I think I’m depressed. At the start of the 3 day weekend I had that white tight anxiety in my chest. I visited a dear friend, and the time with her mellowed me out, eased the growing constriction. But here it is again. And with it is despair. The feeling that I am unloved and unwanted. Though I know that isn’t true. This weight makes it hard to breath. I did well watching 2 girls yesterday, they focused all their attention on each other. Surprisingly easy. Now that’s something I could have been scared of. But no, the opening of 3 days with no plans brought fear and dread. The emptiness of time to fill. That’s what used to depress a friend of mine, anytime she was alone. But I am not alone. And yet in an island of imbalance, out of sync with everyone else. No one else notices, so that’s good. Or is it. If no one knows, then no one can see my shame, and no one can help me. So what’s stopping me from trying to connect. If I feel disconnected and that’s causing misery, then the solution is to connect. Except that I’m all out of sorts. I feel wrong. I don’t want that seen. Judged. I want to hide. Wait this out. It has to go away eventually. I’m so tired. It always goes back to that. The dance of fatigue and anxiety, whirling twirling around together, nails digging into each other’s skin. And these tears. So many tears. What, why? What do I feel so sad?? No one has died. I have all that I need. But the well is over-flowing again, and my grief is pouring out everywhere. And yes, I am ashamed of it. Of how illogical it is. And of how self-absorbing it is, isolating me as I wallow.
Time to go back. Get things done. Be productive. Tuck this back in.