At least, it feels that way. I’ve noted in the past that usually on about Halloween and through to mid January, some depressive symptoms come on. Halloween came this year and I guess I was distracted by other stresses, I failed to notice some of the underlying nuances of an oncoming depressive episode. Today, the mid of November, I can certainly see those nuances grow into more ominous signs. Getting overly sad, neglecting duties, begging the question, “What does it matter?” yeah, I’m going into a slump. Time to batten down the hatches.
My normal go-to’s for for stability are among the duties I’ve been actively neglecting.Among the numerous aspects of my life suffering: homework and school skills. The former needing more attention than the latter in this instance, for without a solid foundation, the entire structure will fall. So fundamentals, exercise, eat clean, meditate, sleep discipline, I have to, have to practice those and with urgency. Otherwise the answer to the aforementioned question will be a hopeless pathetic utterance of “Nothing . . . nothing matters.” And it is when I utter those inner words that I give up.
I have many labors not worth throwing away right now. I’d like to stay in the game and if I can learn to power through, that seems like a skill that’ll help me in my latter days. Building up an abundance of good will and resources to boost my ability to get through the emotional winters is good practice. I don’t want to be so incapacitated by sadness I can’t bring myself to chop wood to keep the fires burning. Because who the fuck am I to deserve heat.
I hear others chant to themselves mantras and credos. And when I do, I can’t help but feel a reverence and sorrow for them. Because, despite what one might see on the outside, you can feel them trying to pull together from within. And, despite the pain, uncertainty or inner dilemmas they’re going through, these chants are another way for them to reinforce their desired state of being.
I “get” these people. They makes sense to me because I am the same way. My rickety rigging of an emotional raft floats a speck on life’s ocean. There have been too many times where things hang my a tattered rope ready to fall apart in the gentlest of gales. Fuck, I’m afloat, but who knows how. And If I fall off my game, I lose sight of the why.