Confession is good for the soul… right?
Last night, a special friend wrote to me and said she was sad on Thanksgiving Day, because she couldn’t be with everyone she cared about; they’d either died or gone away. I wrote back to her, saying I empathized, but I hoped she could focus on who is here now, because people come and go in our lives and if we spend our time missing the ones who are gone, we forget to appreciate the ones who are very much present.
It occurred to me after I hit Send that I need to take my own damned advice.
Confession time: I’m stuck in a depressive spiral, and have been for weeks. My weekends with John and Mondays with ST have been bright spots, but the rest of the time has been rather bleak. I have been crying every day and struggling to do even the simplest of routines. And I’m fucking sick of it.
Those of you who know me, know I have a lifelong bad habit. I have abandonment issues that run deeper than the oldest oak tree, and I don’t take losses well. When they happen, I fixate, and pretty soon, I’m missing everyone who’s ever gone out of my life. I’m feeling every slight and imagining the worst in all scenarios. It’s self-centered and I’m just so damn tired of my own head. But the insidious thing about depression is, I don’t have the energy to push myself forward, to do what I need to do to get OUT of my head. And so it goes.
I know everyone thinks I should go to see ST today. I would if I could. I just can’t get myself out today. He understands. I am there in spirit.
I have done all the things I can, used all the tools I have in my psyche. Reached out to others, showed an interest in what they’re doing today, sent wishes to loved ones. I know some people would say, “Get out of yourself and go volunteer in a soup kitchen.” Yes, that’s a good idea. But not something I’m capable of doing.
I’ve been down this spiral before, and I will come out, when I get good and sick and tired of being sick and tired. When I’m tired of shedding copious tears over people who aren’t shedding them for me. When I come back to reality and see that it’s not all about me.
I have an appointment with my gyno in a couple of weeks, just to check on things and see if some of this could be post-menopausal hormone hell. Chances are, though, that it isn’t. It’s just circumstances that triggered the demons.
Today, my apartment is quiet and peaceful. I am grateful for that. Whoever finally moved in next door hasn’t made a peep. The gym is closed, but I’m going to work out in the apartment gym and get some endorphins going. The Marx Brothers’ “A Night at the Opera” is on cable later. And I may not be feasting, but I did buy myself a piece of pumpkin pie for tonight. 🙂
So, I’m coming clean. All the sarcasm and jokes and spanky patter have been put aside for today — I’m admitting I’m scraping along the bottom and I’m tired of being there. I am going to come back up. Again.
Thanks, everyone, for putting up with me. Sending you all much love and best wishes, and yes, gratitude, on this holiday. For everyone who is dealing with pain and grief, I’ll share my favorite “ism,” once more: “The depth of your despair will be the height of your joy.”