Last night I sank back into a pretty serious bout of depression…the first one I’ve had since we moved into the house. I wish there were something I could blame for it. It would be nice to say “it’s because of THIS or “it’s because of THAT”. Even though there may be “triggers” that set it off, it’s not because of any of those, either. It just comes when it wants to and goes when it’s decides it’s time to go. Almost like it has a mind of it’s own.

It has manifested itself this go ‘round by an overall irritableness, an excess of thoughts vying for attention in my mind and the sneaking suspicion that I have no idea what “love” is. Total foolishness and cheap armchair nihilism. I know better. But like I said, this demon of depression has a mind of it’s own and it uses thoughts to convince me of things I know are not true. It makes me FEEL they aren’t true, though I know full well they are.

I doubt that makes much sense…It’s kind of hard to describe, and actually it seems to have let up some today. I decided last night that if the thoughts started flowing hard and heavy today that I would just get a book and lose myself in it. It would seem obvious that reading would be an effective cure for uncontrollable thoughts, but when I get depressed I don’t want to do ANYTHING. That’s something practically everyone knows about depression, that you lose interest in or cannot find pleasure in things that have always interested or entertained you. I know that a good book is a good temporary fix, but I have to MAKE myself pick one up and read it. Usually I can get into it after that point.

Unfortunately the same cannot be said for what has always been my greatest passion: music. I feel like I’m completely burned out on music. I’ll turn on the XM and try to find something interesting to me. Of all the music channels on XM you’d think I would find something to amuse or stimulate myself with…but no. All the joy that might be found in it gets swallowed up by depression.

I hesitate to write things like this, because I know that it won’t last for too long. I say I know, but that’s at a very deep level, like an anchor deep within my spirit that keeps me from abandoning all hope. On a more surface level, though, I fear that the bout I’m dealing with at the time is the one that’s going to haunt me till my dying day.

Moreover, it seems as if the depression is the price that must be paid to keep from becoming manic again. Mania is to be avoided at all costs, I’ll concede that point. I believe that my medication does a good job in regulating that, in keeping me from swinging up towards that state. But I don’t think my drugs do anything about the downward spiral. I don’t think it is wise, at this point, to attempt to add an anti-depressant into my potpourri of medication. If for no other reason than that I don’t want to mess up a good thing, ie the stuff I’m on now. So, as I say, I have to deal with this mess. I have my ways of temporarily staving the worst of it off. They are only temporary, though. Still…

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