Through the Mire
Do you know what it feels like to hate yourself, hate your life, hate simply living for no good reason at all? Do you know what it feels like to wake up in the morning and wish you hadn't? Do you know the guilt from feeling this way when you have a beautiful life, children, and husband? Do you find yourself looking for reasons to feel the way you do, not finding them and being swallowed up by the dark cloud? If you know these feelings, you know what it is to live in my world right now.
Right now, it is hard for me to just live, much less get the things done that need done. I slog forth anyway, knowing I have no choice, knowing I'll regret not doing those things, knowing giving in to the despair will only make it worse. But I slip. A lot. Everyone runs out of underwear before I drag myself downstairs to wash them. The dishwasher fills to capacity, dishes overflowing on every flat surface in the kitchen before I think to run the machine. The clutter in the house is piling up. I work every day, but I find myself running in slow motion, forgetting, and often overcome with exhaustion.
Every fall, I feel this creeping fog. It begins in October, but I usually don't recognize it until I miss a couple deadlines or hurt someone's feelings for neglecting them. I withdraw, ready to burrow away from everything and everyone until the days grow long again and the trees sprout green. I feel at my worst in every way.
My body sabotages me. All the progress I make, all the confidence I build amounts to little when something inside me wants to hibernate. Perhaps I'm not evolved as other humans who go through the darker days of the year without so much as a bump. My road grows rocky and rutted as the year draws to an end, until there is no road left to follow. That is when travel is the hardest, which just so happens to fall at the most demanding time of year, but I keep moving. Just keep moving.
There are bursts of normalcy, like flares in the middle of the night. I met Liz on Saturday, feeling perfectly happy and fun. We shared stories and laughs as the hours slipped away unnoticed, and I felt good for finding a friend in this city that's still new to me. Then Sunday came, and a family gathering, but even the human contact there couldn't keep me from wanting to crawl back into my hole of sadness. I grew sleepy and impatient, far from the joyful person from the day before. I struggle from flash to flash, hoping the next one won't take too long to get here. I'm still waiting now.
I have been told to "snap out of it," like I have a conscious choice in how I feel. In the feelings, I have no real choice. People think that I do, and I wake up every day telling myself that this day I will be happy or just ok or simply competent, and every day I just feel the way I do, no matter what I tell myself. My choice isn't in the feeling; it's in the doing. Somehow I manage to maintain a bare standard of living, even though my emotions are beating at me, tearing at my will, telling me I'll never make it. I go on despite the fact that my head hangs low and my heart drags. I just keep moving. Just keep moving.
It's most frustrating to me that there is no way to explain how I feel. I don't have a life crisis. In fact, everything seems to be solidifying for me more than it has in a long time. If I were ever to be happy, now would be the time, for the momentum is strong. But there are things that aren't going well, and my mind focuses on those like a compass needle pointing north. I can shake it, spin it, will it to go another way, but it always settles north where the darkness now lives 24 hours a day. I have to accept it, cope and wait until the light comes back to the Arctic, bringing life again, including my own.
I do what I can to fight this programmed hopelessness. I don't sit idly and let it swallow me whole. I have the light that mimics the sun to keep me from stumbling so much. I have a good family. I write and write, using the words to stave off the depression or to empty myself of it. Sometimes I give in, and I sleep and wallow in the muck. But I always get up again and move on, because that's what seems to work best. Just keep moving.
NaNoWriMo Update
WORD COUNT: 6689
Today I got rid of:
More jeans and shorts that don't fit Hammy anymore
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One year ago - Some excuses
More proof I shouldn't drink... EVER
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One Year Ago Today:
