Yesterday I was dumbstruck. My grief-stricken melancholy was replaced with, dare I say it, happiness. I was dancing in the kitchen. I had jobs to do and I ploughed my way through them, satisfying feelings of progress running through my veins. I got things done. The contrast to my prior ‘stay in bed all day and do nothing until it gets dark again’ state was noticeable. I supposed that my antidepressants had kicked in, three weeks after starting them, as they should have.
I had the distinct feeling that I had successfully medicated away my depression. If I’m honest I felt a bit uneasy about this. Because from dark places, comes inspiration. The inspiration for starting this blog, for painting, for doing things differently. For doing life differently. We’ve all seen how the tortured musician writes his best songs when his heart has been smashed to smithereens and he gets all his raw emotions out in the music. There is something to be said for wallowing and relishing in your depressed state. At the time, it is so incredibly painful, you want to get out of it, you want relief from it. But what if it goes? Is it wrong to miss it?
I seem to have stopped dreaming. Is it just because I happen to wake up at the wrong time in my sleep cycle? Hello, I’m here, waiting to listen, waiting to receive my dreams. Are you in there?
I needn’t have worried, because I was feeling on top of the world, I messaged the person who I’m not supposed to message. Married woman. Robot. How can she possibly not want to talk to me when I have sprigs of roses sprouting out my ass and I’m bounding about like a bunny rabbit with a cute fluffy tail. Of course she ignored me. Sometimes I forget.
So perhaps I am back to square one. I need to learn to feel happy FOR MYSELF, because at the moment my happiness seems hinged on the one person who wants nothing to do with me. But it is a habit, a love addiction, and I need to get out of it for my own sake.