This Malaise

Some days truly are better than others, in every way, shape, and form. It’s like I wake up on the “off” days and it hits me like a slap in the face, this feeling of despair and worthlessness, as if whatever I’m going to do on this day won’t matter. It’s like knowing I’m going to be going through the motions, knowing that I will have to paste a fake smile on my face and just not wanting to deal with any of it. Some days I really do wish I could go back to bed and wake up again when the day is done, fingers crossed that the next one won’t start the exact same way.

Maybe it starts with my subconscious, like most things. Perhaps these days begin so poorly because of the fugue nature of my dream state. I toss and turn in the night, blindly searching for some comfort, my tears soaking the pillow and my conscious self unaware of the silent struggle within. It is during these mornings that I feel most mortal, that I am reminded of the finite nature of this life, and I’m not even sure why. It might be my brain’s wake up call for my body to get it together, to physically climb up from the doldrums and to bring my mind along with it.

Or it could just be a depressive state that I don’t want to label, because we all know that labels stick. I don’t want these mornings to stick. I don’t want these days to stick. I feel so helpless and life seems so hopeless when I am like this, and I have to write but nothing positive comes out. It’s like my brain goes down a path that can’t be short circuited, that has to run its course, and I go along for the ride, a straitjacketed mess, with absolutely no control over anything.

I know when I was younger I would rely on others, like my mother and my sister, to save me from myself, to protect my fragile self from having these days spiral down into oblivion. And these days I count on my children to remind me that life is not hopeless, that I am not helpless. Instead of pasting a smile on my face, when I am with them I can still feel my authentic self despite the devastating nature of these thoughts. But I know that’s not healthy, that I should be able to deal with it myself, to develop some mechanisms that will get me over this malaise.

I just don’t know where to start.

Sam