So I haven’t posted in a while. I’ve been a little busy. And by busy I mean depressed.
I’ve been writing tons. I have a dozen posts written during phases of inspiration and hope and love… but these phases have been punctuated with moments of hopelessness and absolute indifference about… everything. When it came to actually doing anything, like pushing the publish button, I couldn’t remember any reason to actually do it. All motivation and drive had evaporated, and I couldn’t even remember what it felt like to feel. I still can’t quite remember why anyone does anything at all. So I do nothing. Everything is meaningless anyway. Everything we do seems like just a way to kill time until we die.
I’m really delightful to be around right now.
This happens to me sometimes. Always has. But it hasn’t lasted this long in a while.
The funny, twisted thing about depression is, the way I feel it, there is an echo of delicious freedom in it. I really think there is a fine line between depression and awakening. The indifference is close to equanimity. Not caring about anything, not wanting or feeling anything, makes me not give a fuck. And that makes me feel free. And this detachment, this numbness, is almost pleasant.
I guess the difference is that with true freedom, there is an underlying feeling of love and peace and joy… instead of this heavy, dull feeling of emptiness, with perhaps a trace of sadness.
And when all the little tricks don’t work anymore to jolt me out of this state, all that’s left to do to make it a little softer and lighter, is the eternally helpful practice of Mindfulness: holding the feeling (or lack thereof), with open awareness, with acceptance and compassion… This is the way it is right now… reminding myself that this will pass, and carrying on…