She always felt the sadness. Like a wave washing on the shore, if you let it tickle your feet in the sand it can be pleasant. If you step into the water and let it get too close, it will consume you. Pulling you into its relentless ebb and flow. If you’re lucky you can fight back to shore. A safe haven. If you’re not so lucky, you get sucked into the cold, dark depths. No time to catch your breath. You finally relent. The shroud of sadness covers you like a heavy constricting blanket.

Amy thought she had it all. Great career. Great husband. Great life. But below the outward layer of happiness was a simmering feeling of dread. Like waiting for the other shoe to drop. Whatever that meant. Amy was the envy of those who knew her (or so they thought) and she radiated a persona that made others gravitate. Amy knew that her happiness was always threatened by the pull of the tide. She tried to walk on the shoreline and tease the lapping waves. Fighting the urge to plunge in and feel the reality she knew was always there.

Amy liked to have a good time and knew how to liven up a room. Almost like it was expected of her. Life of the party. And people lapped up the good feelings and party spirit. When it’s time to go home, Amy has mixed emotions. Why can’t the good times carry on? Going home meant facing the demons. Replaying every moment of the party from a devil’s advocate angle: did she laugh too loud, drink too much, insult someone. The vignettes play in her mind like two boys wrestling in the grass. And, depending on the position of the tide, happy or sad would prevail.

The same thing plagued Amy at work. Constantly trying to be the person that people expected. Like sitting in church and listening to a minister drone on and on and secretly wondering what would happen if you stood up in the pew and shouted “you’re boring”. Instead you look around and peek at who’s nodding off. Satisfied that your inner voice was right, but you held your composure. At work Amy was expected to rally the troops; encourage good morale to stimulate sales. Her inside voice tempted to be unleashed, remained incarcerated. Amy dodged those bullets all day. Everyday. There were times that her facial expressions betrayed the inner voice and immediately she was exposed. Carry on like it never happened. Knowing that later at home she would replay the day’s events and the struggle would ensue.

Sometimes Any shared her thoughts and feelings with her husband. Allowing tiny hints at her internal struggle. But not too often because he wasn’t in the same place; he had his own demons and guilt. Mostly self imposed. Aren’t they all? So Amy cluttered her mind and managed the waves in her own way with a routine.

Amy’s daily routine was, by all appearances, boring and repetitive. This possible OCD behaviour was her only antidote to walking on the shore and keeping the tide at bay. Get up, freshen up, make the bed, tidy the bathroom, go to the kitchen, feed the cat, make lunches, make coffees to go, check the laundry, tidy the family room, take vitamins, go to work, come home, tidy again (the messy elves have been busy), rotate the laundry, start dinner, eat, feed the cat, clean up the kitchen, start the dishwasher, turn on the tv, turn off the tv, go to bed. yawn.

Like many people Amy wondered what her purpose in life was. Could she be happy with things just the way they are? Or would she explore some of the ways others coped with the mundaneness? When sadness crept in it was easy to see how vices might be enacted: excessive drinking, gambling, drug use, on line shopping, affair of the heart. Looking around, Amy pondered other people she knew and how they fell into their trap. Until now, Amy had struggled with her inner demons entirely in her own head.

No one was prepared for the tipping point that made Amy finally snap and what the fallout would be.