Here we are again. Just a little reminder that depression is still hanging around, waiting for an opportunity to pull us down. It’s harder when Spike and I are both fighting it. Neither of us has any positive energy.
Thankfully we still coo over each other and snuggle and issue kisses, but that’s all we can offer when we’re like this. And it’s enough. I know he loves me. He knows I’m here. We don’t know what we want or what sounds good or what to do, but we love each other. We sleep, we work, we study, we attempt to maintain a healthy diet and keep the house from falling apart… But this weight is always here, pushing both of us into the mud. No matter if good things happen or problems are resolved, it’s always there – like a force.
Sleep brings rest from the fight. I should take more naps.
What does it look like to love and show compassion in the midst of pain? How does anyone keep giving when they find themselves in a despicable situation? How do you combat the instinct to withdraw and shield your heart from further damage?
If I were keeping to my new, rigorous schedule, I would be sleeping already. Rebel that I am, I’m typing away on my phone in bed instead. Like a teenager getting away with breaking the rules… My own self-imposed rules.
“Sit in the chair,” Joshua Fields Millburn admonished in a recent podcast by The Minimalists. Stop putting off your writing and just sit down. The more ritual you build around the act of writing, the less likely you are to ever do it.
Something has happened. I’m hesitant to write about it, because I’m still fighting the fear that it won’t last. But since this happening is centered around encouraging my best life possible, I’m going to hazard to write about it anyway!
I’m still madly in love with my planning journal. The problem I’m having during the days of depression is that I feel a constant stream of shame over how fitfully unproductive I am. I look back on all those beautiful pages of ass-kicking and I can’t help but feel like a loser. Self-competition is the easiest form of competition to justify, and the hardest to stop. “I should be able to do everything I did yesterday and more, because I improve every day!”
If you’ve ever wondered what depression feels like, or if you need someone to relate to…
The words aren’t coming. I know I want to write, but I feel dry. I’m far from bored. I’m not tired. I’m just stuck. Typing with my eyes closed helps. Like feeling the words instead of picturing them. It probably helps to not be able to read and re-read and edit and second-guess everything you think of, especially on a first draft. That’s what they always say, but how can you possibly do that if you can see all the words you write? It’s natural to want to revise and refine your own thoughts. But it does get in the way of the goal; which is to communicate.
This post is literally a month in the making, so please bear with the random turns it takes…
My dad paid good money awhile back for a series of audio recordings and a workbook to help someone setup a blog. The problem with his plan was that he never listened to the recordings or went through the workbook.
At the end of my four-day Thanksgiving vacation, mentally well-armed with having washed, dried, folded, and put away every article of dirty clothing in the house, I cracked the workbook.
A friend of mine invited me to a paint night tonight, so I got to continue my experimentation with colors. I’d say it turned out pretty good for never having used acrylic paints; or painting anything on a blank canvas other than a wall… Ever. It was good to be with my friends, and the instructor was very positive. I think the whole night might have been worth her few complimentary comments. It made me realize just how starved I am for words of affirmation. It’s never been a particular love language of mine, but we all speak all the languages of love in varying degrees. It felt like no one had paid me a compliment in months. I’m sure that’s not true, but the sadness and relief of hearing just her few nice comments made my whole day.