When in an Altered State

So, I was going through my emails and notes and whatnot (desperately trying to tidy the mess that is my current query process) and I found this small snippet.

Now, like many aspiring artists and authors, I have the gift-curse of depression. Occasionally, anxiety will join the mix, and, if I'm really unlucky, they combine. Like a tropical wave rolling off the West African coast meeting an area of low pressure, this gift-curse can intensify and form the perfect storm: a dissociative episode.

I can vaguely remember writing this.

I know I fell asleep soon after, which was nice.

Just thought it was interesting. Straight from the mist of a dissociative episode:

Climbing into bed to rest my body so my mind can focus on my thoughts 

Thoughts blend into a bland blend

No thought in particular stands out or presents itself 

Even my eyes wont focus in case they rob energy from my thoughts 

But my thoughts are nothing.

And I stare into nothing.

And so I stare at the wall, the TV, the ceiling.

Trying to pick apart the soup that is my thoughts.

Impossible.

So tired from all the not-thinking.

So awake from all the bedrest.

So ready for bedtime, I've been ready since I woke up. 

What could help me feel better? Music, probably.  Lifts the soul. 

Writing? Maybe. This is why I'm writing now. 

Drawing? Ah, drawing. Nothing like letting the one create something to keep the hands occupied as your mind wanders off into meadows of turbulence and worry.

Marvelous.