I picked up the refill on my anti-depressants today and popped one even before I got home. It's not so much that it could actually make a difference as much as it was just the symbolism of it all. I needed to find The Happy and it was alluding me.
I hate it when I swing back down into depression. It's not so much that things are really worse, it's just that they seem that way. Things probably don't break or fall any more than they normally do, but my mind takes note of each thing that falls, of each thing that breaks.
The biggest problem with depression, or at least the way I get depressed, is that when I'm in this state of mind, I like the ability to think through how to fix the broken things. Or I'm too drained to fix them. Or I'm to tired from lack of sleeping because I'm depressed to fix them. Or all of the above.
When I'm not depressed, I make plans. I try to find solutions. I try to find ways to repair. And even though this all required more energy than just sitting here and being depressed, when I'm in a better mental state, it doesn't feel like it's more energy. But when I'm on the downside of things, even the simplest tasks feel daunting, often impossible.
When my mind is functioning, I can, after maybe a little bit of panic, handle whatever comes along. It's easy. I know I can do it. I know I can find ways through or around whatever the problem is.
However, when all that positive is gone, I'm left just hoping nothing happens.....that no flat tires come along....that no other types of car trouble happen.....that the plumbing works.....that my computer works....that everything works....that no one is in a bad mood....that no thing goes wrong.....that the plots on the tv shows aren't too stressful.....that no one is fighting.....that any billion other things don't happen......
Because when I'm depressed, I feel like I can't solve any of it......and when I'm really depressed, I start questioning why I even keep slogging along in a world that is causing me so much stress.
Ohhhh and that is when things get really bad.....when the ennui sets in.....when I begin to coldly and rationally wonder if continuing in this constant conflict is even worth my effort. I try to talk to myself about my goals and hopes for the future.....and the ennui sighs and points out how all of these goals, assuming they are even remotely attainable, will probably be empty and as devoid of meaning as everything else has been.
But.....does life even have to have meaning? Can't it just be about experiences.....even if those experiences are bad or mundane? Shouldn't even the mundane, routine, and even the sucky bits be just as valid to the totality of life as the good bits?
Or does that even matter? Does my enjoyment of my life (or lack there of) have any more context than the fact that I am host to bacteria and other organisms who live and thrive and then die with me as their home? Should my supposed sentience have any more meaning than the presumed sentience I would give to the house I live in?
I just popped my second anti-depressant into my mouth in hopes the depression will subside sooner rather than later. I miss the Pollyanna I know I can be. And I know she misses me, the perky little sunshine twat.
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