...follow your heavy footsteps through the moss that carpets a maze of tired oak. Solemn warnings calcify soft thoughts and point you at the coal on the horizon. Its splinterglow peeks hot squints through the arboreal tangle. Topaz streams convene and braid themselves around your spine. The stones in the riverbed grow smoother and each becomes a grain of sand. You let the sand console your roots as you curl your toes and fall asleep. Time becomes a living dream about life, which in turn finds you, one day walking deeper into the forest.
Crawl inside, where they can't get to you. Where their questions go unanswered, as would yours, if you asked any. It is quiet here; that's one thing you can rely on. If you squint your ears you can almost hear a car passing outside. Almost. Depression is a relativistic term that is below you. You are Normal. You are Alone. You are You.