I got hit by the Flu about a month ago, and became horribly depressed. Things haven’t been the same since. Huge changes have cascaded in since that happened, changing me in ways I cannot account for. This is the first time I feel the necessary strength to actually write about it.
- I quit school. It wasn’t a case of just up and quitting. I had been thinking about it for a few years. I quit music therapy almost immediately after I started it because I could clearly see that I wasn’t cut out for it and it would not fulfill me as a person. It never linked science and music in a satisfying way, nor could the way in which psychotherapeutic disciplines were knitted together with music ever make a big enough change to satisfy or impress me. I felt I must study something more fundamental. That is where answers will really be rendered. What should I study? Astronomy, Astrophysics, Particle Physics, Mathematics, Chemistry, Biology, Nutrition even?
- An old friend, who never really left my life, came into its focus as I grappled with the internal changes. I fell in love with her immediately. People have their own circumstances to work with, coming to their own understanding of things in their own time, so my feelings weren’t reciprocated for a long time. She is a truly impressive individual; She’s humble, compassionate, an intellectual visionary, and very beautiful.
The strange part is that we came back into contact very shortly after I quit school. Ok, I am tired of narrating.
My capacity to feel has awoken after laying dormant for so long. Before the flu, before the depression, it had been years since I felt sadness, the need to cry. It has always been anger, very deep anger. Anger is easier to leverage into motivation than sadness is. I now think that sadness is the call to pull back and examine your actions. Being pushed forward with blind anger, suddenly being hobbled, and then succumbing to depression when one is unable to enact that release valve for the feeling of anger, quickly inverts it back on itself. So, I had been running on the momentum of anger for a few years, perhaps longer.
I still don’t understand why. What was I hiding from myself? What was I not admitting? What was I compensating for?
If I was motivated by Anger to do all that I did, and realize that the path it was propelling me down was in vain, what can be my motivation now? I cannot find a stabilizing answer. I can only tug at loose strings and blindly feel along its strangely textured surface in coffee shops, on errant walks, and on the interminable drives between loved and hated cities with music, coffee, and cigarettes.