Depression is inertia.
If that's the case, then I'm definitely depressed.
Is this weighty "ennui" just one stop on the path out of grief ? Or is it more the result of being so massively out of routine that I'm stymied as to what to do next ?
Probably a combination of both, actually. With more than just a little bit of overlap, too.
Inertia has been an unwelcome companion at other times in my life . . . invariably triggered by some form of loss.
If it could just remain a calm oasis in the midst of turbulent change, I would embrace it as an opportunity to rest, reassess priorities and regroup accordingly.
But being the overthinker that I am, inertia is akin to one of the inner circles of hell.
All of the invalidating, toxic "branding" that was heaped upon me as a child comes gleefully roaring into consciousness.
A predatory beast by nature, it salivates and smacks its demonic lips . . . voracious in its determined quest to obliterate my hard-won light.
Its hunger can only be sated by a blood meal . . . and its preferred condiments are shame and guilt.
It seeks to tenderize its victim by pounding it relentlessly with cognitive distortions. Its hypnotic chants echo with strains of "If only . . . " and "What if" . . .
It tears its prey away from mindfulness for this blood meal can only be savoured in the shadowy cave of the past.
It spices and paralyzes its anticipated feast by sprinkling inordinate amounts of anxiety into the mix . . . it harvests this ingredient by flashing foggy glimpses of a future that is only desolate and bleak.
Dazed and stunned into despair by the anguish of this demon's ministrations, its victim is immobilized into the submission of inertia.
She hears only cacophony . . . punctuated by palpable jabs of agony as yet another erroneous message is driven home.
This victim begins to remember. Glimmers of memory are faint but they bubble to the surface.
This victim refuses to be devoured, yet again, by the demon that has stalked her since she drew her first breath.
This victim's scars are healed . . . those razor-sharp teeth have tasted her for the last time.
This victim is a WARRIOR.
And she is armed with the only weapon that will always silence the invalidation of the demon.
Her weapon is not complex . . . nor is it unwieldy.
It has been forged in the fires and ashes of previous encounters with this beast.
This warrior remembers.
She reaches for her trusted blade with the last vestige of strength she can summon for the demon knows exactly how to close in for the kill. And it is imminent.
She begins to slash at the past . . . she pivots effortlessly to cut through the fog of that nebulous future . . . not once . . . nor twice . . . for this demon is tenacious . . .
In his death throes now, he grasps at the most potent weapon in his arsenal . . . and hurls it now with the voice of a mother.
This warrior is gathering strength for she recognizes the demon's battle tactics now as nothing more than illusion.
One final thrust !
And the demon shrieks his final surrender . . .
This warrior can be still and quiet now. The wails of the past have been silenced and the harmlessness of the future can be embraced another day.
For it is only by standing in the light of the present moment that this warrior can taste the victory of peace.
Depression and inertia have no meaning here.
This warrior remembered.