I'm off to see the doctor next week, I'm going to ask him for some help. You might have noticed content has been a little sparse in these parts of late, I'm afraid I've been having something of a hard time. It started a few months ago and I attributed it to nerves in the period going up to my GIC visit, but after briefly abating in the immediate aftermath of my trip to London, it's back with a vengeance.
Depression can be annoying, like that. I feel as though I'm sliding headlong into the pit I was in two or three years ago. When you find yourself stressed to the point of crying by the tiniest things, it's time to go to the doctor. Last time I tried to tough it out and I nearly ended up killing myself, this time it's off to my GP for some help. The alternative would be a surefire route to everything going wrong and I'm simply not risking it. Better medication than that.
Surprisingly I've found some solace in the Rusty Old Wreck. Driving the Rollerskate stresses me beyond belief at the moment because I'm left with nothing to think about . Modern cars really are that good. By comparison going anywhere in the Wreck requires concentration, plus it works at those parts of my brain that still have some of the bloke about them. It's a mechanical toy, and one that's fun to play with.
So I've probably done a little more motoring than I expected to this week. Shuddering around the lanes at what was probably a fearsome speed in 1959 but nowadays is positively pedestrian. Anticipating every manoeuvre to account for fifty year old brakes. Double declutching. Plenty for my brain to occupy itself with. Watching yesterday's sunset driving through the Downs with Dawn was particularly impressive.
It's funny, I keep getting moments of flashback, twenty years ago and a much younger me in a slightly later model Wreck on the same roads. I haven't driven the thing for so long. Driving through my city late night on Tuesday especially brought this on, if I'd had a Ford Sierra in front of me instead of a Skoda Octavia taxi I'd have turned on the radio and expected the KLF. Hang on, that Wreck had a radio, this one doesn't.
Somehow it feels like a minor defeat, to be going to the doctor and asking for medication. But I think it's the right thing to do. The alternative? There isn't one, at least not one I'd care to contemplate.