Let's talk about.

I wish today hadn’t happened. And I wish it would never end.

If you recognized that I have a bit of the Sunday Blues, you’d be right. I dread Monday morning? Who doesn’t? But I dread most mornings.

Part of what I’d like to do here is give voice to the thoughts most people don’t say out loud. Things like, I wish my heart would stop beating. I can’t face an uncertain tomorrow. Sadness is consuming me. My lungs hurt. I want to cry but I can’t. I wish I was worth finding my way.

I’ve been melancholy my whole life, clearly so, palpably so, seeking relief by demonstrating empathy toward puppies straining against choke chains (not anymore) and translucent baby birds whose mother had been eviscerated by a cat. One of those little birds lived, but that’s another story.

Each time I found a purpose. Each time, it was fleeting. What I’m trying to get across, poorly, is that there’s pain and sorrow in pain and sorrow. It hurts to hurt. Why lie down to rest your mind when you lie down on a bed of nails?

Here’s what’s really terrible about it: I can find some relief in things like journaling and positive self talk and all that, but invariably, I’m back at the beginning. Why keep journaling when the highs are merely neutral and the lows are around the corner?

Current state

If you’ve been to a doctor lately, your primary care physician specifically, you’ve probably been screened for depression. It’s three questions. “Are you, or have you had, suicidal thoughts?” I don’t have the will to live, I’d say, but I don’t have the will to die. That says a lot without saying ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ And then nothing happens.

At least we are surrounded by the bestest dogs.