The sun shines through my window and cascades onto the blanket, yet I don’t feel it in my heart.
I can see the crispness in the air – yet I don’t feel it in my soul.
Neither warmth nor cold can reach me today.
It may be a bit of depression? Maybe it is anxiety? I am sure this mood will leave me. I am not worried it will be a permanent state – more like an unwelcome visitor. At the same time – almost welcomed.
I am still.
My mind is almost empty.
Kevin asks, “How do you feel? What are you thinking?”
“I’m numb. I am thinking of nothing.”
It just doesn’t make sense. Is it chemical? Is it related to chemo-therapy? Am I nervous about the upcoming surgery? Maybe I’m nervous about potential repeats of surgery? Maybe it is the unknown? Now I’m thinking.
I remind myself of the rat in the cage I learned about in my neuropsychopharmacology classes so many years ago. This rat was doped up on cocaine. At first, the rat paced back and forth in its cage. As time moved along, the movements became more and more intense, faster and faster until the rat was moving so fast it was “frozen”. Can I be frozen too? Do I have so many thoughts to unwrap that they are frozen? Am I “pacing the cage”? Is this what Bruce Cockburn meant with his song (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4s2zN9j78LM)
I want to have my old energy back. I want to have my old zest for life back. I want to care. I don’t care right now. I do care – that I don’t care – so maybe that means I care. (I hope this thinking is chemo-related cuz it is pretty messed up)
I picked up a book a friend of mine gave me about miracles and poo-pooed every story in it. I feel so skeptical right now. Empty. I am angry that I can’t seem to rise above this mood. Yet – it interests me in the way it makes me feel. I almost enjoy the anger and bitterness of the mood. I see things through a different lens – and it is easier to be angry and skeptical. It is easier to poo-poo miracles than to believe in them. It is easy to ignore the love and support in favor of this overwhelming feeling of loneliness and exclusion.
Yet – as I write about it – I feel guilt. I feel myself slide even further. It is definitely that I am running an experiment with myself. I can feel myself digging deeper as I allow my anger and fear to grow. I know I don’t want to get too much further – what if I can’t get out. It draws me down. If I am left alone for too long – the walls may just become impenetrable. I feel it. I won’t let that happen.
Has anyone else ever felt this way? Is this what real depression feels like? Is it really controllable after-all? For me, it is the feeling that I know I can snap out of it – but I don’t want to – not yet – but soon. I like it and I hate it all at once. I like the quiet and I hate it. I like the Sun and I hate it. I like the cold – and I hate it too. I am in inner chaos. I hate it and I like it.
I know chaos is the springboard for strength. What does that strength look like? Is that what “miracles” are all about? Maybe that’s what I need right now is a little miracle. I sit here waiting for a miracle: ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cgdIjvBMwoA)
I envy the talent of Cockburn – his ability to express his thoughts so well – and the thoughts of others. His song, “Waiting for a Miracle” describes the plight of the Nicaraguan people. He explained, “The second trip to Nicaragua produced this song. Three years of low intensity conflict since my first visit – the revolution was getting tired, not over all, not hopeless, but tired.”
That’s me. Today, I’m tired – but not over. I’m not hopeless, but tired.