The last two weeks of vacation have passed....without much fanfare. I have struggled to get through each day in a positive spirit and feel useful and upbeat. I wonder why it is such a struggle for me and appears so natural and second nature to some. I've tried to practice being slightly more open and casual about things in conversations. As we waited for other students to show up to class one afternoon, my kickboxing instructor asked how the break was going. I attempted a casual but honest response, "I usually freak out the first few days but I think I'm mostly over it now....." She replied with an interested, "Really? What do you mean exactly...?" And so I told her I usually get a bit depressed....it's definitely something I've heard before in the confines of our exercise room. One someone had mentioned she gets depressed if she doesn't work out and I immediately and exactly knew what she was talking about. Or at least, I thought did. Hearing her and knowing me. But as I shared my thoughts that day, sitting on the dusty rubber floor of the PE room, I wondered. I sounded casual enough, just a bit of sharing but not over sharing- no need to make the situation uncomfortable.
But my depression isn't really like that. It's not casual and flippant. It's not something that comes around for a few days and then goes off, like a cancelled tv series. Its all consuming and debilitating. I literally can't get out of bed. Add new mama hormones to the mix and I am in tears and unable to get out of bed. For reasons that are unknowable. Reasons that didn't seem to really exist the day before. Reasons I used to be able to talk myself out of but not on this day, and maybe not the next. They are days filled with second guessing, doubting, and loneliness. They are long and inconsolable days.
It took me many years to realize everyone doesn't have days like these (or weeks or years.) And after that thought, I spent months wondering what it would be like to never be plagued with these days. Ever. Imagine a whole life lived in the sunshine, knowing what you see and feel around you is the real reality and never entering the dank and musty cave of self doubt and loathing. I cannot imagine.
Writing is unreachable at this time. I used to spend lots of energy pouring my thoughts into pages and pages of emotional outburst. I rarely do it now. Painting, sculpting, and drawing are often one way out- a path I can usually step on that will eventually lead me back into the sunshine of normality. But not words. And definitely not upbeat, observant, happy words. Getting to the blog is hard.
This is not a blog about battling the dragon of depression- though it could be. Certainly there are many who are also caught in the same battles or have loved ones resting on the brink. Surely it would be worthwhile to share in the most illustrating prose what it's really like living with a mind that is so intent on tricking itself.
But I am not here for that. "It's not my thing." And what I have found out most during this small vacation is that I don't really have a thing. I resist things. I could have a blog about turning 40. Or what it's like to be expecting in Congo (complete with my second greatest love- more doctor stories!) I could write about living with teenagers (a parenting blog) or have an educator's blog or an artist's blog. There are relationships- intercultural, interracial, multilingual, a vast array of social and economic boundaries being crossed and double crossed. For every aspect of me, there is the potential to specialize in a blog exploring all about it. While I enjoy reading about each of those things, none of them are specifically "my thing." I'm not a niche person and I guess I never really have been- though I often think I aspire to be.
I have always dreamed of being a master of something....or maybe I dreamed of knowing a little bit of everything and nothing completely. The Renaissance factor. I think, really, I wanted to know something so completely and fully my confidence could never waiver. Except I can't seem to pick the thing I want to know. It's always changing- or it's equally diverse in interest and intensity- both paths leading me to be more of a Renaissance than a connoisseur.
As I set off to embark on "my own thing" I realize I am going to need a lot of sturdy goals in place- something else that began to taunt me these two weeks of freedom. If depression grabs so easily here in the middle of security and tranquility- what is it going to do to me in the middle of the unknowns?
I need to have a firm vision and a plan for getting there (which I mostly do.) But the bigger items to pack in the suitcase are determination and resolve. Giving up is simply not a choice. I realize this whole thing would be so much easier if I could just settle on a niche- call it my own, embrace it and throw every ounce of energy into birthing a project of my design. Completely. But I remain pulled in a few different directions.
all the while maintaining what I believe is a firm foundation. A niche would be better.
