I went to RESILIENCE group last week … hmmmm … or was it the week before? Recently—there we go—I went recently. We were given a writing exercise, and I am not sure what it is about me but when I write, it doesn’t feel “real” unless I post it out here on the web. Perhaps I am an writing exhibitionist. The following is not altogether pretty, rather, it is fairly dark and well, raw. Our leader asked us to write about our November, the month and the idea. So, here it is, this is what I wrote.
“My November is the very thing that brought me here. My November is my depression.
For two years I have been better, distracted blissfully by my work and worth. Recently a button was pushed–like an old fashioned light switch, and the light just came on. Angry moments followed by overwhelming shame that drives me inward, to my couch and pjs that keep me inside on the last beautiful day of the year, and inward to my monkey mind. Flags of symptoms fly, falling faster than the leaves on my front yard boulevard. I tell myself that everything is dying at this time of year—its natural. And it is. But my natural feels imminent and I am afraid. So I am here to remember. November.”