Relative Something

It occurs to me on occasion that my sense of comfort with the prospect of my death may be a result of so many years of living with depression. It is not a topic that people are generally comfortable about allowing their focus.

Frankly, I long ago learned through treatment of my depression that allowing myself to fantasize my death was something I must control, essentially eliminating it from my mental processes. I am happy to report that I am able to do that successfully, with impressive results.

Nonetheless, I sense the possibility that my years of considering the concept of my death have left me with a residual peace over the prospect of my eventual demise. I will point out, however, that it holds a dramatically different frame of reference when viewed from a healthy mindset.

Yesterday, I left work a little early because the pesky cold that has been ever so slowly gaining a foothold in my poor innocent body was sapping my interest in functioning. Upon reaching the sanctity of home, I walked directly into our bedroom and curled up under the bedspread, seeking nothing except warmth, darkness, and quiet.

I noticed a passing feeling of contentedness with the idea of falling into a permanent sleep. It’s remarkable, really, to imagine such a mental reaction to the very familiar symptoms of a common cold, but in that moment of fatigue, part of me was ready to leave everything behind for good.

The mind and body are an amazing, integrated system. Part of me was stoically expending energy to maintain a normal work-week routine, defying the uninvited consequences of biological warfare being waged in my cells. After several days of slowly intensifying symptoms, my incredibly strong mental yearning for absolute rest contributed in overwhelming my resolve.

I shall spend this day at home, resting, to rebuild my energies. No doubt, doing so will reclaim the enthusiastic zest for living to which I have grown accustomed in the days since I embarked on my path toward improved mental health.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.