I’ve made no real attempts at hiding the fact that depression chases me around & pins me down from time to time (probably more frequently than that, but lets not get into the semantics of it at the moment). With all of this “experience” I am getting with being down in the dumps all the time, you’d think I would find a way to work it to my advantage. . . But, no. Unfortunately, that’s not the way it works.
I cry a lot. Like, I mean, A LOT.
I cry anytime my emotions get overwhelming, it seems — which, like I said, is a lot.
I suppose I should learn (somehow) to look at it as a good thing since it obviously isn’t going to change any time soon. . .
It IS quite frustrating, though. . . On so many levels. . .
Hurry up & wait. . .
Run to class, wait for it to get over because it’s something boring that could have been done in half the time if instructors didn’t insist on hand-holding. . . Rush home & get food made, just to feel the let down when it’s time for the handsome husband to jet off to work.
Boring, lonely evenings at home. With the dog. Who isn’t enough company, no matter what people try to say about the joy of dogs. . . It might all be true, but he’s still a dog.
The handsome husband finally gets home, but as I am waking up, he is needing to go to sleep. Again, I am by myself. He might be home, but he is unavailable. . . Not able to really be present.
Then, he is waking up, but I am too tired to stay up with him. So, I go to bed by myself, cursing that I am tired because he is awake. Then, again, I wake up as he is going to sleep. . .
It’s a vicious cycle. . . I’m sick of it. It’s no one’s fault, necessarily. But I am just done.
I’ve cried entirely too many tears over loneliness. It’s ridiculous.
I have a confession to make. . . With all my talk of trying to be more purposeful, lately, I’ve been doing quite the opposite. It’s not entirely out of control, but I could see it getting there! I am reacting to things, rather than being proactive & it is starting to show.
I am going to keep this short & “sweet,” in the interest of just getting something posted since it has been weeks since I last participated in Ten Things of Thankful. . . Please forgive me for not putting forth more of an effort this week. . . Sometimes just gaining some momentum is a necessary thing. So, in no particular order. . . Continue reading “Keepin’ it Simple (TToT #7)”
Obviously, it’s been over a month since I last posted.
It seems I am at one extreme or another.
This isn’t anything new with me. Yet, every time something happens to remind me of it, I am just as surprised as the last time. It makes absolutely NO sense. But, there it is. Knowing this makes it no less true. It is what it is, I suppose. Continue reading “How Dare I?”
It’s been mentioned before that I slip into depression from time to time. . . For me, it has never been of the suicidal variety, as you hear about so often. . . Rather, it is the spiraling, emotional, self-destructive, get lost in my own thoughts, want to sleep all the time variety. . . When I was younger, I kept a few journals. I don’t know if depression plagued me then, but I’ve always been an emotional, highly analytical person. . . As I got older, somewhere along the way, journaling fell to the wayside. I don’t know if I just didn’t have the patience for it any longer or if I simply & genuinely forgot all about it.
After my mother died when I was a teenager, & as the years went on, a recurring pattern of depression emerged. It always seemed the worst during the winter months. I never could tell if it was directly related to the decreased amount of sunlight in the Pacific Northwest or if it was simply the time of year — typically from beginning to mid-November all the way through January & a good chunk of February. My mother’s death was on January 11, 1999.
I was 17-years-old & a senior in high school. At the time, I kept myself busy, hanging out with friends, working at my job at the local department store. . . Whatever I could do to keep my mind off the fact that my mother was in & out of the hospital, staying the night a couple of hours away, & coming home on the weekends or whenever her treatment for acute myelogenous leukemia (AML — apparently, one of the most aggressive forms) would allow.
To this day, I haven’t quite figured out which took hold stronger. . . Has it really been the memories of that last holiday season before my mother’s death that has me slipping into a depression every year? Or has it been my lack of sufficient amounts of Vitamin D in the grey winter months in Western Washington? Either way, most years, by the time January would roll around, I was at my worst. Between the anniversary of her death & then her birthday on February 5, I couldn’t resist the feeling of sadness & overwhelming helplessness. It’s hard to explain the feeling to anyone who hasn’t been there. . .