Hello, long lost friends. Wait. You say that I’m the one who is long lost? Well, you would be right. I went a whole week without blogging. That was towards the end of my spiral.
I was feeling good, so I stopped stretching every day. I followed Chuck Wendig’s zero fuckery, 350-word a day plan for 6 days. One day was travel-filled from 4am to 8pm and then I needed recovery during which I did nothing. I started repeating weeks in The Artist’s Way and didn’t find time to do my weekly artist date. Daily meditation dropped off, as did writing morning pages.
Last night, I finally crashed and burned into depression, precipitated by flash feelings of “being bored.” Now I know that my “feeling bored” is another way of saying “I’m feeling depressed.” Had a good cry about it last night, but I know I have a lot of work ahead.
On the plus side, I’m on the upswing again. Stretched. Meditated. Had breakfast. Did not fuck around on Facebook or News. Wrote morning pages. Got organized. Wrote notes, sent email. Doctor appointment. Lunch & cleanup.
Now blogging. Later, 350 words. Editing to be done. The Gym.
I know now that, whatever it is that I chose to do in this life, would be affected by the cycle I have been caught in: Enthusiasm. Habit building. Off to a great start. Making excuses. Stop working. Get depressed. Maybe give up for a while. Then start all over again.
This is an internal struggle. Nothing is happening except that which exists as a thought inside my mind. Thoughts manifest actions or inactions, which leads to more thoughts, etc. But this getting off to a great start, stubbing my toe, and sitting out the rest of the game is old and tired.
Some cycle perpetuates itself deep inside my psyche. I think I understand the pieces of my life. But getting into some kind of emotional healing and understanding is the hardest part.
I reach out for help again, but I do want a “magic pill.” Not a drug I have to take for the rest of my life, but a magic reality pill that will illuminate what the twisted thoughts are that wind themselves around each other over and over.
I do not think whatever is left psychologically uncovered would kill me or destroy my mind, but I wouldn’t mind if I became a hermit for a while, only to emerge the raw, naked Self of which I will no longer be ashamed.
In the meantime, I reboot.