Four years have gone by since my last post.
And I ask myself how? Why? When?
In the short amount of posts I have made, I have expressed keeping a journal. Then somewhere, at some point, I stopped doing it.
My journal was my lifeline, my therapy, my creative outlet. All of my feelings, thoughts, ideas, ruminations, were kept in my books. I know myself well enough to say that, I have been in love with the idea that I have kept a journal (many people do not); in love with the process, and how a completed book just magically comes together with me being the center of it all; in love with (true productivity aside) my productivity. And I also know myself well enough to say, sometimes I just leave.
This makes me sad.
I realize that work can get in the way, and not allow for things, like writing in a journal. I realize being poor, and struggling, and giving up on it all, could make a person never want to write another word.
I think this is what happens. You know it is not the first time I have left myself. Or, it could have been the embarrassing fact that I created a Second Life. Perhaps I imagined it going better than my real life. Maybe I needed someone to talk to instead of talking to myself (or selves) in my books.
I also know it happens due to depression.
And then when I think I am at my lowest point, something wakes me. The simple analogy of sleeping and waking – it is like falling asleep for, in this case four years, and then becoming awakened. The universe lends a helping, cosmic hand, and shakes me until I wake the fuck up!
This recent awakening happened about a week ago.
I work an odd schedule. It is part 2nd shift, part 3rd shift, not completely overnight. Sometimes I have come home wanting to stay awake for several more hours just to live my Second Life. Other times, I just wanted sleep. And this pattern had become exhausting. There is nothing more depressing than work, sleep, repeat. Oh – do not forget to squeeze in another Life that was not going any better than the real one.
Back to my awakening. Instead of sleeping for the rest of my night, and well on into the morning, and afternoon, I decided to go to sleep rather early on this day. I was off from work. I have a girlfriend who lives in Greece, so my falling asleep at 8pm EST meant it was her 2am. And I slept for about nine or ten hours. I woke up that morning feeling strange – refreshed is not a word in my vocabulary. I had the clearest mind I have had in a very long time. And at that moment I made the decision to grab the journal my mother had purchased for me several months back but, it stayed on my nightstand collecting dust.
I could choose to say this awakening was a false one, because a week has passed and I have not written in this new journal. But there are several realizations that happened during the week:
- strong forces urged me to pick up my journal
- my mind was clear, not foggy like usual
- in the first pages, I explained partly what I am explaining here but, included a possible change of mindset (a word I did not quite underhand the meaning of or how it’s possible for me to be affected by mine changing)
- somehow making future plans (again, I normally plan nothing)
Within this week, maybe I was afraid, or lazy, or fell backwards again into my depressive self. And then I made yet another realization that maybe I feel bored instead of depressed, though being bored feeds my depression. Usually this becomes a viscous cycle, though I believe this is where the mindset is changing: My eyes stay open. My mind stays mostly clear and receptive (enough to receive all the things that have recently happened) – like mindfulness works for a reason. And today, for the better part of several hours I asked why I was bored, sad, depressed, and back to this old self.
The answer seems simple – because I am not writing.
Honestly, I sat in my chair out on my porch just trying to fathom my boredom. I even looked at Google for things I could be doing. None of the suggestions sparked any desires, not even writing. But why? I insisted to know.
Back to awakening, mindfulness, and mindset.
I stopped to look for the answer within myself instead of looking at an outside source. I almost lost again. Almost left myself again. Almost gave in again. Almost gave up on myself again. Almost crawled right back into my dark, cold cave, again. But instead, I chose to do something. I chose to write, as therapy, a self-talk (a positive one, not a negative one), an attempt at keeping my sadness at bay, and writing something inspiring – this blog post.
therottingtree 