So it turns out last Sunday was no mere emotional hiccup.
Sadly, i've spent the majority of the past weekend in a funk, at one minute on the verge of tears and at the next finding myself easily irritated by the smallest of things. I pity poor Mick - i would have been no fun to be around.
And, yet, i find i still cant talk about " it ", whatever it is. The " it " that is the anxious, bitter feeling of emptiness, of not feeling " good enough ", of being worried about the little things that are out of my control. The " it " that is determined to bring me undone, the subtle creep of depression.Lets face it - i know these feelings for what they are, and what they are are the precursors to a depressive episode. You dont come out the other side of depression without knowing what it feels like to slip under its murky darkness...
But i wont let myself this time. I know what triggered the feelings, and i know that situation is so much beyond my realm of control that its not even worth dwelling on. Yet i do - and all that worry, and jealousy, and sadness spreads into other thoughts until it blankets everything i think and feel. And so, because i know that, because i FEEL that ( while i'm still able to feel anything other emptiness ), i'm going to swim against that tide for all i'm worth.
And if that means i have to talk about " it " to Mick than thats what i'll do. If it means i have to cry and sob and shake and smear myself with snot in front of him, if means baring the weakest parts of me, if it means letting the usual happy/funny/strong facade slip a little - if thats what it takes to escape the darkness this time, than thats what i'll do. It may be all i can do...
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