Here is a window into my introspective times. I wrote this in July. I had been struggling to feel better with an antidepressant that was taking out the lows but also taking out the joys of life. I am now working on going off of that medicine because it was making me feel worse, even though I was no longer yelling at everyone all the time.
I am still on a very low dose of the medicine, and I still have to convince myself to get moving in the morning after breakfast– there is nothing to drive me forward some days, even the most inspiring projects. In addition to taking out the highs in life, the medicine makes me too tired to have any motivation…
Anyway, I was trying to figure out what to do with my free hours in the house one morning this summer, and some self discovery was what I happened upon. These moments of soul searching drenched in tears are what help me let go of some of the fear that can take over my mind. Here is a stream of consciousness from an afternoon that allowed me to let the tears flow and gain some peace…
It is a rare moment when I have the house to myself. Even better that it is our house on PEI, the one with a couple of acres and beautiful views without other houses or roads to break up the landscape and valleys. I just went for a long walk, picking wildflowers as I tried to get some exercise and a better mood. I laid down under a maple tree near the front door of the house and stared up at the leaves blowing in the wind. There I was! I caught a glimpse of myself again, in that moment with nature that I haven’t experienced in many years. It’s been decades since I looked up at the sky from the ground without thinking about other things like sunburns and bugs in my hair. Being with the breeze and the tree and the sun/shade spot made me feel calm and present.
I don’t get that feeling often, but I know it’s in there. Buried.
Stress piles on top of worry on top of anxiety on top of anger that comes from fear, and underneath all of it is me. Present and peaceful. But, I’m Buried.
How do I get down there, underneath the layers of depression that keep rising to the top between waves of fear of bugs, fear of sunburns, fear of illness, fear of death, fear of life and every part of her.
I am starting to dig up these layers and throw them into the compost of the universe. I don’t remember where I heard that phrase, but it’s one I think of often. Instead of just “letting something go”, I picture it becoming part of the compost of all existence. I couldn’t ever really imagine my worries just floating away– I was afraid they would bury somebody else. But, composting is something I can get behind.
They compost everything here on PEI. Napkins, tissues, paper cups, cardboard– all this in addition to all food, of course. Adding my dirty tissues and lipstick-stained coffee cups to a big pile of rotting food is something I get a surprising amount of satisfaction from. Making a visible difference by using only one small waste bag per week and composting the rest is something that makes me sigh just thinking about it.
I am pulling out the layers of depression, my deep dark secret times of yelling at the kids at the top of my lungs, screaming to the point of hurting my throat, feeling like I must be the worst person in the world because I wish I could just have someone else raise my baby until he is past the stage where he really needs me… I’m composting all of it.
Dredging up the fear of life. What will happen if I try, what will happen if I don’t? What if I can’t do it right? What if nobody can? What if there isn’t a right way, and I will just be stuck floundering and screwing up for the rest of my life? How do I get on the bright side of that thought? I might die if I try this or that. I might get sick if I don’t do that or this. Worse yet, they might get sick. They might die. He might die. Let the sobbing and composting commence.
Ok. Time to pretend I’m fine. Everyone’s home.