From Bath to Cork with Baby Grace

But I’ll say it anyway.

Nothing is better than some of the sensations that make up the experience of depresson. The empty-ness of nothing seems attractive to me today.

I went swimming this morning and found out that the great thing about swimming is that while I was doing it, I was distracted from thinking. I was active without thoughts and emotions.

I now smell of chlorine. The shower didn’t wash it off.

- a lovely positive poem from Blankpaige. I wish I could thank her.

I better go out for a walk, into the sunshine in Cork. It is horrid sitting in my own company.

There is no point in pretending. I have found it terribly hard to turn on the computer. I can’t bear to count how many days it is since I wrote my last post and I have read no one’s blog.

Thank you very much for your kind words as comments. I’ll try to put something up so that I can have something to show for the effort of turning on.

In this mind set I find it impossible to connect with the notion that I might ever have written anything worth reading. But I know that depression has descended on me and that my thoughts and feelings are completely different than they used to be.

If only I could write my way out of this hole.

I played golf today. 12 holes, and that might seem to be a sign of health. The trouble was that I took my mood with me and played (sic) as if in a coccoon.

I have resolved to spend as little time as possible alone in the house because here I feel immerced in dreadful emotions. This is frightening and demoralising. At least I have had it before and I have the memory of recovering to help me.

I know things like exercise help improve mood. That’s true as a generalisation but I don’t feel any better for having being out walking for several hours. Maybe if I had played with someone.

There is a black blob of ink on my paper
and no amount of dipping the pen
will tidy the stain.

This pool is drawning me down into its depth
and I am too heavy to float in filth.
I need a good clean.

I’m sorry for my prolonged silence.

It’s the result of me being ill and unable to write. Also I’ve moved house and it took a long time for broadband to be connected at the new address.

Not a single day has passed without me thinking about my silence and the sadness of it. Now, as I write again, I feel that the act of writing, no matter what, is doing me good.

This is the first time I have opened my laptop since the trip to Scotland in August. I’ve had to contact Eircom technical support in order to get a network key (password) and re-connect to the internet.

Louis Walpert’s “Malignant Sadness” is a great book. It describes his experience of depression and gives his thoughts about the illness. I wish I could find the book and quote from it because that might get me back into reading again. I’ve been able to read two thrillers, one be Jeffrey Deaver, the other by Gerald Seymore. Otherwise my brain has been dead.

Hopefully this stumbling move back into the Blogosphere will be followed by even more steps.