Cogitating

I’ve moved - and it all went remarkably well.  I’m now in a house that doesn’t quite feel like home yet, but is probably one of the nicest, most well-ordered places I’ve ever lived in.  It’s calmer than the flat; there isn’t that sense of being hemmed in and not being able to make a noise.  It’s older too; I’ve lived most of my life in old houses and I don’t much like modern ones.

The first few nights were very strange; I had a sense of not quite knowing where I was, but that seems to be fading as I re-orientate myself.  I’m sleeping a bit better too, but I suppose it will take a while before I know whether this will be a more permanent change.  However, I’m still not really enjoying going to sleep.

What I have been able to do over the last week is think about why my mind works in the way it does.  I know that I have what could be described as a depressive nature; there’s no getting away from that - it has always been there and I daresay always will be to some extent.  I have spent various periods of my life on anti-depressants, with varying success.  I suppose the easy way forward would be to reach for them again and try to re-stabilise myself that way, but I am currently wondering at the wisdom of that following the recent news that, to quote REM, “the drugs don’t work”.

But…. they have on me, in the main.  So is that a good reason for turning to them again or must I try to work this out of my system myself, or indeed let things take their natural course?  or find an efficient way of fighting it?

I know from previous periods of self-examination that a lot of this stems from self-worth, or lack of it.  I have grown very used to life being difficult in varying degrees, whether through problems with people round me, money, jobs, environment, my own head, rampant hypochondria and a range of other things.

Now, suddenly, a massive thing has happened that whilst on one hand completely turned my life upside down, has given it a meaning that I never thought possible.

This has created a massive paradox within me; do I really deserve this?  Have I been “good” enough to warrant such luck?  Will events conspire to snatch it away from me again?  Somewhere in the back of my mind, I have obviously conditioned myself to believe that the shitty events in my life have been down to karma, that I have done something to deserve it.  Therefore when good things do happen I have to resist the overwhelming temptation of looking the proverbial gift horse in the mouth - or maybe worse than this, spend (waste) a lot of time looking over my shoulder to see when the Bad Luck Fairy is going to catch up with me again.

And of course, it puts me face to face with the unbeatable adversary; Time.  I’ve spent a long time looking for things without ever knowing whether I would find them or not.  Now I have, I must trust and hope that I am granted the time to enjoy them.

Time is what I am asking for; I would pray for it, except I have no idea who to ask.