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Wednesday, July 30, 2008

This too shall pass. Again.

The future generations who read my mother-in-law’s journals will be captivated by the details of her life, the whos, the wheres, the what they ate, and what time it all started (late, if you know my mother-in-law, in her journal it MUST say, “Oh dear, we were late again.”) My posterity, on the other hand will be spellbound by the rollercoaster of my emotions as I tried figure out life,-that is of course, only if my last wishes are not followed and my journals have not been burnt to a crisp.

Writing everyday (or almost everyday) is something I have done since I was in high school. Are you surprised I’m not a little better at it? Me too. Blogging is the first time I’ve shared the things I write with anyone. Usually I try to be somewhat clever or funny or thought provoking here, but the bottom line is that writing is therapeutic for me and this is what I need to write today.

I’m getting a cold. Sometimes that happens when I’m depressed. A physical symptom. I hate being depressed. For as long as I can remember depression has been my sometimes companion, the visits vary in length, and for many years I didn’t have a name for how I felt. I just called it rotten, if I had to the energy to call it anything at all.

It cycles, and I haven’t had a bad bout in a while, so I guess it’s time. I recognize it now, in the olden days, before my first shrink and my first SSRIs I just thought I was going to die. Which, as you can imagine, is pretty depressing.

I feel like I am wrapped in a lead lined blanket, it sounds silly. I want to take it off, and I get frustrated. My senses are dulled. I know WHY I feel like this so why can’t I just stop? I don’t tell anyone (except my husband) when it happens. I think I’ve gotten pretty good at hiding it, besides, what would I say? “Um, could you take my kids to school today? I’m feeling kind of melancholy and I’m probably gonna be in bed for the next three weeks.” I don’t let myself stay in bed. That doesn’t mean I am productive, I’m just not in bed. I stay home more, and answer my phone less.

Logic does not visit on the same days Depression does, but usually Anxiety comes along. They make a great team.

I don’t take medication anymore, I did, for years. I don’t care if you or your best friend takes Prozac. Unlike Tom Cruise, I have seen the benefits first hand. I just don’t want to take a prescription everyday. Truthfully I don’t think I need to. (See, no logic.) My episodes of depression are farther apart and don’t last as long as they used to. Most of the time I can talk (or journal) myself out of it.

This time I’m having a harder time, so I’m going back to the therapist. Knowing is half the battle, right?

I am an emotional writer. My journals are filled with the joys and the sorrows of my life. My great-grandchildren won’t know what I ate or wore or what kind of car I drove, but hopefully they will read my tearstained pages and know that even when life was hard I hoped for a better tomorrow, even when it was hard over and over and over. Hopefully they will see that even when I couldn’t see the light, I knew that there was one and I kept going.

2 comments:

Ward and June said...

Dear Debbie Downer,

Just Kidding.

I too have written (though not daily, but almost) since I was 13. Writing got me through a lot and it has always been a cheap form of therapy for me, especially during the infertility years. I have recently thought of changing the atmosphere on my blog. I haven't felt funny or interesting in weeks, and i feel that the only way to post is to be more honest, who cares if I have any readers. My next post will probably leave people thinking I am crazy, but I don't really care anymore.

I had no idea you were feeling rotten. I feel terrible, I talked to you yesterday and had no idea, what a good friend I am.

I don't know what to say, other than that sucks and I hope you are better soon.

I would joke that maybe what you need is a break with the Thomas' but I know that if you're anything like me being reminded how far apart we are and how difficult a single visit is won't help you with your rotten state, so I won't.

And who cares what you ate. I would rather know how people feel than how many servings of veggies they get a day. I get enough of that.

wesley's mom said...

You are not a bad friend, I'm a big faker. What good would it do to whine?

I'll be fine. It really is a cycle and I've been through it before, that doesn't make it much easier, but I know what to expect, if that makes any sense.

At least my kids will be able to trace all of their crazy right back to the source (my mom, hahaha!)

 
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