Drifting through mists

I think I’ve gotten to the point where I’m just used to the chaos that my life seems to devolve into.
That or I’m numb or insulated.

My highs are so full of promise and hope.
My lows so full of pain and despair.
But I ride the waves
Sometimes drowning, yes
When I have invested myself in a future that isn’t going to happen
Sometimes delirious with joy
When I have invested myself in a future that isn’t going to happen
But mostly, they are just days passing
Believe me
I want that more of the horizon
Reaching out has burned me though
So I wait
Thinking in my cave
Watching the sky in hope of rain

Out the other side

There is something either cleansing or fucking scary about coming out of a depression so deep that moving itself is a act of will. Afterwards, I feel almost normal which I never really feel for any length of time. And that’s scary. Because I remember this feeling. It’s the same as what I felt when my emotions were locked down. The pure sense of seeing out from a cell constructed of my mind. Safe but trapped.

The other side is I feel scoured clean. Like all pain has been cleared away. Though it hasn’t and the loss of that numbness makes way for the pain of being alone. There is someone, of course, but we haven’t spent much time together due to scheduling lately. And I need that contact to maintain equilibrium.

I can maintain when I am on my own, but if I get used to having someone to share spinning plate duty with, then they are unavailable, the spin starts to falter.

And, for me, nothing calms me, keeps me centered like touch. Just a hand on my back is enough. Though more is always welcome.

And, for reasons I won’t go into, for privacy reasons, we touch very little. Also a problem for me.

It doesn’t feed my depression, but it doesn’t help it.

So I guess this is less about depression and more about my needs not being completely met. Not that I didn’t know that they wouldn’t be, but that I, foolishly perhaps, thought that I was better equipped to weather the storm.