I can’t decide which is more embarrassing. Documenting my fall into and subsequent depression or simply disappearing into it. I missed the last post and the failing nags at me. I sit here and stare and wonder what to write. There are doldrums that are hard to document, there is some shame, too. I hate to write “woe is me” when, really, I’m in a decent spot. Just emotionally, I . . . I dunno, I guess I need to heal or recoup. Wherever it stems from, this here depressive business has been a life long . . . I struggle to find the word. “Challenge” maybe.
I’ve been challenging myself to defy the depressive junk. Forcing the fundamentals, exercise and so forth. Avoiding the pitfalls like alcohol dependence, overeating, oversleeping. Overall, spotty results but I’m trying. At least I have the self-awareness to know my bunk and when not to succumb. Off handed musing, I wonder how many trials-and-errors I’ve had to go through over the years. God, I can’t tell you how much studying, discussing, and listening to others and their coping I’ve done. A lot, to be sure.
I don’t know about you all, but my instincts are not to be trusted. At least, not in this environment. If I had not wizened up and given in to those inner voices, I’d be dead of a heroine overdose in my twenties with three baby-mama’s rolling their collective eyes at the news. By nature, I am overly impulsive. And given this current world of ours where excess is so easy access, I do my best to avoid the pitfalls. But not without occurring costs. Right now, depression being in the spotlight.
Rationally speaking, the whole process makes no sense. I won’t let myself sleep in my bed because it’s just been cleaned. Not wanting to ruin a good thing, I sleep on the couch instead. Clean laundry had been in the laundry for literal weeks. While I haven’t at all forgotten, I have trouble bringing myself around to the task. There are homemade prepped stews in the freezer I won’t allow myself to eat because, like the bed thing, they’re too good for me. And this sort of irrational thinking saturates my thoughts and actions. With heavy heart, I admit that such jank thinking has adversely affected my relationships and career goals. Still do. And knowing the irrationality of it all, le sigh, just another frustration to quietly tolerate as I try to wait the process out.
So, here and now, as I write this post with many a blank stare, wandering thought, or intentional interruption. I edit myself heavily. I attempt to write it all with a well reasoned, perhaps even dry tone. I don’t want the anxiety or malaise to bleed though. For fear of either taking over. I rely on my rational side when my emotional side is hindered thus. And wading through that dissonance is not easy. It’s like target shooting through double vision.