What if No One's Watching?

I think it's safe to say that I've hit the depression after the marathon. I'm not surprised--after months of living almost completely externally, with no time or energy to devote to the life inside my head, my mind, or maybe my soul, demands time to turn inside. This, in combination with my new life of solitude (working from home, no car, with Mark gone long hours) has me in this state of nearly no communication. I don't answer my phone; I answer emails with a line, if you're lucky; I don't reach out to my online friends; I don't blog. I make excuses to get out of any social obligation that comes up, preferring, strongly, to stay on my couch.

I know, because I've played this scene before, that it's not the world's healthiest thing. I stop doing anything I don't absolutely have to. The quality of my work declines, the quality of my companionship declines--sometimes, the quality of my hygiene even declines. I'm sure it irritates the hell out of anybody who has to deal with me or needs anything from me. While it's not necessarily destructive--I have always, to this point, been able to keep my shit together enough to keep my job, for example--it's not pretty. It is, more than anything, completely selfish. I just get to this point where dealing with anybody outside my own head is so much work I can't see a reason to do it. I'm not miserable--in fact, I'm pretty content--but only so long as I don't have to engage with anyone.

Usually, at least these past few years, these periods of intense hermit behavior come in combination with an obsessive-level interest in something. A book I'll reread over and over again, or a television show (often, a television show), or the need to make hundreds of batches of bath bombs. I'm not sure if this is typical for people who have whatever my flavor of mental illness is, but it seems right to me, seems like a coping mechanism that, while irritating to those who have to be around me, is ultimately benign. A temporary place to put the focus I would normally direct at the events and relationships that define my real life.

The really great thing, I guess, about having been the way I am for so long, is that I know it doesn't last. Being in it, the way I feel right now, I can't imagine wanting to have a conversation, or participate in anything, really, or even leave the house. But I know, because I've been here before, that eventually, the fog clears, the obsession plays itself out, and I return to the way I was before. It usually happens gradually, ending the same way it started, and then I realize one day that I'm totally back to normal.