The past two weeks have been strange and difficult in some ways. On the one hand, I’ve found it easier than I expected to be a non-smoker, and my wounds from last week are nearly healed. On the other hand, I’ve found it difficult to concentrate, or maybe to care, to be interested in, all the many things I must do and, ostensibly, want to do.
I’ve been thinking that it must have been the injury to my face (and the fear or feelings of vulnerability there connected) that had me shaken up last week, but I think there is more to it, as I’ve been feeling out of sorts, and less than in control to take charge or impose a shift in attitude to put things to rights.
I expected to have a great deal more energy having quite smoking, but alas, it;s only been a small burst here or there, which may have been attributable to coffee anyway. No, on the contrary, I’ve found myself wanting to hibernate, to hide and clear everything from my mind of late. This of course serves no help, but only makes me feel worse in the long run. It’s also had the dreadful effect of making me feel intimidated by a blank canvas rather than inspired or invited– or even challenged. This is the worst of it.
Perhaps it was too much to hope that I could escape Seasonal Affective Disorder for all of January through March, as I thought I had, and it’s simply catching up with me now. If that is it, I only hope that it will be swiftly on its way again and leave me alone, because whatever is affecting me is both inconvenient and unpleasant.
In any case, whether of seasonal cause or through the addictive change I’ve undertaken (in combination with the subtler traumas of my injuries) it is a case of depression, and I must do what I can to repulse it.
The only aspect of it I’ve really been enjoying is a preponderance of vivid and interesting dreams.