My brain is still struggling to pull out of a depression. I am what is called a 'rapid cycler,' so this has been a long and especially deep depression, for me. In addition to what is going on chemically in my brain, I am failing to see a purpose to my life. I have no goals. I have no reasons. Folding that basket of towels is about as purposeful as it gets. Bleak, is a good word.
Even when I am reminded of what I used to do: paint, write, take pretty pictures, I recall that part of my life with dim interest. For all practical purposes, I was not "successful" at those endeavors. I made no money at it, certainly not enough to even pay for the materials. But more than that, I received mixed messages as to whether or not I was even any good at it...my painting, for example. Was my artwork effective? Did it bring anyone Joy or Healing? I doubt it. I dragged it to art shows and dragged it home again. It piled up in the basement until I gave it away to Goodwill last month. I had spent a lot of time and money on it.
But I am getting off track.
The gist of all this is that I am no longer compelled to go back to what I have tried in the past...even my writing. Even though I write here on my blog, very few people read it...and usually, no one comments. Does that matter? Apparently not, because here I am.
It is gloomy here in my head. I do what needs to be done. I take my pills, I drive my daughter to work, I do the dishes and laundry, I write the blog.
I glare out the window as if the landscape is supposed to present me with something. But it is cloudy...the ugly, glaring, white kind of cloudy that hurts your eyes and forces you to turn away.
And then I get a whiff...like a whiff of bread baking, or fireplace smoke, or the tea olive in Charleston where I grew up. I have a whiff of interest in what goes on...the little bird at the feeder, the cat's steady breathing, the blooming thrift at the end of the walk.
And then it is gone...as quickly as it came. However, I know, whether I want it to or not, my brain is shifting ever so slightly, like an old train's rusty wheels being nudged to move. I am not sure I am ready.