Why it can be tough out here

This morning I opened the front door to see the street full of cars. This never happens (we do, due to the slow nature of our lives, engage in a spot of grey nomad watching as they pull up across the street to use the facilities in the park). Peter and I remembered eventually that it was the day for the funeral next door at the Catholic Church for a local farmer who committed sucicide late last week. It was the third local (Bell/Dalby district) suicide last week.

Those of you who I know well will know that my black dog has chased me on and off since I was a child, leading to a diagnosis just after I left uni. Since I have been in Bell it has nipped closest at my heels as it ever has while I have been medicated. The reasons I think have something to do with having a baby who rarely sleeps more than an hour at a half at a time, and moving into a new 'position' so soon after having a baby. Lots of those stressful life events all at once. Mum tells me I live in a state of perpetual exhaustion, and that's true. I feel vaguely nauseous most of the time, I don't think well, I have headaches, I have to watch myself when I drive to Toowoomba that I don't fall asleep at the wheel.

But one of the big factors is the barely perceptible difference in the way country people react when you tell them you are struggling with something. There's no sympathy, there's a general statement about life being difficult but you just have to get on with it. And I'm only struggling with exhaustion. No one here knows about my depression. I'm not game. Imagine being an older male, struggling with depression - in the generation that doesn't talk about mental health - if you did muster up the courage to talk about it, the knockbacks that you'd get wouldn't encourage you to mention it again.

Please pray for rural Australia - they need it.