Depression

I think I've had/have depression. Yes, I know. Yay he's finally posted, and what a riproaring hoot this looks like it's going to be. I promise I'll talk about my fight against insects in a little while, Boy's brigades honour. That's right, I was in Boy's brigade, but I'm not religious, ooh what a hypocrite. Anyway, I digress.

Having never had depression before (at least as far as I know), I'm not entirely sure that I've correctly diagnosed myself. It feels like I have. Basically (although who am I kidding? When do I do anything basically?), a few weeks back I woke up one day and realised my world wasn't right. I couldn't put my finger on it, but nothing seemed to gel together. What I was doing, where I was, where I thought I would be, nothing seemed to make sense. I wasn't happy with where my life was going (and lets face it, we all know you can never predict where my life is going). I seemed to be just existing, and that wasn't good enough. I felt like I needed to do something about it, but I had no idea what. It felt like I was wasting time by just staying the course my life was on.

I felt like I was losing touch. Not just with myself, but with everyone else. It felt like I hadn't seen most of my friends for an age, and it's more than likely true. Because of this, I felt hollow, less of a person.

It got to the point that it took my a couple of hours to get out of bed, no matter what time of day I was starting work, just to force myself up. I dreaded the thought of going anywhere and doing anything (which of course is counterproductive to the whole 'losing touch' thing).

I knew something had to be done, but what? What worked for me in the past? Not having anything this severe to base my theories on I was stumped for a while. Even being bullied constantly as a child I hadn't felt this low (of course back then I just substituted any possible sadness with wild, hate filled rage, most of which is still buried in a shallow grave, waiting for hte soil to be disturbed).

Then one day it just clicked. I'd stopped doing my weights, mainly (I'd convinced myself) because fo the crazy shifts I'd been working. I'd forgotten about the weird joy they'd brought me. So I started again, and I instantly felt better about myself. Along with this sudden pleasure I'd rediscovered when improving my physical image, my mental self felt better. I rationalised my life. I came to the conclusion that things could be much worse than they are. I've got a roof over my head. I like my home (dispite the obvious illogical, but well chosen choice to stay here). I love my friends and family. I have my health, and......you'd think that would be enough. Call me selfish, but so is the world. We as a species strive for more than we have. That's how we evolve and move on. How we progress. So yeah, life is good, but it could always be better. It's this thought right now that dominates my mind. I do want my life to be better, and it will be better or I'll die trying.

Still, it somtimes comes back. That sadness.

I definately need to do my weights more regularly.