Deep-Rest
Monday 10th of August 2020
Depression is anger with no outlet.
Depression is frustration with no release.
Depression is the emptiness of a problem you can’t find the solution to.
Depression is a symptom, not the problem itself.
What’s not working?
What needs to change?
What’s the actual problem?
Depression is a chemical imbalance in the brain.
Depression is genetic.
Depression is built into the structure of your brain.
Depression can be treated with the right medication.
I thought I’d share some of the things I’ve been told over the years.
~
I had three days of feeling okay, so of course…
I’ve been full of energy, writing, bouncing about aimlessly. Went for a walk outside barefoot at 1:20 am, finally went to bed at 2:00am. Then, woke up at 6:00am and couldn’t get back to sleep, I just felt… everything. But, this will pass, it always does.
Last night we had a delivery of plums from a family friend so today I chopped, heated, added preserving sugar, some blueberries from the fridge, a few other secret things (gin, cardamom, damiana) and made a lot of jam.
I hadn’t made jam in so long. It made me happy.
Victoria plums, they reminded me of when my aunty would bring us bags of plums from her garden, driven down from London. It felt like love, like ‘I thought of you.’ This was before they cut down the tree, before they got tired of plums, and tired of us. Anyway, I tasted one of those plums and felt love, like part of a family, and not a singular anomaly redesignated as… nothing.
Off topic, slightly, but really not at all. I’ve been reading, skimming, ‘The Secret Doctrine of the Rosicrucian’s’ by… why do I want to say Walt Whitman? Hold on. By… William Walker Atkinson, practically the same. Anyway. There was this part in there about children suffering from a kind of anxiety, trauma when they develop consciousness enough to see themselves as an ‘I’, as an individual. Apparently, a sort of dysmorphia takes place when the child realises and subsequently comes to terms with the fact that they’re no longer a part of a oneness. They’ve been disconnected from the collective conscious and shoved into a human body.
They basically realise that they’re alone. Even if they have love, comfort, support, everyone around them is still separate from them, they’re a me, not a we. I thought I’d bring that up.
I set myself the task of reading 36 books this year. Why 36? Why not? Last year it was 33, I failed, so naturally I went higher.
My point was, making jam made me happy, why did I stop? I used to make everything, pickles, jams, chutneys, every year. I’d go berry picking, foraging, see what I could find. Why did I ever stop?
