Yesterday, in spite of a post that desperately tried to cling on to the positives, something triggered a downward spiral. Those spirals are strange things that can happen to people, and fortunately I don't get them very often. Even in times of bitter and deep sadness and grief, where days hold wells of tears, they don't necessarily take me down that dark and unpleasant place that one particularly strong spiral made me visit yesterday.
It made me wonder about the significance of triggers, and the underlying causes. Not that I'm any wiser. It's as if there is no reason I can put my finger on, all I have is knowledge of the trigger. With a day's distance and being back in control of the eye taps (at least most of the time), it's clear that the trigger was mainly that. This makes it more complicated because of the outburst of anger that followed the trigger. This cannot be ignored and it will revisit me. I lost controll and don't even regret it. At the same time I don't want to revisit before it's back on the balancing board.
What it felt like yesterday was more than unpleasant. A feeling of a world collapsing, the worthlessness of all my strive, the inability to see any light. Mr Cartside tried his best to alert me to the negativity that kept streaming out of me, in an attempt to stop the flow, and to try and divert it to the positive. But all I felt was negativity and I could not, would not divert it, could not focus on the positive. Something had shook me at the core of who I thought I am, spitting on it, and telling me that it was all but an illusion.
For as much as I analysed the trigger, I can't find the underlying reason, other than the implications of the trigger which go something along the line of lack of trust, potential of exploitation and lack of acknowledgement. Why this tickled my funny bone, I don't know. Normally I would stand firmly above this and confidently and sensibly defuse the situation. This time, my fuse blew.
The day was completed on autopilot, neverending activity, the comfort of the usual drag of end of day housework. Cubling wanted to play hide and seek. Mummy wasn't playing. I should have felt bad about this, yet I didn't. There was no trace of fun or smiles left, instead clear reluctance to engage with anyone, even my beloved little girl.
The fascinating bit is that this hole is unimaginable from the perspective of my normal being, it is so far removed, it turns me into an entirely different person. This is what depression and mental illness must be like for many a lot of the time, the lack of understanding of the profoundity experienced when interacting with other people and inability to escape the power of the mind. Let me be clear - I'm not clinically depressed, never have been, and I take comfort out of knowing that I will feel better soon. This is a mere visit of the dark side, I am very lucky in this respect.
For now, I seem to have managed to get out of the quicksand at the bottom of the pit, and I have a feeling it will take me a little while yet, lots of rows of knitting and a few more teary outbursts to lift myself out of it and return to normal.
Now all I need to decide is whether to click "post" or not. The argument for posting is that in better times I'd be able to look back at what this feels like, and with me, others who may be in the same state I am in. The hope that analyising brings clarity and healing. The argument for not posting would be that I'd be seen as a drama queen, not being taken seriously, making myself vulnerable when I already am. The knowledge that I'll have to defend posting this if I do hit the post button. The knowledge that I'm being defensive already. That wretched defensiveness that is my shadow.
I feel I've hit a button. No, not that one. Yet.