I’m beginning to realize that I’m depressed.
I’m not an idiot, I already knew that. There are different kinds of depression. I knew that I had a few things bothering me – a dead end relationship, a career that offers only questionable fulfillment, and a tornado of trouble within my social group. I should have seen the signs. I’ve been sleeping longer and later, and getting nothing done.
I always engage in reckless romantic entanglements right before depression hits. So I guess that explains these random double dudes who I now have to explain myself to. What do I even say?
I’m an adult, and moreover I’ve been on this rollercoaster before. I should have known better than to get on, and right now I should know enough to get off. I owe some people apologies that I know they will not expect or accept <=== this domain, which I picked at random because it was a word (and eulo.gy was taken) begins to make sense.
As for the depression itself, I guess it’s time to go back to work. I’ve long prescribed myself the adage of “Fake it till you make it” and for the most part, it’s worked just as well as it looks like. Since I’m a complete fake at work, hiding from myself for half of my life has actually turned out to be extremely lucrative (I really should take advantage of this high point – I know enough to know it won’t last forever). I keep going for a while, usually a year give or take, then crash hard as soon as something in my real life happens and pierces through the facade.
I’ve seen a lot of bodies running around without minds, but never a mind running around without a body.Me
In this case, I know exactly what caused the crash. I am, after all, on medical leave. And recovering from anesthesia, which as I talk to more people about it, is not joke. As cavalier as the medical community is about it, physiologically it is a near death experience, and thus traumatic. However, just like runner’s high, subspace and all those other available analogies, on the other side of this pain is a tremendous clarity and relief and an empty vacuum of mental space that brings all those big questions rushing in.
And unfortunately, no answers, other than the big one – Every single experience that one person can have is, in essence, individual and thus unable to be explained to anyone else. We are each alone in the universe surrounded by people who look close enough to us that they might understand, but as a result of even the space between you as you turn to talk to someone, never will.
This kind of explains, along with some people’s addiction to plastic surgery, why I started grabbing at random people as I started sliding downhill, as I always do. Looking at these people in that light, I see them all differently. It’s interesting to me, but I’m not sure how much I should go into it since this space is supposed to be about me, not them.
And suddenly I find myself with nothing else to say, and I guess *that* says everything.
I think I’m ready for someone to buy this domain from me.