yes, even more self-indulgent blather

As a result of my participation in NaBloPoMo, it seems everyone is onto me and my less-than-happy-to-be-here condition. Apparently, the latter half of my daily posts sold me out, with their generally depressing tone and frequent reference to alcoholic, sexual and dangerous-nighttime-running escape routes. My inability to not spill my own proverbial beans has caught up with me again, striking fear into the hearts of others with regard to my psychological well-being, even causing The Parents to threaten a surprise visit in the immediate future should I fail to prove I’m improving.

I’ve been sad these past few weeks, it’s true, with the worst of it hitting this past Saturday, leaving me uninterested in (and seemingly unable to) extract myself from bed and actually interact with the world instead of alternately sobbing and sleeping for hours. A pretty pathetic picture, I know.

The good news is, I’m feeling much better. Last night, I spent five entire hours engaged in conversation with real life people not forced upon me by the obligations of my customer service industry job. After days upon days of avoiding social interactions I am not getting (under)paid to perform, I (shockingly, even to me) initiated a dinner date with friends and actually (gasp!) enjoyed myself. Imagine that.

I have mentioned before that the sadness is cyclical in nature—always impermanent, but always inevitable (or so it seems). Thus, even as I bask in my current and acceptable level of contentment, I sit in fear of my next confrontation with frustratingly familiar unhappiness. And the more accustomed I become to the predictable return of that sadness, the less able I am to enjoy the Happy while it’s here—however brief that stay may be each time.

As I write these words, I recognize the ridiculousness of allowing myself to succumb to the despair by accepting the certainty of its regular arrival. Still, I am resistant to the effort involved in altering this pattern, fearful my energy might be wasted on ultimately ineffective means of bringing about change. I’m mostly exhausted by now—both emotionally and physically—as a result of frequently facing and enduring destructive emotions I feel powerless to eradicate. And I’m starting to resent my inability to JUST BE HAPPY DAMMIT on my own terms, the possibility I may simply be ill-equipped to do so effectively.

Truthfully, I’m angry as hell about being forced to face down the sadness so often and feeling powerless to prevent its effects. I’ve embraced the Happy several times this past year, eager to embody it once and for all—even declared myself finally and triumphantly happy—only to find myself entrenched soon thereafter in the same despair and depression. If being happy was as easy as wanting to be and trying to be and saying I am, I would have been so several times over already.

Being sad is a fully physical sensation for me, powerful, like the blood I’m pumping has suddenly been altered in composition and consistency. Unhappiness like that is heavy and relentless, and it’s frighteningly ubiquitous. And even when I promise to never enable my unhappiness again, I am somehow unable to prevent its arrival. Those feelings of overwhelming sadness show up uninvited every time.

Right now, I’m riding the fence about what to do next, if anything at all. My defiantly independent side wants to wait it out like I always have, denying my depression the satisfaction of knowing I couldn’t conquer it on my own. My much more rational, screw-my-pride side wants to finally admit defeat and let someone much more qualified intimidate my sadness into submission.

I can’t wait to see who wins.

(For the record, I’m cheering for the underdog. Raise a pompom to rationality if you feel so inclined. She could use the support.)