I've been good about food, exercise, medication, and sleep. No idea where this despondency arises except maybe exhaustion from the struggle. I feel like crying. Maybe I should go outside for some air.
Yesterday, I walked in the woods behind the North Salem Library again. There were many ruins of old stone fences and, just in a week, the leaves were already deep on the path. I do look forward to more exploring. Even though there is an hour left at the library, my anxiety is such that I think I should go outside and see if walking around helps. My mindset asks me to go take a nap, if I can't curl up under a table. But I'll try some sunshine.
So I have been trying to decide if I was going to post this. I am coping. Feeling mostly a bit better. Then I came across another one of Jeff Nunokawa's posts and decided to share it with you.
5276. Scaling Down From Feeing Scared
The eternal silence of these infinite spaces terrifies me (Pascal)
I guess everyone knows about that one^. Recently though (as of right now) I've been thinking about a fear a little easier to navigate than feeling lost in the eternal darkness of outer space. Writing now, I'm not so much terrified by some total silent treatment, as I'm worried that people and places that once warmed and welcomed me have grown cold and hard to reach. (Who knows? Maybe I brought that on. Maybe cold and hard to reach is how they look at me, and they're just reacting with equal and opposite force, moving away at the speed of soundlessness.)
In any case, sometimes it's easy when you're frightened to mix up fears of what's really close with fears of what's really far away. And sometimes it's important to try to avoid doing so. The loss of some warm understanding or place to go isn't the same thing as a nuclear winter or a new revolution that ruins all the roads back home.
Maybe you've lost some old friends and familiar planets, but what orbits near you still speaks brightly enough to coax you through the night.
I guess everyone knows about that one^. Recently though (as of right now) I've been thinking about a fear a little easier to navigate than feeling lost in the eternal darkness of outer space. Writing now, I'm not so much terrified by some total silent treatment, as I'm worried that people and places that once warmed and welcomed me have grown cold and hard to reach. (Who knows? Maybe I brought that on. Maybe cold and hard to reach is how they look at me, and they're just reacting with equal and opposite force, moving away at the speed of soundlessness.)
In any case, sometimes it's easy when you're frightened to mix up fears of what's really close with fears of what's really far away. And sometimes it's important to try to avoid doing so. The loss of some warm understanding or place to go isn't the same thing as a nuclear winter or a new revolution that ruins all the roads back home.
Maybe you've lost some old friends and familiar planets, but what orbits near you still speaks brightly enough to coax you through the night.
Fear has always haunted me. The cold endlessness of space is too scary to think about for more than a moment. I keep fear(s) at bay by keeping busy. You know the advice to "go to your safe place," to let your mind wander to memory of safety? Doesn't work for me. There isn't such a place. Other than the oblivion of good work, the best I can do is a comfy chair and a good book. Maybe a beverage. Or chocolate.
ReplyDeleteRight there with you- and Teresa too.
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