Just a friendly reminder that my blog is for me. I write it for me, with an occasional shout out to readers or requests for information or input.
In other words, I write what I want. I write it for me. Even if it is whiny, repetitive or self-indulgent.
This is when I wonder if my blog should be private, but alas, it is not. Perhaps I've always been a little more open than I should be. Could be.
It's no secret that I have struggled with depression for years. I feel like it's something that I always have to keep tabs on, stay abreast of, try to stay ahead of. For a long time I felt like I was treading water, like I wasn't getting anywhere and like I was fighting the same battles again and again. Then at some point recently I felt like I was making some headway. I felt like I had made progress, like I wasn't revisiting the same issues and I was growing up, maturing, improving, and getting ahead of this insidious depression. If I had a bad day I was able to turn it around, not without considerable effort, but not let it spiral into days and weeks which is historically a habit.
Then about 3 weeks ago I seemed to hit a slump. I don't know exactly where it came from, but it seemed to descend from out of nowhere. I'm sure it had its origins, but to me it seemed to just appear. I gave into it for a day, hoping that I just needed a day to let it wash over me- But day followed day, turning into weeks. Now it is so reminiscent of days past, days so easy to forget how bad and debilitating depression can be, when it turns from more than merely a lack of motivation to a crippling inability to function. And this is just the beginning. This is the precipice before I hurl into an abyss of lethargy, apathy and a downward spiral of guilt, self-pity and loathing accompanied by a mystifying inability to enact any change! I hate it! I know it sounds so self-indulgent, so dramatic, so...stupid. But I swear I hate it. I swear I do not act any of it. I swear I do not want any one's pity, scorn, disbelief, sympathy, attention. I do want empathy. I want someone who understands when it sounds so unbelievable. Someone who knows I'm not looking for attention. I'm grateful i have that person: my sister. I know she understands, but even she does it better than I. Even though she understands and empathizes and does not judge, times like this it makes me feel a little bit bad because she copes and functions and does not jeopardize the happiness and well-being of her family.
This blip, this eruption makes me question my future course. I felt like I was doing well, improving, and then I fell off a cliff. What do I have to do? In order to be functioning human being, mother, wife, friend, member of society- enjoy a modicum of happiness will I always have to meticulously monitor every bite of food, religiously exercise daily, keep a strict sleep schedule, scrutinize every thought, hang motivational thoughts from every surface, berate myself constantly?
Only someone who has experienced debilitating depression will understand why it is so hard to affect change. Why despite my complaints, my misery, I cannot merely pull myself up by the bootstraps and get over it.
Sometimes this mortality thing sucks.