As I proceed through waking, toward awake, anxiety ~ that familiar, tattered shroud ~ cloaks me. In some ways this comforts me, while filling me with a sluggish and terrifying sort of dread: That Heavy Thing. Instinctively I wage war against It. An unpleasant battle ensues. Unpleasant, because, war causes the dread to grow heavier and painfully more unwieldy.
Rationally, I know the ineffectuality of waging war against That Heavy Thing. I also know the effectuality of diversion, as an alternative course of action. Diversion, as in, diverting my efforts and attention toward an activity, and/or a sensory experience. Diversion, as in diverting my attentions away from the suffocating grip of crushing dread, and the gaping emptiness it leaves within me.
Still, it takes a certain amount of rebellion against myself to overcome the inertia of That Heavy Thing. When That Heavy Thing looms large overhead, rationality tends to escape me. Strange, that some amount of comfort resides within the inertia of wallowing in one's own depressiveness ~ as in becoming the despair and hopelessness. This leads me to consider being as the outcome of a battle between the instinct to survive and the deep-seated urge for self-annihilation.
I realize my amazing fortune, having encountered a great psychiatrist and also a wonderful team of mental health professionals. Each day, I meditate my thanks for my awesome nurse practitioner, who made it all happen. I no longer feel like human detritude ~ broken and readily disposable. How I wish everyone could experience this feeling of worthiness and inclusion.