An encounter with the pit

I thought this was all over a long time ago. A long, hard week away, followed by eight time zones change seems to have made me vulnerable. Last week's intense adrenalin surge is now being followed by a crash. After a (short) weekend of disturbed sleep patterns punctuated by moments of activity at peculiar hours, I had my first day back in the office today. More information overload and obligations to my team. My diary full of new commitments made for me by others in advance, on top of those I have already made on my own.

When I pick up my necessary groceries and head back to my house, it takes me only a few minutes to check my emails and then crash onto my bed without eating an evening meal, picking up the newspaper, or turning on the television. It's a peculiar state, not awake, not asleep, paralysed in inactivity without the self-motivation even to roll over. I've been here before, but not for a long time, and I'm scared of what it means. The pit beckons at the edge of my imagination. Please, God, not again.

No calls, no messages, alone on a dark winter's evening. I know I'm vulnerable. I've been here before. As usual, I'm trying to live up to everyone's expectations of me. I'm not superhuman, but I am, at this moment, very, very, alone. I thought depression was something I had beaten a long time ago. Now I'm not so sure and I'm writing this frantically like a message in a bottle, having stirred myself into action.

Maybe, in a couple of days, when the fatigue of jetlag has passed, I'll be more positive. I'm in great demand, professionally at least, and my friends will rally round if and when they know about my mental state. In the meantime, the abyss is having another look at me.