Moodswings

Last week I wrote a high-flying post, full of optimism and confidence. Since then I’ve spent some hours slogging through life. It's not really depression: it’s not the deep dark hole many describe. The self-loathing is absent: I feel a disappointment in my inability to accomplish what seems like reasonable goals on a reasonable timetable, but no self-hate.

 

This week, as my attitude towards my life has swung from optimism to, not pessimism exactly, but disappointment, I’m left wondering: is manic depression deep in my nature? Is it an essential part of my personality? Is it as immutable as my eye color and height?

 

I think it likely all of the above.

Yesterday morning I woke feeling discouraged. Monday is the day I have few outside obligations. When David was sick and I drove him to the Cox Clinic twice a week for leukemia treatments, I made no other commitments on Mondays and Thursdays. After he died, I promised myself I'd continue that schedule. Gradually obligations, freely entered into, crept back into my Thursdays, but I’ve kept Monday free, a ‘stay-at-home’ day. Each week it spreads before me like a field of freshly-fallen snow waiting for my imprint. And many Monday evenings I feel keenly a lack of accomplishment.

 

What if I accepted the ebb and flow of my moods as a part of me, just as the tides are part of the ocean? When I visit the shore, I don’t resist the tide, I carefully survey the beach for signs of the high tide mark, where the sand is completely dry and never drenched in saltwater. That’s where I place my blanket. If I've arrived at high tide, the surf is near the blanket, if low, I must walk a bit to enjoy the waves.