I’m in limbo at the moment. It’s a Friday and time has been hanging suspended “somewhere in mid-afternoon” for about fourteen hours now. I have both nothing to do and too much to be done. I have news that I’ve heard, but I’m still waiting to hear. Time is moving slowly, but I’m fasting.

It’s one of those days.

Consequently, this post is likely to ramble. All the things I have on my mind feel like they have such a tenuous link to reality that I don’t dare speak about them too soon lest I jinx myself. Life feels just unpredictable enough these days: I don’t need to go around courting bad luck. My mood has been *reasonably* stable: I continue to struggle with hypersensitivity and circling thoughts, but I’ve noticed that I have slightly more control over redirecting them. It’s a small step, but it feels like progress. I feel hopeful for the first time in a long time.

The frustrating thing about thought-management is how incremental it is. Back at the beginning, it felt like I descended into this struggle with depression and questions of self-worth very quickly: I can point to specific triggers and specific days when the feelings came on with the force of an onrushing locomotive. Having “snapped into” these feelings it feels like it should just be a matter of “snapping out” of them again. A part of me wants to think of depression like a bad habit: something that just requires willpower and redirection in order to “break” the cycle of it. But they don’t call it a cycle for nothing: the more I try not to think upsetting thoughts the more I catch myself thinking about them, and getting upset because I’m thinking about thinking about them, et cetera ad infinitum.

I keep hoping for something that can break this curse. A change, maybe: either in circumstances or attitude. A new program to run in my brain or a new system to operate it on. Until I manage to find one or the other I’m waiting in a holding pattern.

~ by Gwydhar Gebien on September 6, 2019.

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