So, I was trying to write a completely different post this morning. If I’m very lucky, I’ll be able to finish it sometime this week. But that will be entirely predicated on my mind not sparking like a nest of half-stripped livewires.

Which, If I was being too subtle, it currently is.

Depression sometimes comes in waves.

(Kind of like my enjoyment of the music of Pink Floyd, anyways…)

Some days are blue. Some days are hectic, rainbow mixes of emotional states. And some days are pitch black, and you’re lucky if you can fumble your way along the wall until some light appears, somewhere.

I’ve had a few too many of those latter ones lately.

It’s a funny thing, but having and working towards a purpose – one you’re invested in – can almost make you feel like you’re not depressed. It does me, at any rate. But, here’s the thing: when you’re in between times, transition times, fallow times, your depression is always there, waiting in the wings for its next appearance on the stage of your life.

And by you, I mean me.

‘Cause really, I don’t know you. Your mileage may vary.

Right now, I’m at a bit of an inbetween, writing-wise.

I’m waiting for feedback from my beta readers for a short story project. I’m interviewing new beta readers for additional input on the second 3rd Eye novel.

Mostly, I’m waiting. And waiting gives space for my mental illness to poke its head in and ask me if I’ve heard of our lord and savior the ever-widening Abyss.

And here’s another thing you don’t often hear about depression: it makes it damn difficult to concentrate.

Dig it: I’ve never been diagnosed with any of the attention disorders, but my awareness shifts around pretty fast on the usual, and I’m accustomed to that and know how to work with it. I’m also an experienced meditator. Concentration, I got.

Except lately, I don’t got. Not so much anyway.

Imagine, if you will, a giant tornado, just a’tearin’ up the landscape of your mind. Roofs torn off. Trees uprooted. Bathtubs and mobile homes swirling in the gray-brown funnel of your attention. Now, see that note, on the scrap of paper, over there. No there! Nope, over there now. No there!

Well, maybe you’ve picked up what I’m putting down. I hope so, this shit is getting heavy.

So, that’s where I’m at.

And it’s a damned hard thing to explain to people, even people who’ve suffered from depression themselves.

Sometimes you struggle to tell people you’re struggling.

At least I do, at any rate.

Anyways. I thought this might do both: get me writing about something, and let some of the air out of the ravaging twister in my head.

I’ll have to get back to you on that second part.

For now, I’m out of juice.

Until next time…