Ah, Depression. I’ve suffered depressive spells throughout my life ranging from two days to two weeks. An event triggers the depression that metastasized into a flailing, bleak mood. I don’t try to kill myself or destroy things, but I do withdraw from people and life. Under particularly dark episodes, I lose my appetite, cease regular activities, and sleep lots.
I got depressed on Friday for the silliest of reasons: there is nothing to do. The weekly entertainment paper confirms the weekend’s nothingness. Usually manic for the weekend, I flip to the other side of catatonic.
I ball my sadness together with relationship anxieties. Although I might leave Greg (again) at some point, I decide that the time is this weekend. Anticipating more turmoil and ennui, I sink lower into depression.
Sadness hits harder when not working for lack of outside motivation and distractions. My mind circles furiously and I withdraw almost completely into bed.
Depression isn’t exactly sad, just bleak and sluggish. The moods are chemical, not emotional. I cope by staying busy and alone. I cook meals but don’t eat much. I paint eyes on pingpong balls. I program the computer. I run to the ocean.
Eventually with time and motion, the depression will lighten and lift. I still want to be alone, but life isn’t so bad. Although I worry about my relationship and career, I shove both anxieties ahead into the future.