"Flexing the diaphram to any significant extent requires conscious effort". Crap. I hate physiology. I snapped the book shut, stood, and stretched. My dorm room was a mid-term disaster. Papers mixed with dirty clothes were strewn about. My room had gone round - the corners each containing a collection of bags, books, CDs, papers and clothes. I hated it at that moment.
I glanced out the window into the courtyard. Empty. Everyone else was in a mid-term funk, too. The rain skittered off the window onto the tarmac below. Grey, grey, grey.
"God", I wondered "Is this what depression is like?"
Yep. I wonder how much of my life I've been depressed. I can look back and see the mania, but not the darkness. Not until I was in grad school and the knowledge that this IS all there is overcame me. Before I was excited by the possibilities that life held. But then I realized that we are pack animals and we structure our lives and our days to be much the same. Day after day.... That's when the greyness wins. Meds help. But I feel weak giving my mental health over to the chemical concoction that allows me to focus, to function. To not give in to the grey goat that lives on the roof of my house - trying to keep me prisoner.
What do I want? I want to be amazed - external. Try again. I want to be whole; to be different; lose the anger find the love; be a hippie; live lightly; dance; find joy.
If you live joyfully, though, how do you know? Don't you need the contrast of down days and sleepless nights to illuminate the joy? If not, how do you recognize her?
Anyway. My dorm room is a mess. It's raining and glooming and I'm struck studying my navel when I ought to be studying physiology. I think I'll go watch TV. Maybe I'll feel more inspired later. HA!