Dark have been my dreams of late

Hi everyone,

So I haven’t been having a very good time of it lately. Things in my life all seem to have fallen apart at once, threads from a ratty old jumper flying out at all directions until there’s a yarn-based Hellraiser scene in my head. That, of course, has sent me spiralling downward.

The post’s title is a quote from Lord of the Rings, as if you’d expect any less from me, and from Theoden, the king whose closest adviser had him withered, aged and blinded to those around that loved him. It seems I’ve had my own Grima Wormtongue to contend with, this gnawing voice in my head that I’ll always think of as Brad Dourif’s portrayal of the character now:

Image result for theoden and grima
For those of you who need a visual of what depression feels like.

The problem? Knowing that I have this voice in my head doesn’t really make me feel any better. It just makes me feel stupid. This sadness is all coming from within. How much darkness can a person contain, anyway?

Without getting theological, let’s think about the human soul. Not in the way that it was given to us by some beard diety, but as a word to describe the thing that changes us from an electrified sponge on legs and into a complex and self-aware creature. I don’t know what it is, if it’s solid, or another aspect of personally, or perhaps just an abstract idea that we hold on to in order to explain ourselves to each other, but every soul seems different.

My soul could be described as romantic, I guess. Romantic and curious. I have a lot of wonder and awe inside that is woken best by beauty and generosity and creativity. There’s also the darkness; a void that swells and retreats, sometimes filling me, sometimes swallowing me. Is that a part of my soul? Is my Grima something that I’ll never truly overcome?

Some things are just built in, aren’t they?

That’s an exhausting prospect. The rest of my existence is to be spent at war with myself. This Grima, this darkness, this inescapable aspect. I’m already tired. I’m about to be 33 and I’m already so very tired that every step seems leaden, weighed down by what’s inside. Can I carry that much further? Will I give up when I’m 35? 40? 50? What will be the straw that breaks me? Is it around the corner or will it never come?

I may have asked this in a previous post, but where’s my fucking Gandalf? I need some white wizard-level intervention because I can’t do this shit alone anymore.
Thanks for reading.

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