NOTEBOOK: LOW EBB
I have posted here from time to time to let you know I’m dealing with some moderate-level depression.
And here I am again. The surprising thing about these occurrences is not that they keep happening–honestly, it’s to be expected–but that I am always so slow to realise that I’m experiencing it.
And particularly so nowadays when I maintain what I only slightly ironically refer to as my “Recovery KPIs”. Five tasks I try to do each day, each highly meaningful. The more I can do, the better I feel. They are a sort of wellness indicator. Writing is one of them. And for quite a while now I’ve been writing loads and loads of stuff. But in the past few days? A lot less.
I’ve noticed. I have been puzzled about it.
But today I saw my doctor, and was talking about a recent major family emergency that stirred up some very deep concerns that have building for a while. There are big things in the air. It’s horrible.
So I suddenly realised I was depressed, at least in part because of all this. Anyone would feel depressed faced with these issues. There are other factors as well, notably to do with the continuing tragedy unfolding in the news, the way it simply goes on and on, and the way social media magnifies and multiplies it.
I don’t know what to do about social media at the moment. It’s my social life. I don’t get out much. Facebook has been where I live for years now, but since the presidential election Facebook feels like it’s on fire, and especially so now.
Today, so far, I’ve managed 400 words on GOOD INTENTIONS. That was in my psychiatrist’s very stressful waiting room, and the wonderfully peaceful cafe we went to afterwards. 400 words isn’t much compared with some recent days I’ve enjoyed, but some days you would kill your own mother for a lot less than 400 words, so I’ll take it.