Friday, 12 November 2021

THE DARKNESS IS RETURNING

 


When, earlier this year, I wrote at some length about my experiences of depression and the harrowing effects upon my mental health, I did so as someone who felt that he was emerging from the dark, dank forest; as someone who was no longer feeling doomed to wander, lost and alone among the tangled undergrowth and snaking branches of the great black trees that were blocking my every turn: instead I was now almost on the very outskirts of this grim woodland with the promise of open, blue skies sunlight and fresh air becoming daily closer and more reassuringly within my reach.

Of course, from past experiences of a longish life during which – from my very earliest years – depression has been no stranger, I was aware that the daily (sometimes hourly) existence of the depressive is ever a roller-coaster rising to points on an unpredictable undulating journey where bracing wind is suddenly whipping through your hair, causing tears to start into your eyes and filling your lungs deep-down deep enough to purge the accumulated dust and debris of many wearisome days and unending nights. 

But then, of course and all-too soon, there is always that moment of teetering before the scary-as-hell hurtling plunge into another dark, subterranean abyss from which you cannot believe you will ever again emerge. 

At odd moments, like this bleak early Friday morning, I am going to use this blog-that-no-one-reads-any-more to jot down some of the raw feelings as I am in the grip of experiencing them. 

Maybe it might help me – if and when (or to strike a more positive note, as and when) I claw my way up again – to look back and so better understand the process by which my depression (for it is wholly mine as opposed to some alien force) goes from merely dogging my heels like a constantly shift-shaping shadow to the point where it has me in its claws and is dragging me away into that shuddery darkness where it is most confident of holding its prey hostage. 

Writing even these few over-metaphored paragraphs has caused the shadow to momentarily hesitate and to scuttle a little way off, but I know it only bides its time and will, maybe today or in a few days time will again make its move...

9 comments:

Aidan Heritage said...

Whilst it may seem no one reads the blog anymore, some of us get it by email so we do read your words - and those words serve to help others as we do sink into some level of depression. Keep writing, and I send positive thoughts via this small comment.

Tasker Dunham said...

I read your blog. You get more readers when you put up with comments.
I think there are a lot of us who have periods of bleakness, perhaps made bearable by periods of fizzling creativity and the elation that goes with it. I also think it gets harder with age - I'm of similar age to you. For me it wasn't helped much by watching that Ed Balls in a care home program earlier in the week, but I'll watch the next one.

Beth said...

I'm sorry you're going through this, dear friend. Sending hugs across the miles, wishing I could be of some help.

Ronald Kyrmse said...

You'll get over it. You have it in you!
Have a great weekend.

Servetus said...

I'm (still) reading.

It's a cliche to say that the amount of sunlight in a day probably has a lot to do with onset. At least it's an effect I am familiar with. No doubt there are also many more factors. I hope writing brings you some relief.

Nancy Reyes said...

you've been in my prayers.
you have touched many people by your work and we thank you for this.

Michael G. said...

I do read your blog!

Deniz Bevan said...

Sending {{hugs}}
I always need to re-remember that writing helps <3

René Lauritsen said...

I wish you all the best. And in the grip of these dark times, may you find comfort in the joy you have brought many people through the years. No response is expected to this missive (nor to any I may make); know only that your work is greatly appreciated. May new light shine upon you soon.