In Search Of A Quiet Mind.
The absurdity of depression.
Little has been said or documented about the fact that depression is ridiculous.
Just when I thought I was emerging from one dark place; clouds parting and vitality starting to make itself known, I unpredictably slip quietly back into the black hole. Like a mole emerging from under his hill, only to find himself tethered at the neck, to some vexatious anchor deep within the muddy earth.
Changing the channel on the TV makes me want to cry. The futility and senselessness of it. Emails pile up, the letter box overflows, the soil in the plant pots dry miserably. I feel that human contact is terrifying whilst knowing at the same time that there is nothing terrifying about human contact. Moving from the sofa to the shower to tend to my body feels insurmountable. I brood over the simplicity of cleaning a cup, a plate — the effortless action of something so uncomplicated and mundane. Yet clearing the sink seems mammoth and nugatory. The dread of rinsing a cup occasioning 40 minutes worth of rumination, guilt and self-hatred, is a psychic impediment beyond the comprehension of my rational mind.
If it wasn’t so dire, I would laugh at the absurdity of it all.
What used to give life shape, contour and colour has fallen away into some unknown void. My love for…
