“I heard you were sick!” a little boy exclaimed when he saw me. I hadn’t been at work for the morning, and had managed to make it to morning tea. The other teachers must have told him that I was sick, and of course they didn’t explain why, because it’s hard to explain depression to a child, isn’t it?
I smiled at him and nodded, interrupting my conversation with someone about how getting out of bed is a victory. “Yeah, I am pretty sick at the moment.” I replied, shrugging and awkwardly sliding my hands into my pockets.
The boy frowned and took a few steps closer to me, his eyes searching for signs of sickness in me. He listened for a stuffy nose or a scratchy and he searched for a runny nose or a sick stomach. He found nothing. When his search came up short, he looked at my eyes again, “You don’t look sick.”
Find the rest over at My Invisible Life.