It’s been another one. Another ride down the abyss. The depression.
It’s been with me for more than, or maybe about 20 years. It comes very 18 months, sometimes skipping a beat, sometimes a bit late, but then she comes again.
She’s a friend. Though it’s hard to be friends with something as debilitating as a depression. Anyhow her regularity, and everything happening after she goes is so valuable that it’s hard not to see a friend in her.
It’s been many years since I realised that it’s not the depression that is my problem. A bigger one, much bigger one is my mania, though my therapist Leonida claimed it never was a true mania, more of a hypomania. It the high period the rush is so strong I burn, burn with the speed of the Sun. I think that people around me get what’s going on, I think they see how great I am, what a genius, yet more often than not it’s only later that I discover my manic phases don’t produce genius, nor do the depressions make me an idiot, though I feel like one in each one of them. The internal storm is so much stronger.
Now, at 43 it’s the first time ever that I accept depression. It’s for the first that I don’t think I can beat it. I can’t. What I do hope is that I can make it milder. That I can burn less now, because now I do burn.
And that’s all for now. If you wish to discuss this, if you feel you need to tell me something about yourself, if you need help, I can offer it for now. Comment or write me an email, it’s a gregor@ and the blog domain.