I’ve always been bookish, I’ve struggled like hell with maths and spelling but reading and writing, it’s been my thing since I was tiny. I’ve always been a wordy child. It’s why I started blogging about my depression and M.E and feminism and my views on everything, it’s how I feel comfortable expressing myself.
So when I get into the dull brain period of depression, the phase the doctors don’t see anything wrong with because I’m ‘stable’ even though I’m numbed inside and I can’t THINK, like really think for hours upon hours, have those words spiralling out like a burst pipe, it feels alien. I feel like I’m only half of me. I haven’t been able to really concentrate on a book for ages. Months, maybe a year. I’ve been reading stuff for work and struggling to concentrate on chapters, citations, articles. A whole book from start to finish has been beyond me. I used to never give up on books, never leave them unfinished but lately it’s all I ever do.
But last night it felt like my brain was waking up again. I had words, thoughts, ideas spinning round my brain. Sure I couldn’t sleep, it was 4am and I had to write things down before I could let myself sleep, but I felt part of me waking up and it felt good. I actually feel in the mood to curl up in bed with a book and it’s been so long, it feels amazing.
That’s one reason why depression is so hideous, it not only makes you feel like sticky cold tar or a withering leaf but it stops you enjoying things, little things, simple things you never used to think twice about. That is one of the most soul sappingly awful things to deal with, the feeling of ‘depression’ itself is fucking easy compared to this parasite that takes over and stops you enjoying things you used to love, sometimes it goes beyond the anhedonia of getting no enjoyment out of things you once found pleasurable but it can make you unable to even do them in the first place. The cognitive numbing or whatever they call it is one of the hardest side effects of anti depressants to take, I’d much rather be gross and sweaty and put on a bit of weight that feel my brain turning to that fluffy stuff you insulate lofts with. Yet it’s the one side effect my psychiatrist just doesn’t seem arsed about, not that he ever seems arsed about much. It’s hard to explain exactly how bad this lack of concentration can be, it essentially stopped me working for a month ffs, it’s not just some everyday distraction , it’s like a fucking behemoth of distraction and noise that can’t even focus on the words on the page long enough to recognise they are words let alone take any of them in.
This past has been easy to write, I’ve not really though about what I’m writing, it just sort of comes out. It’s exactly this sort of stuff I’ve missed.
Thank god for twitter and blogs though, the shorter nature of it all has meant I’ve been able to keep up a bit and still read, still debate.
FYI if anyone’s on good reads – say hello