The Throes of Depression

I can tell I’m depressed because I’m feeling restless and I don’t know how to quell it. I’m incapable of choosing how to occupy my time.

Usually I’m at work, which distracts me. But this vacation week is more grueling than expected: without planning, everyday is an internal debate of figuring out what to do. I can’t make up my mind. I dress up to leave, but decide to stay. I guess I’ll write.

If I wasn’t mindful about not drinking or smoking, I’d probably be doing just that. I’d find a nice location, near the water, under the shade of a tree, and knock back a couple of cold ones. I’d hit the vape and bike around the city, stop a choice locations, just for a peek, then keep moving. I’d spend the day in a buzzed haze. But I don’t want to be that person anymore.

I could have planned my vacation week, looked up the various exhibitions across the city, filled my time with art, concerts, culture. But that seems too predictable. I want to be different.

The truth is I’m currently under intense emotional stress. I’m nervous about moving out, I’m not writing verses, I’m not shooting videos, I’m not doing my readings, I’m nervous about my upcoming driving exam, I’m craving social interaction, what else?

I regret not planning out this vacation. I could have come up with a carefully elaborated plan to tackle my issues. Starting from the most pressing (housing), to the less urgent (creative projects). Instead, all these preoccupations seem entangled and insurmountable.

But I learned from experience that everything is possible with the right amount of preparation. So I’ll stop avoiding my responsibilities and begin the hard work of planning, to achieve.

And that means, I’ll stay home, vacation or not, think and write, so I can come these realizations and feel prepared enough to keep going.