A bit of a breather

I've started to write a few posts over the last few weeks but just couldn't finish them. I'd lost the impetus you see, the drive to put things into words. I was about to write "on paper" and the fact that it's not just on paper also made the exercise more wearying.

I no longer wanted to spend so much time with the screen. I didn't want that white light seeping through my eyelids, or to enter another password or verification code, or wait a few seconds for the computer to boot and then a few more while it ran an absolutely urgent update. All these piddling inconsequential seconds amounted to something that was enough to sap my will to live (or my will to post at any rate).

So a day or two off became a week and then several. Really it was a good thing. I continued to read other people's work but less often, and I didn't engage online. I wanted to live only in the physical world for a little bit.There was time to stop and evaluate what I was doing with this blog, why I was writing it, who I was writing it for.

Circumstances have changed. My partner's depression has for the timebeing  lifted. I hardly dare to think that possibility and writing it feels so daring (and maybe even foolish) but it also feels so very, very good, however long it lasts.

While he's been well we've been spending time together, making joint decisions about things and getting things done. I have been sleeping well again. I have energy.

And for a few weeks I didn't want to think about depression at all. I wanted to focus entirely on every moment of this normal life. Every small thing was a marvellous rediscovery. We had breakfast together. We talked about what was in the paper. He touched me in passing, as if our bodies touching was no big deal.

Not that everything is swell. He still has a bad day now and again. He still has his habit of saying no to everything, but then he smiles and says, "just kidding, of course I mean yes."

It's been like, I don't know, winning the lotto.(A reasonable amount - enough for a house deposit and maybe a holiday, not millions, but life changing.)

For example, I had a medical appointment this morning; nothing serious just something I wasn't looking forward to. (Why am I being so circumspect? I discuss my most frightening doubts and emptiness here, my most intimate thoughts, and yet I can't say pap smear?)

Anyway, he's just called to see how I am, check that it went well and tell me to take it easy and enjoy the day, take some time out for myself. "Don't go and do any housework," he said. "We can do it together tomorrow when I'm home."

I know you will understand the significance of these things. You will know how remote the possibility is of being on the receiving end of such warm, loving concern and thoughtfulness.

When J is depressed there is no room for me in his throughts. He would not have called. My day off work would only have been a reminder of the fact that he has his nose to the grindstone, as usual. Perhaps he might have felt guilty for not being able to offer support.

Instead I am living in a relative paradise. This must be what spring is like after a long winter in somewhere like Norway. (And the possibility - please don't make me say probability just yet - of it being seasonal hasn't escaped me. I just don't want to think about it right now.)

I've also realised that I do want and need to keep writing. I want to see where this leads me. I want to know what happens when I don't have to just concentrate on surviving each day.

Flo