So folks, give or take six weeks the black dog, the brain turkeys, the DEPRESSION has been circling. I’ve been aware of it and we all know what a blessing this is as opposed to falling into the pit and not even knowing it.
There’s been some tweaking of the meds this last month and a fair whack of “cognitive therapy” – ie trying to talk myself out of it. Both with limited success.
Am I ok? Yeah, I guess. No, not really.
I can do the positive talk – the taking stock, looking at this, the family, where we live and so on and so forth. I know. I KNOW.
I can do the “that thought is not helpful, now find one that is” routine. And have been.
But then there is the rest: the listlessness, the exhaustion, the desire to flee, the crying, the yelling, wanting to retreat, the self-loathing, the lack of enjoyment from things I normally love and on it goes.
Then I get broadsided by the clanger. The feeling of complete and utter worthlessness. It thwacked me around the head last night from out of nowhere. It’s like taking a hit to the guts, you double over, you can’t get your breath and the sadness that it brings is like the biggest, heaviest blanket you can imagine.
And now I am pinned by it. Full of melancholy and guilt and self-doubt and well, blah.
I can quite easily tell myself the opposite, that of course I’m not worthless and so on and so forth, Chef can do the same but it is no matter, it makes no difference.
I know I will get through it, I know it will pass. I do. But, you know, it’s just really hard.