The House Made of Sand

Once upon a time in a faraway land
There lived an old man in a house made of sand

Twice every year he would walk into town
He'd walk with his dog who'd bounce up and down

He'd buy bread cheese and beans, and a big side of meat
And a strange smelling cream that he'd use for his feet

He'd curse and he'd swear as he kicked through the dust
He'd mutter at people and glare with mistrust

As he stomped down the town to the end of the street
To his favourite pub where the barman he'd greet

An old friendly face that he's known for years
They'd joke and he'd laugh 'till their eyes were in tears

Then when beer was all drunk and the sun had gone down
He would laugh and he'd sing as he waltzed out of town

Project Awesomesauce

- Prologue

When I was young like you, i knew a vast unfathomable world of peace. At first my house and my parents, my friends, my village. For many years, it extended no further than the largest tree at the end of the main road.

I would sit atop the highest branch and stare down the main road. I would ask my father again and again what lay down that winding gravel path. He would answer with the most fantastic stories of busy markets and bustling cities

One year he promised me that I could join him on his journey to the market place after the next harvest. For the rest of the season I could think of nothing else. My friends had gathered their knowledge of the outside world form their parents, as well as older brothers and sisters. By the time the harvest had begun I was convinced that a troll lay waiting under every bridge and that we would be molested by all manner mythical creatures along the way.

I was to be disappointed by my first travels however. The week long journey I had been told about so many times was really no so far after all. The slow pace of the caravan put me too sleep and I grew bored and restless. A child can run much faster than mules can pull wagons!

I stared into the campfire one night and poked idly at the coals.

"What troubles you son?" My father asked
"Can we move no faster, dad?" I replied with a sour tone of voice "We have barely come a hundred paces since we left home!"
"Well now!" my father laughed "Aren't we an eager businessman off to make his fortune at the markets! Don't you worry m'boy, we'll be there soon enough. And when we get there I'll teach you all there is to know about getting the best price for wheat and barley." He smiled warmly and sent me to bed.

---

- Act 1

This story begins at the end of a mother's life, the beginning of a young man's journey and the middle of a war.

Laugh

Laugh, and the world with laugh with you
Cry, and you will cry alone.

But if you must cry
Know that we won't laugh
Know that we are here
Know that we support you

We don't know what to say
We don't know how to help
We cannot offer consolation
Nor can we offer resolution

But if you must cry
Know that we are waiting
Know that we miss you
Know that we want to laugh with you again

---

Depression manifests an enormous unshakable feeling of "alone":

"I have a secret problem. I am alone."
"I have failed to conform to the expectations of society. I am alone"
"I feel my life is romantically devoid. I am alone"

Sometimes the reason becomes lost with time and the feeling just refuses to go away.

"I am alone"

Depression is a pain that no one can see. There is no dripping blood or busied flesh. There is only an injured mind and heart. And yet it hurts like a broken bone.

Do you know what the worst thing about depression is? You can be a perfectly normal person with a outwardly normal life; You can be standing in a room surrounded by friends; And you can still feel alone. None of your friends would even know or care.

Sometimes I come to this blog when I feel alone. I know that anything I post is read by at least one other person on the planet. Even if they are in India, and they only read the title. Some time ago I wrote a post that I didn't publish. this is a part of it:

[...]and it really really hurts to be sad with no one who cares to listen to me.... never mind offer a hug or any kind of support. I feel very alone. I went to a depression site on the net this week. Just out of curiosity. They have forums where there are lots of people who feel alone.

It doesn't surprise me really. When you are on your way in the morning in the car. All I can see in the traffic is bubbles. People in their own little private leather-padded, pine-fresh-scented worlds. All the people imagining that the other bubbles don't contain other people and are just annoyances that are in the way. People live their whole lives inside their own personal bubble that only their closest friends an relatives can feel comfortable sharing. Its no wonder that sometimes people feel alone. Left outside of everyone elses bubble.

It makes me sad that so many people are alone. It's not fair to be scared to reach out and talk to people. why the hell in an overpopulated world do I feel ALONE. You can blame the media and the life style and the culture and the politics whatever it makes no difference. It boils down to fear. People are so shit scared of other people. There is no trust in a stranger. That is hammered into out skull from the time we can talk. Don't talk to strangers! Don't take the 'lift home' from the man in the car! Don't take the free candy from the man on the street! HELL, can you even imagine a world where it was polite to offer a pedestrian a lift in your car? Can you IMAGINE if it was considered nice to stand outside the school and give children chocolate for the simple joy of the look on their faces? What kind of world is it we live in when we have to be afraid of so many things and it's just considered "normal". Its a sick disgusting place. And we cant even see that it is. Not from inside our bubbles.

This was some time ago now. Times have changed and it took a lot of strength to change them.

A burning rose

It happened suddenly. She came into my life like the warmth of a hundred suns. As she sat beside me I became aware of a connection between us. Inexplicably, without conversation, she was in my arms. We were with other people. It did not matter. We lay in each-others arms as they fell asleep around us.

She asked me "What are you thinking?" I could not tell her. I was not 'thinking'. Her body's curves were pressed flat against my front, our feet entangled. "How warm you are" I murmured back, too sleepy to lie. We spoke softly to each other. I kissed her lips.

We slept when we saw the morning's first light.

It was afternoon when we woke. I had forgotten that I was not completely sober the night before. It was like a surprise all over again to find her in my arms. It was cold and bright and hard to think. Her hand was still warm in mine as we sat at the breakfast table.

---

It was awkward at first to see her again. We walked together for a while. It was not difficult to kiss her again. Her hands gripped my shirt as I cupped her chin in my hand.

---

Doubt. A shadow that grew like smoke over a blaze. It was too good to be true. Was it not? I was not what she wanted. I could not offer her my broken heart. Fear. A darkness that choked me. I could not breath much less speak when she called me. I distinctly remember casually deflecting her suggestions to meet again. I distinctly remember the tear that rolled off my chin as is I put the phone on the table. I felt that our happiness would be hollow.

Perhaps I was wrong?