I’ve been thinking about writing this now for days. I have thought diligently about the words I would type out on my white, electronic canvas, only to decide that it would require too much energy to actually move my fingers enough to get the thoughts organized into a cohesive document. After several hours of struggling with some accounting homework, I now sit in my office with Cape Lion softly playing for ambiance, and something slightly more annoying playing on the other side of the paper thin wall in my daughter’s room.
The thoughts that have plagued my mind for the last month or so have been those of depression, as usual. I had a few months of relief, but it slowly crept back in; lingering behind after the shadows would dissipate. Before, I had my vacation to look forward to. I had the sand and the palm trees. Now, I have…
I frequently have hair that goes unbrushed for so long it gets matted to my head. I have a permanent tender spot on the top of my head from where it pulls when I finally do get around to brushing it. It’s starting to thin a bit too.
I have several mounds of laundry that are piled up around my house. Each one calls my name and begs for my attention as I walk by and I ignore it like a neglectful parent. I have one pair of underwear that is making its way across the floor of my room, courtesy of my four legged fur kid. I have yet to bother and pick them up. When I do, I’ll probably just throw them away.
I have a quarter of a tank of gas in my car, which is exactly the same amount that was in there this time last week. I haven’t been anywhere that I haven’t absolutely needed to go since then. My husband did the grocery shopping this week. Where this would normally send me in shock and in hives from lack of control, I simply don’t care. I welcomed the idea of staying in.
I have a perfect indentation of my ass on the far right side of my sofa. When it’s not planted in front of my computer doing school work, it’s sitting there, doing nothing except…doing nothing. My husband has given me till the end of the month to get my butt back to the gym or he’s cancelling our membership. I’m trying like hell to muster up the mojo to drag myself out and go. The only reason we even have the membership is to keep me moving. When I move, my depression fades.
What else do I have?
Oh, well, I can tell you what I don’t have. My sex drive is almost completely gone again. This makes me really angry. And sad. I make myself available to him in hopes that once the juices get flowing I’ll bounce back and be like BOW!—back in business. Sometimes it works, but most of the time…eh. And he’s so damn cute, it’s so stupid.
And my medications…let’s talk about my meds for a minute. I have been on my meds for about a year now and for the most part, they work for me. I will admit that I have a problem here and there staying on them. There are times when I run out or just (for whatever stupid reason I make up in my head) decide I don’t want to take them. This screws with me and I know this. I’ve been back on them regularly for about a solid month. Prior to that I was off of them for probably a week and then prior to that was only taking them sporadically for about a week. But I am a creature of habit and I love a routine. I get up every morning and I take my three little pills out of my mediplanner and pop them in my mouth and then the same thing at night before I go to sleep. I refill my mediplanner on Thursdays. I get myself in trouble if I don’t refill my mediplanner. Come Saturday, it’s empty and I think to myself “oh, well, guess we won’t take them today” and therein starts the vicious cycle of med non-compliance. I’ve worked in healthcare for over a decade, I know the importance of med compliance. It’s not that my mind tries to justify not taking it, it’s simply sheer indifference.
*Takes hour and a half break to troll Facebook*
Now that I have all of this down, I’ve taken the time to stretch my fingers and click-clack each key and form this shit piece of a blog, I’m ready to select it all and hit the backspace. For no other reason than I’ve had time to let everything I’ve written sink in a bit and I just sound so fucking whiny. I hate it. I can’t stand it. I stepped away from it, came back, and I just can’t stand it. Maybe it’s me I can’t stand. I don’t know.
I’m not in that horribly awful place where I’m so sad I just cry all the damn time, but I’m in that gray area. The one where everything is just kind of…eh. My insomnia is starting to come back a little bit. I haven’t had to deal with that in years. Tonight is okay. It’s late, but I’m tired and I know as soon as I lay my head down, I’ll be asleep. But that’s not the case every night. Sometimes I just lay there for hours waiting and waiting, just wondering when I’ll finally fall asleep. And of course, with the insomnia come the nightmares and other vivid and strange dreams. I dreamt the other night that I was robbing banks with Bob Newhart (figure that one out), which somehow lead to me peeing in his shower and ultimately me peeing the bed in reality. That Bob Newhart is a sketchy bastard. Don’t trust that guy. He’ll offer to watch your kids and the next thing you know, you’ll be robbing banks and wearing depends. If you ever want to test the limits of your marriage, pee on your spouse. Mine took it like a champ, took a shower, and laughed it off. I, on the other hand, was mortified.
Depression is a constant struggle for those who suffer with it. It is not a daily battle as we are told by medical professionals and pharmaceutical adverts. It is a moment by moment battle. When the going is good, it is fantastic and fun. The sun is shining even on a rainy day and the joys of my children’s laughter are reminders of the little things that provide real purpose in my life. My energy peaks and levels out at a high point and nothing seems to get me down. But the price for fun and energy is fragility. I never know what it will be that will break my streak, and as much as I try to fight them off, there will always be stronger forces that are negative and successful at kicking me down a notch or two.
If I had a magic fix, I’d have taken it by now. There’s nothing worse than feeling the way I feel, except maybe feeling worse. So my goal for tomorrow is to give my couch cushion a break for about an hour. I’ve tried to promise my kids we’d go up to the gym so they could go to day care (the little ones LOVE day care and seeing their friends) and I could go to Zumba and get some activity in, but the words “I promise” are just a smidge too shy of coming out of my mouth. I’m just not willing to make a promise I can’t keep and even with the best intentions, I’m not sure if I’ll be able to do it.
Truth be told, I’m a little nervous to walk back in after being absent for two months. I’m not looking forward to everyone asking me where I’ve been and then giving some excuse as to why I haven’t been there. “Oh, well, you know…I’m lazy.”
Actually, that sounds better than the truth. I think I’ll use that one.