Unfurled

I took a writing class a few years ago. One of our assigned exercises was to write spontaneously for five minutes in hopes that something about the physical act of writing might reconnect neuronal connections and unblock pent-up writers. This is essentially what I’ve been doing for the last five days. Lots of gibberish. I use this as a metric for my state of mind. Later I hope to be able to trace my psychic undulations over time. Periods of silence = shitty situation; shit posts about me = slow, painful recovery; banal posts about my friends and world-view = cured!  Since I hate feeling like shit, I’ll take it as a good sign that I’m sustaining this logorrhea.   Sort of the mental equivalent of having a deeply seated tooth extracted by a novice dentist.

I did read a NYT article today. In fact, I’ve read several which is way more than I’ve done in the last few months.  On an aside re: depression: I’ve noticed that as my mood worsens, I’m less interested in the world outside of me (or myself, I suppose).  But as I lose contact with the world,  my mood worsens even more. And the downward spiral begins.

I’ve never considered myself a depressed person. In fact, the only time I recall being depressed was in the first week of my freshman year in college. I remember having no appetite and never getting out of bed. This lasted only that week, but it wasn’t until I got to the depression chapter in my Psych 101 class in sophomore year that I realized that I was depressed. Up until then, I’d always thought it was because my bed was so comfortable.

Mood meter:

Blog posts today: 1

News articles read: 5

Real news articles I read: 1

I went for my usual Winnsday wharfing run- I’d describe it, but I have no idea what the names of the streets are. Maybe Atlantic Ave, turn right on some street, then down the waterfront where WG and I run up and down all the wharfs. Yippee!

Sometimes it feels like there’s a rubber wall in front of you. You push and push and all it does is bend around you. You think you’re moving forward, but all that you’re doing is running in place.

I went to the fish market on Saturday. I thought I might learn about the different fish from the fishmongers. They were not as interested in teaching me. I asked one unfriendly woman to name a few of the fish for me– sea bass trout snapper– what are these others?– what,  you want me to name all the fish here?– well, actually, yes.

How to select fresh fish assuming you find a reputable and more helpful fishmonger:

1. Smell the fish. The fish should have no smell or the smell of the sea. It should definitely NOT have a fishy odor.

2. Look for clear eyes. If there are any.

I’ve been wanting to come here for some time now. For some reason, I couldn’t get myself to revisit this place. I think I feared that I’d actually have to reflect; more importantly, that I wouldn’t like what I see.  It occurs to me that writing serves as a bit of a reality check for me. It forces me to be concrete– something that I’ve been eschewing for a. very. long. time.  Not sure why I write now, maybe it’s because my defenses are down because I’m a little sleepy, maybe it’s because I’m cozy in my new thick fleece pajamas with blue hearts and I’m feeling bold, possibly it’s because I just took a Wellbutrin. I started this a few weeks ago. I have a friend who started taking Lexapro a few weeks ago and I guess I’m just following the herd. Not sure if this is the way to go, but after reviewing the utterly self-centered, depressing posts of late (two months ago, that is)– I figure I’d bored you long enough. I’d like to stop writing about myself and onto writing about, I don’t know… just stuff. When that happens, I’ll know this is working.

I am mindful of my thoughts and am thinking of happy, good and positive things. This resets my frequency so that I can receive other happy, good and positive things. I am grateful for what I have and am remembering to remember these things throughout the day. I know what I want from Life’s Catalog– I can visualize what I want and the Universe  simply gives it to me.  I don’t have to know how, I just have to know what.

What’s not to like about the Secret?