There are no words, just black images that petrify
Gareth O'Callaghan writes of the despair that is affecting families across the country at this time
AS I write this, someone somewhere is contemplating whether or not they want to go through another day of pure misery and utter hopelessness, faced with the painful reality of this thankless, treacherous climate we live in.
He might be surrounded by a loving wife and family who aren't aware of the precarious state he now finds himself immersed in up to his eyes. He's drowning, but no one sees it because there is nothing to see. There are very few signs; maybe the occasional strange comment that is out of keeping with this otherwise strong and content man we all think we know so well; maybe a gloominess about him that we fail to detect until later, because we are all feeling a bit gloomy and lost at the moment. The clouds are low and our intuitive senses are blurred.
He's just the same as everyone else, with only one exception: he's not the same any longer. This man is neither strong nor content.