I’ve been wondering about this depression thing. I’m functioning, high functioning even, there is no option, but it comes at a price. My body, face, skin, mind, sleep patterns, food and drink choices, patience, tolerance, and concentration levels are just a few of the debtors.
For some of us, depression has a reason to apply its choke hold, perhaps a chemical one, perhaps trauma or lifestyle driven. For others, not so much reason as just a will to inhabit us. I’ve been thinking this week about the roots of mine to see if I might weaken the grip it still has on me, both now in this unexpected time, but also long term. And I wonder, if I am successful in sweeping it out, will I have a chance to close the long-term door just an inch more?
I know I need to revisit the roots and I don’t want to. It might be time to take some talking support again to pick off one or two corners of the scab. Picking at the scab each time is sore, it’s so much more preferable to plaster over it. But until I properly rip off all the scab and expose the underneath, I know I’m only going to be existing.
So I mull over the decision. No decision made but at least I’ve decided to consider it. It has been 9 years since my last counselling session.
I wonder who else amongst us plasters over the deep-down fissures…? Who has made peace with the way it is and finds a way around it (me) and who might in truth need to do some root canal treatment (also me).
Sorry to write a heavier blog today. Sediment stirring is rarely enjoyable but sometimes needed. Cuppa time. Kettle on. There will be biscuits.
The room above the garage
A Moodscope member.