8 months is a pretty good run. Right? It’s been at least 8 months since my last episode of anything resembling depression, well according to me, according to a doctor my body was telling him I was depressed even if I felt stable and happy. Visualise shoulder shrug here.
But now, today, I can feel it. The precipice is only inches from my toes. It’s a familiar feeling. And that is a sad sentence to write. But I recognise the symptoms, and I may have been trying to ignore the trigger, because, seriously, life has been good. It’s still good. The trigger is so insignificant in the scheme of things but it feels insurmountable. It feels like touching it with a yard stick will be enough to feel my toes in the air. And I’d like to think I’d just fly, float on up there opposite that damn precipice and smile at it like it was simply a launchpad for even more awesome, but I’m feeling thinned out and worn down. And now I just feel like I’m complaining. It’s stupid, but if I so much as nearly have a full thought regarding the trigger my body threatens to shut down. I mean full shut down mode. Bed is the first thought, and then how can I get out of work tomorrow, maybe the rest of the week, maybe I can escape somewhere, just runaway for a bit. If I ignore it, it doesn’t exist, right?
God, sometimes I wish I was one of those people who can swear with abandon. There are words floating around up in my head that would love that sort of release. But I’m still me, and those words only see the light out of my mouth when I’m too tired to filter, have hurt myself too badly to filter, or have slipped a few feet down the cliff-face over that precipice and I no longer care about stupid filters. I haven’t reached that point yet. I am trying, quite desperately, to dig my heels in here and crawl backwards if I can. It’s exhausting.
My couch beckons, the blanket on top of that couch calls to be pulled over my shoulders and tucked under my chin until the world rights itself. But I am all too aware that things do not become righted without some effort on my part. Why does adulting have to be so hard sometimes? The harder it presses on me, the more I worry that the decisions I’m making are irresponsible, and yet I really really want to go with those decisions. They call to my inner child, the part of me that knows laughter, and joy at all the little things, and relief in breathing mountain air, and comfort in sore muscles from a full day playing in the forest, or the river, or the snow, or the sun.
And then, well it’s not all about me, there’s the man-child to think about too, and then when those decisions are things I know will make his not so inner child come out and play and laugh and smile, those decisions really seem like a good idea. I have reined in the impulsive lady-child a tad but only just, only slightly in the last week, and she’s rebelling something fierce. I can only hold out so long. The reins are likely to have broken by the weekend, probably tomorrow, next Monday at the latest, but there is a lot of alone time over the weekend to contend with.
And my work isn’t getting done. I don’t mean I’m not going to work, I go. I don’t even mean I waste a whole day while I’m there but my levels of work are far from satisfactory and well down on the usual. On top of that, I keep forgetting things, not hard things, things I’ve written down so I don’t forget them, and I forget anyway, and it’s going to get me in real trouble soon.
I feel like maybe a re-grounding is in order. A recent trip to the home of my soul taught me that it’s important to make time for taking the long way home and stopping at all the places the make you smile on the way. For jumping into freezing cold rivers, walking barefoot in the forest, jumping rocks to reach a waterfall and revelling in the incredible sights that make up our world. It’s time to go and stand on new mountains, put my feet into new streams, and walk new trails to meet new wildlife. Time for our next trip.
Oh look, she didn’t even wait till the end of the day to break those reins. God I hope this isn’t a bad decision.
“The earth has music for those who listen.”
― George Santayana