As is usually the case when I decide to throw a post up in here, I am not sure where I am going with this much less how to begin. It was a stupid week. Nothing major, nothing I can't deal with. I'll go into the specifics of what happened later, maybe, I've told some people some parts, but I've decided to keep somethings to myself just this once. People always try to outdo each other with putting the worst of themselves on display, and I would like to not go down that exact path for once. Instead, let's talk about solo travel and depression.
Ah, this post. You know, I've been writing and deleting this post since Australia. Clearly, there is something chemically wrong with me. My life is, undeniably, fine. Both of my parents are alive. I have all my limbs. There is food in my 'fridge and, as of Thursday, heat in my apartment. I have a college education and am able to secure employment in different countries. Cool. But, ever since I was a kid, and I mean eight years old or so, I've had issues--issues, not problems--with depression. I remember living in Hawaii, on Welo St., so this was, at the latest fourth grade, and thinking about where I could lie on the street to best insure a car would kill me if it struck me, or I wondered if I would be able to drink enough bleach to kill myself before my body rebelled against the act. Not terribly well thought-out suicide ideas, but I was a kid. My ideas have become a bit more practical since then. I remember saying, "fuck it" one night in Vegas and driving out to Boulder City with my foot completely against the floor, 130+ mph, and taking my seatbelt off. I've looked at bottles of pills on the shelves of stores and wondered, I've looked at box cutters too long... I've stood on the roof of buildings or on the platforms of trains and thought, "is this it?" I used to get these attacks I imagine recovering cocaine addicts would understand where, without warning, just this... compulsion peaks and you know you can't give in but you're not really sure why since, God damn it, it's YOUR body and YOUR life so fuck everyone. I'm sure a lot of us have been there. Most of us, I suspect. 
And this definitely connects to travel because travel, for me, has given me something to do, something to think about, something to enjoy, to give some of those Not So Good thoughts less time. Unfortunately, if you find yourself slipping into Runner territory, you might need to start leveling up your game and travel becomes not so much something you do because you enjoy it but something you do like any other drug because you've developed a habit and you need a big hit to get the same effect. So I find myself looking at maps and refreshing Skyscanner, but my latest pursuit looks like it isn't going to happen. This is disappointing and feels like my medication is suddenly being switched.
Also, the downside of constantly moving, constantly going, is you might not have the connections you need when your cortisol levels go too high or too low. You might find yourself in country where you have no external support system in place. Language separates you from locals and time zones separate you from people you know. Some part of your brain needs to have escape plans in place when you find yourself... not so good. Alcohol comes into play a lot. Some people seem to enjoy running or other physical activity. I know of self-mutilation, something that I never experimented with to any serious extent, and risky behaviors. I know some people choose to use sex or whatever to distract them until the urge is gone. That's not for me, but hey, if it works... Sometimes just being completely alone in nature somewhere far, far removed. That remoteness, that knowing that I COULD and no one would find me for weeks, if ever, has been satisfactory enough for the softer pulses. 
When I came back to China after my wanderings this summer, it took me awhile to realize I had slipped a bit into a depressed funk, not wanting to leave the apartment or do anything. London pushed that aside for a bit, but coming back to Beijing brought a lot of stuff back to mind. These cold days with the pollution blocking out the sun and making the idea of being outside sound absolutely ghastly, one brief jog on Monday left me trying to clear my throat for a full day mean I have a lot of time in my head, which is never good. Minor annoyances stresses that I could usually handle have further tweaked my chemistry and while I am no where near where I was back in 2013, I feel like I might be heading that way again.
"And how does that make you feel," the psychologist in my head who I suspect sounds a lot like Dr. Hufano from my childhood asks.
I am sure there is a word for the morbid curiosity and fascinated dread that you feel when you know something bad might be coming and you aren't sure if you can be assed to do anything about it.
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