I wonder if my last two days of depression is about not writing. Specifically about not finishing my second piece on responsibility. I suspect I am deliberating avoiding looking at what I have written because it brings back unhappy memories that I have bottled up for years. I did not feel I had the time to write on Sunday, which may have been true. I did go to my recorder orchestra in the afternoon and shortly after getting back home, walked round to a friend’s house for dinner and more alcohol than I usually imbibe (one large bottle of beer and two glasses of wine). When we got home I went onto my games console to help other friends get their “moments of triumph” partly because I was face-to-face peopled out and needed time out of my normal life, and partly because I get a feel good effect from supporting others. In fact the last three nights have been spent playing online early into the morning to help others get their year two triumphs; I haven’t really felt like going to bed and I have chosen not to.
I now I am sitting here wondering if it is necessary to go through my day yesterday. I am not really addressing the matter but I suspect that writing in itself will help support me to get to finish the post on responsibility.
My dog is persistently stretching against me, and nuzzling my hands. He wants feeding and I need to write, my time is limited because I have a meeting booked for now but my partner is running late due to a phone call. The dog gives up and settle down on the underfloor heating.
Yesterday was a cycling day but I really struggled to get up. I have had another short night’s sleep and felt rather down. I levered myself out of bed at the last minute to meet my wife in the kitchen to do our routine fifteen minutes of tidying. I was asked to clean out a saucepan draw with the additional request of deciding whether we needed to keep all the items. I am not great in the morning preferring solitude and quiet; my wife prefers Radio Three and talking. I found the latter combination rather difficult and so asked if I could turn the radio off; I could and did. I think she decided to unload the dishwasher which I had my back to, because soon the sound of glasses and mugs clattering against each other drilled into my brain. I tried to blank the noise out but didn’t really succeed but I concentrated on, and persevered with the tidying anyway.
Tidying done, I went back to bed dressed in my cycling gear; I was feeling a bit cold. I set my timer so as not to miss the cycle but the alarm when off all too quickly and again I levered myself out of bed. I think it was harder the second time around. I really didn’t want to leave the warmth and felt more down than earlier but I also recognised that getting out would be good for me. Seeing friends and exercise are good for both body and mind I told myself. I felt like crying. The three of us met up and remarked on how chilly it felt; while the rest of Europe including the south coast of England has been experiencing record temperatures, Scotland is definitely slipping quickly into Autumn.
I don’t remember too much of what was being said now. I do remember feeling a bit isolated when we could no longer ride three abreast and I slipped behind the other two who carried on chatting of which I could only catch the odd word or two. Looking back it is unusual for me to be concerned about hearing the others chat, normally I am absorbed at looking around me for wildlife and not thinking too much, yesterday my knee was hurting and I was depressed; hearing the others seemed important then. I struggled to keep up with the other two; my nose was running, perhaps I was physically unwell too. At some point my mood changed. I remember doing a fifteen minute or so climb, the longest on our circuit and seeing a buzzard fly in front of us. It seemed to be leading the way for a while, doing short hops between trees, a vanguard to our progress up the hill before heading in a different direction. I mused on the fact that I didn’t see buzzards when I was younger cycling around the south of England; I see one most of times I go into the countryside in Scotland.
I realised as we pulled into our coffee and cake stop that I was feeling much better. I was still down, the tears were still hiding in the background but I was feeling better. Even my legs seemed pain free and I felt strong enough to be out front again and being in the lead meant I could hear the others talking more easily. Exercise really does seem to support mental help then.
On returning home I mused on buying a new bike and what gear ratio would be ideal, perhaps having a dodgy leg is not the best time to think about these things. The house was empty and I thought about my article again. I couldn’t face writing it yet, perhaps I was too tired. I could do my cartoon drawing exercises but decided to sketch out a cartoon from the morning’s ride before heading back to bed and catching up on my sleep. I suspect sleeping was a mistake now; nobody is perfect though.
I feel happier now.