I usually know better than to hinge my hopes on someone else being around, and yet I still hoped that I’d get to hang out with [redacted] this weekend. Wishful thinking as usual.

I’m reading The Infinite Book by John D. Barrow, and he explores the different kinds of infinities that we run into in every day life, and all of the sudden I think of “Groundhog Day”, my life caught in this infinite loop of nothing-ever-changing, except that I just keep getting older. Of course, this brings up the older story of Sisyphus condemned to roll a stone up a hill only to watch it roll down again. And I fantasize that this is it, that the rest of my life will be all about rolling this stone up the hill, then chasing it when it rolls down, cycle upon cycle, with nothing new under the sun, and I realize that I am once again under the fog of depression.

One of the most illuminating things I read about the mental illness known as depression is that the patient begins believing that things will never change, that things will always be this way, unchanging, no matter what you do.

Realistically, this never happens. Quantum fluctuations alone will ensure this, but practically speaking, history moves at a break-neck pace anyway. A year from now, who knows in what kind of situation I’ll be in? Just because I can’t envision finding some sort of happiness and fulfillment doesn’t mean it isn’t possible.

The only thing that I need to remember is that tomorrow will be a different day. I’ve learned not to have expectations, but, for now, this will have to pass for hope.

Originally posted on Starlight and Gravity