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| Am I manic depressive? Bipolar? Did I have a nervous depressive episode? Acute anxiety? All I know is my system overloaded with BS and I crashed. I had it all and it was a long, harsh winter. |
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| I closed my door to it all, the world and all its inhabitants. My heart pounded furiously day and night. |
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| I woke up every day depressed, afraid, anxious, really just THICK with it all. Heavy. There was nothing else. |
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| I just wanted to get through the day. I was afraid to talk to anyone. I would break out in cold sweats. The goal of every small interaction was reduced to 'hanging on.' |
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| Every day at work I prayed no one would come in, and I was grateful for my job. What if I had to go to an office every day? I'd have lost my job, I'm certain. |
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| All I wanted to do was go home. I didn't want to go to the store, didn't want to see anyone or do anything; I just wanted to go home. |
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| The only reprieve was painting. It was the only time I'd feel relatively calm. I painted every day, of only for an hour, just to feel the calm. |
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| But the bike was part of the problem. |
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| I considered options. Was this my new normal? Was this worth it? Mostly I did what everyone else does who has no idea what else to do: I kept moving, shuffling, 'forward.' Ish. |
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| And I kept getting on my stupid bike. |