In the Raymond Chandler novel, and more famous Bogie-and-Bacall movie,the Big Sleep is death. To me, the Big Sleep is one step shy: depression.

For long periods of time, I have been depressed. For me it’s a living death. No matter how exhilarating a spring day it is, no matter how angelic the children are, no matter how well stocked the pantry is, life doesn’t feel worth living. Love doesn’t break through.

When it was its worst, I took drugs, I did intensive therapy. Working on my health helped me wake up, but depression still threatens. It would be naive to believe that I can stay awake through sheer willpower and determination.

I once took a workshop in which the word “depressed” was translated as “deep rest.” Yes, the Big Sleep–but with a connotation that it’s restorative. I find that interpretation to be helpful. When I feel depression coming on, I do my best not to indulge depression to its deepest state, but I look for restoration in it. And I fight back with nutrition and exercise.

This week I am battling The Big Sleep because I am sick. I’m sacrificing several days of a personal retreat–during which my plan was to read and research careers–to a chest cold. I’m either too uncomfortable, or too drowsy from antihistamines, to read or write for more than a couple of hours per day. And I haven’t left the house in four days except to go to the doctor. I’m sleeping, resting, and restoring.

I have to believe that the time that feels wasted this week will return to me in greater energy later, after I rest.