If you’re not interested in depression, you may choose to jump to the last two paragraphs.
Today I checked in with my psychiatrist for the usual. I report on my mood since I’ve seen her last. Then, depending on my report, we discuss changing my medication or maintaining the regimen to see if it continues working. (I’ve felt cured by several meds, only to fall back into that dark place after a few months.)
Crabby, I entered her office. “I’m on a leave of absence … to sort of renew my creative side. Yeah,” I agreed, “it is a big step. But I’ve been sick for most of it.” She was disinterested in my waning virus but excited by what my news indicates: paraphrasing, we’ve finally got the right mix of meds.
Her reaction prompted me, “It’s because I’m feeling better that I got the idea to take a leave, that I’m even able to do this.” Her notes from our many meetings sat in her lap, and even without referencing them they remind me where I’ve been, how far I’ve come. Depression is a lot worse than a bad cold. Medically speaking. And according to my own experience.
Before heading home, I walked around downtown holding up my iPhone casually, like I had just been looking at it and would be again soon. That’s when I shot these stealth photos.
I like these contrasty, blurry, and often poorly composed pictures. But what I really want are street portraits. I must learn how to approach people with my camera.