The well of sadness

It is a place of obligatory visits.
Thank God not often.
That dark place.
Where your mind plays tricks with you. Tells you you're not right. Tells you to worry.
It is a lonely place. Because it is inside. And you're the only VIP who gets to pass the purple ropes.
I hate this place. But there is no escape.
You have to go sometime.
And that time is now (for me).

I spent Sunday trying to avoid going.
But couldn't escape the pull, like gravity, to where I'm at.
It's a state of mind, but it's also a place where I'm supposed to feel emotion - and I don't. Not that I refuse, just that I don't feel much of anything.
And that's dangerous.

Thing of it is, the trigger this time are worries that I cannot control. There is no problem to solve. There are only things that I have to watch unfold.
And that's the dangerous part.
Putting on the happy face, the thin veneer of function, and go out in the world and do what's needed of me. When all I really want is to be in bed, with the covers pulled tight and the blinds shut. Shut out the world.

No one can help, either. It is a lonely place, one that I don't think anyone understands. But me. I'm not scared of it, I just don't like going.
It makes me tired. Grumpy. Introspective and morose.
And, I am fairly certain, a pain in the ass.

I had a friend who was visiting her dark place recently and I told her it was a mental and physical reset. She seemed to like that analogy.
I just wish, at this very moment, I could believe my own bullshit. that it is just a reset.
And I'll just reboot.
And I'll run just fine.