I feel completely disinclined to do anything except read and, perhaps, eventually watch something. There are some things I had planned to do today; certain of these are done, others lie before my imagination’s eye, reproaching me. Am I being lazy, or is this simply a symptom of my depression? Is this indolent lenience towards myself an overcompensation for all those years when the world asked too much of me?
My maxim is: “The truth lies in the grey zone.” Following this logic, I’m partly lazy, partly depressed, partly overcompensating, and probably partly something else I haven’t considered yet.
I just can’t be bothered. I’ve done the essentials: washing in; house clean; dishes done; husband dropped off at the footy – good lord, I’m sounding like some 50’s housewife, aren’t I?! Still, it is true that all these things needed doing, and they are done, and now I don’t feel like studying or writing or even watching anything serious. I just want fluff: warmth – heater and blanket; sweetness – chocolate or cake; chewing gum for the mind – comedy, sci fi or a rom com. Nothing requiring effort. Nothing difficult. Just fluff.
I could understand this if I’d just worked a 60 hour week or was physically ill. Neither of those apply. Well, I guess it has been a very emotional week, what with the anxiety and then the relief of having my insurance claim finally approved (though not yet paid out, hasten the day!).
I’m leaning towards overcompensation. For so many years, so much was demanded of me, and I was given so little in return – well, unless you count institutional abuse. That, I received in bucketfuls, received and absorbed, until I was broken.
I was broken, and now I am being fixed. Like a freighter returning to its correct course, the pilot is oversteering – it’s necessary to break the inertia of the past and establish a new way of being. Once back on track, the pilot can steer the plain, straight course, neither over- or under-compensating, but navigating in the goldilocks zone.
So, I’ve talked myself around: I’m not going to force myself to do anything I don’t feel inclined to do. What I am, is sufficient for this afternoon. I have another two hours and twenty minutes alone in the house; just time for a fun movie and some nibbles.
What did I fight for, fight through the brokenness, if not to enjoy moments like these?