Occasionally I still find myself in the throes of depression.
I am not really sure what starts the episodes – not so much something weather or some other environmental factor, that I can tell. Sometimes it does not even seem to be related to anything that is currently going on in my life. It can be a thing as random as a thought or a song, a turn of phrase that sets my mind running.
My depression also seems to have changed in how it manifests itself as well. Before it seemed to be this overwhelming sense of grief and hopelessness. Now, it seems to just to be this quiet little sense of despair that hangs with me throughout the day.
It is not crippling, at least not like it used to be. I can go for hours or days with it hardly interfering with my life. I have learned to (or at least it feels like I have learned) to manage it in a way that most people would not recognize that it is going on. Soldiering through, or some such phrase to cover such events, the expected course for something that is hardly visible to most.
It seems much more poignant that it used to be as well, as if it were hitting on the touch points of my soul, an old enemy that knows how to maximize the sadness and pain. Little things, forgotten things – the way the wheat comes up in the pots, a song from the long ago (always the music), a writing exercise that suddenly explodes in flashes of emotional ruin, leaving a stark trail of painful words on a page and me reeling.
I do not know really what to do about it. It does not cripple me to the point of not being able function, it is just more of low grade problem: the knee the hurts when you walk on it or the speck in your eye that will not seem to flush out.
It mutes the color of living – but then again, even in the muted season of winter, one can still find beauty.