The Recipe of Too Much Life and Too Little News

Here is the recipe to being overstimulated:

1. You wake up and immediately start thinking about Facebook messages and leftover homework.

2. You have a to-do list three miles long every night, telling you to flit from room to room in the morning and lay back in the evening, only to find that there aren't enough hours in the day.

3. You get email alerts on your phone from the New York Times about the US ambassador to Libya being killed and quickly delete them so you can return to turning in forms and making meetings.

My Self

I wish there was a reason to cry. Because then it would make sense and I would be able to - without guilt, without fear of my own emotions. I would be able to express without thought, without judgment. But instead there is no reason. There is the sound of my breath as it moves in and out of me. There are the soft melodies and notes that make up the universe. There is the feeling of remembrance that I want both to shirk and to embrace. There are the sirens.
And the heavy weight behind my eyelids, telling me that I am about to let go, about to release... that tyrannical feeling that indicates a misplaced mood. I don't know how to explain it. I can only make metaphors to its existence. The hazy sun behind a white sky. The skinning of the raw pelt. Saying goodbye to your father for the last time.
I have no reason to cry and yet it lurks there, a pressure in my skull, the untapped desire.

I am scared that the apathy is coming back. I am scared of the depression I used to feel... the way it would make me seize up, a paralysis of thought and action. I am terrified beyond words that it might be coming back to hit me again. I didn't want the experience, but now that I know what it feels like, I want to run from it.
When I last had this feeling, my solution was life-changing. I embraced God in a way that I had previously never thought about. I gave up on the purpose of things. I just don't think I can do that again...
Please, someone, fix me.

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There Is...

There is something delicately strange in giving up everything.
When you feel that your life is going down the shithole and you're just struggling to climb on top of the pile and flee before it is 'too late.' There's some thin membrane there, something that buoys you up from the wave of all these crazy things.
I believe that it grows over time, this trampoline force which bounces you back onto your living room floor to start planning and scheming again. All the past rages and depressions and deep deep apathies which people string together like ghastly-lit pearls - they're all just part of the building. To weather through the storm more than once can either shatter you or make you stronger. Wouldn't we all prefer the latter?
I'm not sure why I'm posting like this; I'm not depressed and nothing is going on to make me feel insane. Maybe it's just the slow breath of the world, the influence of all those friends and not-friends who are struggling together and trying instead to make their lives a little less gloomy.
Maybe my life right now is fine enough. And maybe I'm just noticing the brevity of it.