Donkey-Deep

Because of reasons, I am not at present in a state of sparkling mental wellness.  All signs point to this continuing for some time, after which it will likely stop, and I will explain.  My affective experience is probably closer to mild cyclothymia than my usual gloom of varying greys.  Sans doute this is an experience of dread and frustration, even if only temporary, but has all the drear of the high-functioning life: no-one can tell you’re ill unless you tell them, and even then they might not believe you.  I’m long past the ritual outing of myself at work and find it a drag when I need to do so, even if the few who know what’s going wrong have been reasonably sympathetic in their response.

I am fortunate therefore in my husband (reader, I married him) who takes in his relative stride his crazy wife, and I take perverse refuge in the language of ableism, which does much, in its deficit rhetoric, to account in private for the extent to which I feel impaired at present.  These are not so much stories as dots on the map; come midsummer there may yet be lines to be drawn.  Until then, I’ll continue with the task of saying something else here.  There’s always the fun of the rickroll, (for which a hat-tip to @doompony).