There is a feeling, a sense of gravitas mixed with dark colors and an ache and regret, that wells up when I hear, read or see certain things. Like this story from This American Life.
Or this song, by Tori Amos.
Or this poem, the partial inspiration for this blog
It's a sudden sense that I am an adult getting older, or the realization that this ongoing battle with depression has taken a chunk out of me, or the feeling my awareness has made an unexpected shift in a different direction. And its all mixed up with bittersweet and weird pangs for intangibles and things I know not what. I'd use the paradigm word here but the meaning has been thoroughly sucked out of it.
Maybe it's poignancy. Or simple melancholy. Whatever it is, it usually heralds the depression to come. Here's the thing though: I don't necessarily want to lose the capability of experiencing that...whatever the feeling is called. I just want to have it separate from the feeling of despair that follows soon after. I have a faint idea that this fugue, or whatever the heck this emotion is, is an important, normal thing to feel...that I should be experiencing it at different points in my life and maybe missed it numerous times before because of the depression.
Or I'm completely wrong and it's just a sad song, poem, book...and I've got a bad case of PMS. Or I'm just overly sensitive. I don't know...and that's just part and parcel of the frustration.
Signing off...
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