i started getting depressed in the summer time. and now it’s a month into autumn. since then i’ve been learning the real meaning of depression.
i read in a nonviolent communication book that depression is about unmet needs. i think that’s definitely the case, but that puts it mildly. to identify it as an object is kind of absurd. it’s an experience unlike any i’ve ever encountered. it feels like my body is beyond me. it feels like a gravitational void. like i am experiencing me but am incapable of thinking and running my way out of it. it is difficult for me to feel excited for anything. every failure is coming back strong. every harm feels palpable. overly sensitive to all forms of stimulus and yet the world feels dull. my intellectual curiosity is gone; my sex drive null.
everything that excited me feels flat.
i don’t sleep very well any more, even if i don’t have caffeine at night, or alcohol or do have those things, or herbal tea – mugwort and chamomile being an ideal combination. i don’t get a good night’s sleep any more; somehow i keep waking up at 3:30 am no matter what.
people keep telling me i’m going to make it through, that i will push through stronger than ever. but no end feels in sight. my plant allies – i don’t think they have abandoned me, but somehow i have abandoned them.
it’s a privilege to be in this crisis and not have heavy work demands although i do feel kind of sad thinking of things i would like to do but not have the energy to do them. i have to accept really minimal accomplishments in a day. one positive is i have been rediscovering things to keep me busy; things i used to do before i became a farmer and ran the seed company. i am making a sweater. i am learning to draw.
what is sad is that i have a support network and i feel like they are the most understanding people of me and yet somehow they feel second best to what i need or want. i used to think broken hearts were always whole, no matter what. for the first time in my life i believe they can be broken.
all the wounds are raw and open. for a moment i was trusting again. after years of blocking the well of deep feelings with cynicism i was opening up, becoming receptive and trusting.
i’ve been trying to figure out what’s more painful; deluding one’s self into believing that love existed in a relationship, or admitting that there was love but it failed and dealing with the feeling or remorse or less without any real sense of closure other than the one i make up for myself.
like my body, my living place feels alien. both home and not home. home, because this is where i live, and i have nowhere else that is calling me. i literally do not know what to do or where to go. not home, because i know this is not my ultimate destination. it never felt like this really, but i just got stuck. i spent so much time wanting to go somewhere else and now nothing is calling to me. but my body is telling me to leave.
i’m giving away my share of the farm to shawn and selling my share of the seed company to justin. they are committed people who are here; i’m not able to commit any longer.