not sad.

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