I had hoped to return this summer with a triumphant amount of discussion about the relationship I cultivated this spring, maybe some interesting anecdotes and things that I learned. Alas, that can’t happen. While my ex and I had been broken up for a while now, we still talked until a couple of days ago.
This has been a very difficult period of time for me, and it has interacted with my depression in a largely predictable fashion. I have hinted at my depression in some posts, but I have never given it a real examination.
So, here it is. For the past decade or so on an on and off basis, I have been dealing with depression. It has ebbed and flowed in parts of my life and at this point, it has returned for patently obvious reasons.
The difficulty with explaining depression to others is that people often mistake the catalyst for the cause of depression. While a single event may be a catalyst, what lies beneath it are a multitude of different causal mechanisms.
This leads to stock responses, usually focused more on quick fixes rather than understanding. This has led me to cease discussions at length with friends and family, as I have heard these tired responses before and I have zero interest in hearing them again.
While I have the good fortune of having a therapist, I do not have the fortune of timing, as she is on vacation until the 22nd, leaving me in an uncertain position for the next week and whatever days remain.
Uncertainty is a good way to characterize a secondary concern of mine. Right now, I have a lot of ambiguity and doubt regarding my own success, my own future. All signs point to a positive trajectory, but I am used to having that yanked away and everything crashing down.
I still keep writing Mist, and for whatever outlets I can, but I wonder about myself. I question if this is the furthest I can possibly go or if I have reached the limits of my abilities. While the natural response is reassurance, this is not a viewpoint that can be handwaved away with “No, you’re fine.”
Above all else, I feel exhausted. I still try to do what I can, in whatever way possible. But I am hard-pressed to feel much of anything, and whatever tasks I am able to complete feel much more onerous than they did before. I suppose this is the nature of it all, the quiet unease in a moment of darkness. Others say it will pass, but I often wonder if it really will.
I guess, at the end of the day, I still must tend to my obligations. Maybe that can keep me from collapsing into a state of total entropy. One can only hope.