I woke up this morning in the same mental space as yesterday.
I drifted in between tasks, trusting in routine to get me to work. Zoning out and kind of dissociating, I caught my bus, transferred to the train and stood there, hazily noticing my forlorn reflection in the train’s window. I was lost, just totally gone. Not there in the slightest. Then I felt something. I didn’t hear it, but an unfamiliar sensation slipped out. I farted. It smelled noxious. Just a rough and tumble dropped guts. Brutal. My features stayed neutral, but something stirred beneath. I felt my skin, came into contact with my body. I noticed a couple of people looking around, narrowing their eyes. I stayed silent. I also stayed present, in the moment in all facets. The all-encompassing dread that’d inhabited my total being couldn’t hold court against that kind of injunction. I was myself.
Then the moment passed and I felt myself drift back into the aether.
I’ve been on and off today, as I expected. For the most part though, I’ve been better than I’d hoped. It helped running into a friend in the kitchen at work today, pushing away the gloom for long enough to get a tenacious hold on things. I’ve had distractions, which have all done their part. I dunno, dumb shit like wondering whether it’s an insult or not to say that a dead DJ was “spinning in their grave”. Sometimes that’s enough.
I was thinking about a good way to make this all understandable, what it feels like when I’m in a rough patch and trying not to constantly dissociate. Have you ever tried to fix your posture? You’ll force yourself to sit up straight, then five seconds later you notice you’re slumping again. So you’ll force yourself to straighten again, then slump. The cycle repeats ad infinitum. When I’m depressed to the point where my grasp on reality suffers, it’s because it’s hard to retain that grasp. I’ll notice that I’m in a regressive, negative thought spiral and try to push back towards positivity. It may help for a matter of seconds, then I notice I’m right back in the mire of negativity. I try again to think of nice things and maybe I do, which helps briefly. So I keep trying, and it keeps getting harder to get back there. So most of the time I stop trying and just give up. Occasionally it helps, and my mental posture is effortlessly solid. Or something dumb will knock me out of it (like the aforementioned fart) and I’ll wonder why I was so densely sad. So often though, it doesn’t and that’s okay. Much as it sucks to feel that way, I never tell myself that I’m wrong for it. I’ve at least gotten rid of personal stigma against depression and I think that’s far healthier than judging myself for it. It’s just a part of me and accepting that is pretty damn important, oddly enough, for my own mental health.
I guess that’s about what I was trying to say. I’ve got no real intention of turning this into a dedicated depression blog, but at the same time my goal here is to never be anything but honest. Depression may be a part of me, but dishonesty isn’t.
If you’ve read this for any length of time, however, you’ll know that toilet humour most definitely is.