Ever been in a fight with yourself? This past week, I have done nothing but defend myself against myself. My ego has been throwing sticks and stones at my brain, leaving my heart heavy and hurting.
My chest and arms have felt as if they were taken hostage by gravity. I had a gnawing urge to huddle in a ball. I had a full-blown panic attack last weekend, for no apparent reason, that seemed to precipitate the following week’s worth of self doubt and a total inability to focus. All my emotions suddenly seemed to lack muscle. I lost my groove. Actually, it feels more like the groove just ran away, with no explanation as to why.
This is the revolving, depressive door I seem to walk in and out of. Maybe I need a higher dose of an anti-depressant. Maybe I need a change more drastic than a hair cut. Sometimes I manage the episodes better than others, but regardless, it trips me up every time. This time, it wore like a thick coat with the fuck its just dripping from everywhere.
I write steadily, whether it’s something for my blog or one of the several journals I keep. My fingers have felt dehydrated this past week. I have tapped on the keys, only to erase everything I’ve written. I tried to write a fictional piece using a prompt that truly inspired me, but hit a wall. It just kept turning in to an unintentional, dysfunctional autobiography. I tried to write in my kid’s journals, but was left scribbling generic thoughts on how much I love them, ten different ways. It made me want to literately, hit a wall.
This fight I’ve been having with myself, it’s looked differently this time. What’s missing is my temper. It just never seemed to show up. My depression usually seems to have a bit of an angry streak to her. Most people don’t associate depression with frustration, but my “episodes” are filled with it. I drop a spoon on the floor and tailspin in to a swearing Tasmanian devil. The most regretful of reactions occur when my young children act like young children. That part of all of this will always have me fighting back tears.
Something jarred me, left me spinning and it feels like it was done on purpose. The other day, sitting at my computer, I tried to convince my brain to talk. It wasn’t working, and then, neither was my internet. My modem burned out for no apparent reason. It was like the universe was begging me to disconnect for a while. So I did.
For four days, I pushed motion out of me. I’ve forced myself to stay moving and occupied. Stale air and a lack of movement is dangerous for me. Not pushing through it has never taken me anywhere pleasant. Instead, I started spring cleaning early, or as anyone who would have seen me these past two days would call it, manic cleaning.
I dare you to find a spec of anything but love laying around my house right now. To top it off, I made a batch of soup and baked some goodies. Who knew depression would bring my inner Betty Crocker back out. It felt good getting back to basics. Starting from scratch has helped me even out the scales a little.
It’s so strange to me, how anyone that feels like I have inside, could still give so much of herself to others. How I, or anyone else, can smile and even occasionally laugh, all the while, have such a tattered heart, is beyond me.
Finally, today, I felt a break. A break in negative cognitions and the extra weight I felt following me around. I seem to be back in the running for finding the right words and locking them in to sentences that help me breath easier. All the drafts I had going before I fell in to this depressive funk, have either been deleted or are gaining a new perspective.
I don’t believe I will ever feel thankful for my illness. However, coming out the other side, always makes the sun seem to shine a little brighter, my thoughts to be a little more clear and my many blessings seem all that more grand.
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