Lately everything seems pointless. I have the presence of mind to know that this is fleeting. This is just the message my brain likes to send me. I don't view it as a challenge to overcome anymore, it's just this glitch that keeps sending the wrong signals. It screams a cold, dark series of syllables at me, this depression wants to be feed. I hold my breath.
I know what it wants, It wants something to gnaw on, something to consume. Depression is a sudden but ultimately predictable creature, when it rears it's ugly head it's easy to know how to sate it. Some people describe it as a black dog that follows them around... but I prefer to view it as a carnivorous cloud. It can fit under doors, take new shapes and it can make even the finest day dim. So when this hungry cloud comes calling I hold my breath and I grab an umbrella.
An umbrella can take any shape, it might be a call from a friend, a blast of music or more recently a work out. I don't want to give in to this vapor, this strange emotive thing that disappears and reappears like bad weather. Depression is a self inflicted cruelty some of us never master. Normally the umbrellas I own are capable of making this cloud a bother and an obstacle but a manageable one. Lately it seems though that all my umbrellas have holes in them and the cloud is getting in.
It's all too clear to me why my umbrellas are all in disarray, the world's in a bit of havoc right now and I've never been good with sudden change, dire circumstances or loved ones in peril. I have this dire need to exhale and take a big deep breath but sometimes I can only see this cloud... and the breathing that in isn't something I want to do. Previously I'd numb myself with food. I'd give this cloud something to eat... but I desperately don't want to be him. Not anymore. I just fucking can't.
So yesterday in lieu of breaking down I went and punched the punching bag again. This wasn't the daily work out anymore... This was an assassination attempt, but yet it still swung there mocking me after I had finished with my knuckles and emotions raw. I have no perfect fix right now, my ability to help my loved ones through a pandemic is non existent, my ability to help myself is being sorely tasked, my willingness to fight fluctuating minute from minute.
I lean against the punching bag and I exhale.
Your writing is extraordinary and powerful, you articulate the struggle so well. These are not easy times.
ReplyDeleteThank you very much! No, this is going to be quite the rough winter I imagine.
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