Monday, June 22, 2009
Recently I have been rising early, not because of health reasons per se. It is more because a boredom I feel the nights before makes me medicate early to sleep, and I wake early because the cats are most awake at dawn, moving around the room, or knocking on the door, or purring on our chests.
This morning I woke up again early. After feeding the cats, taking my meds, having my coffee and smokes, I just felt despondent. The prospect of having work to do today scares me. Recently the prospect of going anywhere out of home to do anything social scares me more than usual. I can go to Parkway to shop with J, but that is the most comfortable ordeal I can take.
In fact I feel anhedonic in general. I have lost interest in reading. It takes extreme flavours to give me an appetite to eat. I drink lots of juice. I try to make my home into a spa haven with aromatherapy oils. I try to allow myself to just feel and sense, and not think. But all I sense is weariness and despondency, and very little pleasure.
If I try to free-flow what I feel, the bunds that keep my sadness at bay overflow, and I feel reminiscent sadness, sadness that I have been a slave to for most of my life, sadness that has crippled me and paralysed me beyond this before, sadness that makes me, well, sad. But it seems that I have to give in in order not to give up.