Dear Depression. Go away. Now. You are fired and I’m searching for your replacement.
I noticed you, all right. Sneaking up on me. Waking me up in the middle of the night to alternately think/not think about sad things. Homesickness. Self doubt. Anger. Then whispering in my ear that I really didn’t need to get up in the morning. When that didn’t work, you started in, encouraging me to sleep hours on end. Telling me that I didn’t really need to get dressed. That it was okay to lie on the couch all day in my pajamas.
“Stay with me” you whisper as you wrap me in your arms to immobilize me. “Your friends are busy. Your kids are far away. Just stay here with me. I’m here for you.”
“Forget the hobbies…sure, your hands will be busy, but you won’t enjoy them”. Sure enough, my beads sit untouched in the studio. I haven’t sewn in weeks and writing is the only outlet I’ve had. Even that feels forced these days. Instead of words flowing, they are pulled reluctantly forward, more often than not sent to the trash bin. Not good enough – not important enough – not anything…
Exercise, I tell myself. Proven to help with depression. I drag my droopy ass (literal and figurative description) to the Olympic size pool in the pre-dawn hour for waterjogging – an activity I started when I broke an ankle this spring. Laps back and forth in the dark – waiting for the sun to come up. And the sunrise does nothing for me. Nothing. Me, the girl who has always enjoyed sunrise as much as sunsets. Fresh new day, endless opportunities and all that happy horseshit.
I immerse myself in a new job, but I am distracted, disinterested, and inattentive. It isn’t what I want, isn’t where I want to be. I want to be on the couch with my friends, Mr. Depression, Mr. Remote Control, and Mr. CableTV.
Even my usual friend/distraction/comfort – FOOD – doesn’t do it for me. Oh, I eat it all right, but I get no pleasure from it. Even dragging myself to the refrigerator seems too much effort.
Oh, I recognize you, all right. We’ve danced before. After the birth of my first child. After the death of my mother. A couple of other times, including a drug induced depression from a medication prescribed for chronic pain. I kicked you to the curb then; and I will do it again. So pack your sorry ass up and get on outta here, and take your apathy, lethargy and inattention with you.
I’ve got better things to do. Like living a beautiful life.