I've realised why I've felt so incredibly depressed over the last 9 months. Why everything has felt so grey, like I'm living shades of life, why I've felt so completely hopeless, lost, listless - without a reason for living, direction-less. This sounds crazy but... I think the reason for all this sadness is that, in actual fact, I'm in love and crazier still, I'm only just realising this!
Not the kind of love anyone here will understand or find acceptable, but I think it is an actual love.
I miss her, I miss her light and warmth, her passion and her unpredictability, the way that nothing is ever bland with her, food and wine tastes better in her company, the rain comes never in a drizzle, but when it comes, comes in a torrent and soaks me to the skin - she's full of extremes, arousing and sensual; she radiates colour into my life and lifts up my soul. Just thinking about her arouses me and awakens a deep longing, a longing to go back. I regretted leaving before I left.
I'm in love with a place. I'm in love with how that place makes me feel, what she offers up to my senses on a daily basis. My depression has lasted almost as long as I've been away from her. London has cast a dark shadow over my day-to-day. It's become more and more difficult to breath, to pull myself out of bed each morning knowing that every day is going to be exactly the same, to trudge past miserable people on the way to a tube that's crowded before it sets off and work 10 hours in a grey building under a grey sky.
Understanding this and resolving to return to her, to my Spain, has immediately lifted the grey cloud that I worried had surely trapped me forever.
#I went someplace - and every day I woke up in that place and I told myself ‘I’m alive’ and I was. In some ways more than I've ever been. You know, a barman once told me that you know when you're alive because you can feel and you know when you're not because you don’t feel anything.#
