Sometimes I feel like nothing matters. Like I just want to lie in bed. Like I want to be as minimally conscious as possible, if at all. My mind turns in on itself and I become a machine of apathetic contempt. I’m isolated. Alone.
I don’t know why I get that way. It happens. It doesn’t feel bad, exactly, so there’s no motivation to do anything to change it. Everything fades to grey and I don’t want anything except to continue doing exactly what I’m doing. Which is nothing.
I think depression is what happens when the mind is isolated. We sink into a pit of our own thoughts. We turn our brain on autopilot and let our body drive while our mind is busy swirling in a cesspool of self-loathing and vague anxiety. Our breath shallow, our eyes glaze.
We don’t want to die. But we don’t want to live, either.
Connection, I think, is the cure.
When you sit and contemplate your own mind some of that fog, that miasma of toxic thought, clears away. And you see something on the other side. Your mind connects to a sort of truth that is only visible in the absence of thought. Presence of mind reveals truth.
It can be as simple as sitting and laughing with a friend. That moment of joy lifts us up and connects us. We’re together, and we’re happy, if just for a moment. We aren’t anywhere else. We’re there, we’re laughing, and we’re together.
If depression is like sinking into a dark pool of your own thoughts, then connection is being lifted up into a cloud of truth. Thought, the illusion, is cast away by a light. We can see that light when we’re alone. But sometimes it’s hard.
Maybe that’s why I get depressed. It’s at times like this it’s hardest to reach out. At the times we need it most, we can’t ask for help. We don’t want help. We just want to sit here. We don’t want do be or do anything. Because nothing is always easier than something. Isn’t easy what we wanted anyway? Deep down we know that’s not true, but we can’t really feel anything. Not yet.
Maybe the truth comes out for awhile and we try to make a change. But the fog creeps in again, always, like an invisible predator stalking, waiting for its prey to stumble. It’s there in a flash. Time slows down. The world moves by but we’re here, standing still. Nothing matters any more.