I’ve been trying my best to not focus on getting better, or ‘recovery’ as it’s being called. That may sound strange to most, if not all. I mean if you were trying to walk again, why wouldn’t you visualize a lakeside stroll? An evening jog? It seems like it would be a good idea, and hell maybe it is.
However, I’m at the stage where I’m kind of chopping my days up into sections. Getting my feet on the floor in the morning. Getting to work on time. Make it to coffee break, and so on. That’s all I can manage right now. I feel like if I lift my head to see my destination only to find the shimmering, endless blacktop, it could push deeper than ever. Best to plod forward one step at a time.
Besides, isn’t that part of finding true contentment? Isn’t it about learning to enjoy the journey, rather than pine for the journeys end? Mindfulness and all that? Tough go being that present really. I need to see some signs for encouragement. Even “Regular Bowel Movements – Next 35 Kilometers” would be a sight for sore eyes.
When I do think of recovery however, I get rattled a little bit. (Of course I do! Why would I just accept looking at a situation with optimism, even neutrality? That would be crazy!) Sure I want to get better and all, but my scumbag brain starts the old question wheel a-spinnin'”
“You have been depressed for nearly half your life. Hell you became an adult while depressed. What will you be like if you’re not depressed? Depression is your normal. What would you even be like with out the morbid comfort of abject misery? What would you talk about to people? Saving plans? Vacation destinations? What would you even think about???”
That is just a taste of what that bastard likes to get up to.
I do look at people I’ve known that have gone though life transforming alterations. I have a cousin that was like my brother, lived with us while he went to school. He became wildly successful after opening his own business and that led to booze, cars, women, gambling, and cocaine. He got pretty bad. Luckily he got the help he so badly needed and he seems to be close to finding his center again. However, he pretty much steers way the hell away from everyone. I mean there is some hard feelings floating around for what ever reasons, and my family certainly likes to tip a glass, so it’s understandable he avoids possible triggers. Though hell, while I’m happy he’s not dead or in jail, it’s sad to see him kind of gone all the same. I love my family. I don’t want to live like that.
My wife had a cousin in a similar situation but Jesus got him out of his jam and now it’s hard to get him off the topic of our Lord and Savior. He mainly just shows up once in a blue and turns around my picture of Keith Moon. My wife was once very close to him. Now the common ground they shared has eroded.
All the same, I can’t live like this much longer. I have to get this goddamn weight off my chest. The black from under my eyes. My chin picked up. My fucking frown turned upside down. I doubt in the case of clinical depression, that the cure is worse than the disease. I can’t picture anything worse than this.
Most of this has been the disease talking anyway. If I’m worried about having to withdraw from my family once better, I better give my head a shake and see that depression has been doing that to me already. Man, depression is one crafty son of a bitch.
I’m going to put my head back down. I’ll reassemble me once I get there. All the parts will be there, waiting. I just have to focus on finding my way.
the forest for the trees 