The fog that has
settled here in the PNW is eking into my mind. Not helped by long delays in
getting money settled and a knee injury from earnestly practicing yoga and
belly dancing. The cycles of these nonmoving events boggle. I feel a slipping
that I know so well and have to let go into, but the hypo-mania was far too
short and it did nothing for my disordered eating. I can usually count on mania
being a wonderful equalizer when it comes to all my binges. This time I’m left
wanting.
When I find myself here, I wonder each time, how am I going
to make it? But in the last three years I’ve been feeling the deep sting of
aloneness. There is simply no one for me to tether to and ache for it so. It
isn’t like I lack awareness of being alone when balanced for a second or the
longer standing mania, but obviously depression blatantly reminds.
Mystifyingly, I find me falling for domestication. I left
behind the consumer in me, the one that must have fucking Cost Plus snowflakes
because seemed styled just for me. I want to gobble them all up and put it in
the holiday bins for future usage. I want to cook turkey dinner, pumpkin bread,
and lots of soup. But again this is not the new Michelle; this is just the
filler that I’m filling me with because I’m empty.
Came to me like a shock that this is THE issue. Yes, there’s
a new Michelle but her identity is in flux, in the embryonic empty stage
leaving me vulnerable to the influence of doubt. Doubt begets all sorts of ill
begotten self-destructive doings, which I already hold expert level like
prowess. I don’t need outside pressures to catapult me down this well-known
path. The “fuck it” moment becomes so doable on this path, which unfortunately
“fuck it” begets “why bother?” I’ve
spoken already of the redundancy of suicidal ideology, but as I feared, the
stealthy storm of depression simply follows its path of ‘being’, and I simply
am the passenger waiting out the storm.
I wrote this yesterday and paused in its publication because
I knew I might regret this pouring out, of what amounts to…self-pity. Maybe it
is, maybe it isn’t, but I know that today I am tired of being mired. So I start
doing what I can do, what I do have control of despite the arrival of
limitations. Like for instance, I can
walk. Oh how it’s going to be a freezing affair, but I had to my chance to walk
in the sun, and chose self-pity instead. So this is what I get for not finding
a way before this, a bloated gut and a frozen atmosphere.
