Archive for March, 2014


Sunday, March 30th, 2014

I started typing a new story, sort of a therapy-story. That is, the story is weird and pointless, and I’m just playing with ideas and trying to give myself a break, using the act of writing as an act of therapy. It isn’t easy. I don’t give breaks. A part of my brain likes to watch myself fail, and even though that part has begrudgingly agreed to step back, it’s still there. Anyway, the story was therapeutic for a couple thousand words, and now it’s tedious and boring.

The winter is shifting away, finally. But it did manage to kill off quite a few things this time around.

A big theme this winter has been Depression. I’ve experienced a number of cycles in which depression has shifted to Depression. Right now, this exact moment, I am focusing on how to recognize the tipping point of a cycle. It seems that it should be the apex of that first roller coaster hill, the slow crawl over the top before dipping into hellish centrifugal extremes. It plays out differently than that, though. It’s a sort of muck swamp, a bog of eternal stench, and I don’t recognize it until I’ve stepped into it.

This is a case of not living in the exact moment. I am estimating the moment, but always from a perspective that is just past that moment. So it is always backwards reflection. Ah, yes, stepped in a bog, there. There’s no moment of “hey, there’s a bog right where I’m about to put my foot.” No, it’s retrospective at best, and at its worst it is so far removed from the moment and cause that I have no idea why I’m so Depressed, or no perspective that there is anything other than the bog.

So life has become an endless, relentless exercise in mindfulness. Awareness of the moment. Approaching the moment like a limit approaching zero. We are temporal creatures, of course. I don’t think we are capable of any cognition that isn’t retrospective. But that might just be something I would say from this bog world.

Anyway, awareness and retrospect aside, the tandem approach features engagements of interrupts. Step into the bog, but stop yourself before carrying forward with another step.

I’m trying to do that right now. This moment. I have a foot in the muck, another foot hovering. I don’t know if this is a true interrupt. I mean, if I relax, I’ll just bring that other foot down and that does it. This is frustrating. Pointless, actually. Is this how people leverage music to coax away the sadness, legitimize it and contain it? Just an interrupt.

There are times when I’m able to write little stories in this blog, stories that spiral out a bit to include bigger things, larger messages. Today, though, the message isn’t there. Hovering. Paralysis. Fear of putting the foot down, fear of looking away from the bog. This is Depression, in slow motion, that moment of tipping, ticking forward, or caught in between half-ticks.

An interruption, endless. No breaks.