So, I'm depressed. Semi-officially since a therapist said the word...to me...about me. I'm not surprised. I've been taking steps to help myself because I know things are not well in my head. Yet I'm having all kinds of wonky feelings come up around this.
There's relief of course. Relief that someone else gave it a name, that Roi was present to hear it even if he still thinks the cause has little to do with him, or my present circumstances which mostly involve him.
There's an acceptance of it that wasn't there before. A removal of all the walls between me and 'the big sad'. Now I'm just here, in it. It is at once all-encompassing and suddenly less oppressive than it was before.
There is grief over how much has atrophied, how much time has been wasted, how much life I've lost to this.
There is possibility. A bigger assurance that I will emerge back into the light of life, again experience all of the textures of it all.
There is a release from the anger, which I see I was hanging onto in order to function at all. Anger was the last switch I could turn on to get my body to act.
There is the nothingness of 'the big sad'.
There is the wanting to sleep all the time.
There is the putting one foot in front of the other, going through certain motions in order to stay alive.
There is the void. The sensation of floating inside oneself in an impossibly large space with no boundaries, no light, no sound. The purgatory between death and life. The womb from which I may be reborn.