February 2nd, 2009
I’ve pretty much resisted writing what I’m about to post, because I don’t want to bring anyone down, but I’ve got to tell you, I’m having a very difficult time. Maybe as some of you know, when you are low, it’s not so easy to blog because you worry about your readers’ reactions or that of your friends and family who read, OR you just don’t want to come across as unstable and crazy.
But I absolutely need to keep it honest and give you me here and frankly, not worry so much about you’ll take it. Hiding (more like downplaying) this part of myself is keeping me from this blog, and when this little form of expression suffers, I die a little. So here it is.
Forever, but especially the last two years or so, my emotions and state of mind have fluctuated nearly daily. I go up and down so much that my adrenals are drained and my body is exhausted. Last night, I could barely see fit to stand for more than 10 minutes at a time, and today, I cried until I’d drunk a gallon of tears. You might find yourself wondering what is so horrible with my life, and I’d have to answer everything and nothing. I’m out of balance, as I wrote before, and frustrated, and worried, and anxious, and angry, and moody, and flat out of energy. All states I’ve alluded to in previous posts. But what I haven’t written, is how often I feel that way.
I’m sure some of it is hormonal, and thus cyclic; some of it is that I’m overly sensitive to real and imagined hurts, another part is that there is a source of ongoing conflict in my life, which I haven’t been able to resolve, and that is especially hitting me hard as I see no end to the conflict, and meanwhile, life whizzes by.
During the worst of these downtimes, I hold on with fingernails. With friends, I fake it, and wonder when or how I can address the heap of scars that builds in my gut. Maybe if I talked about it. But those kind of friends are gone now. They live too far away, whether on this plane or another, and it seems I’m alone now.
I know it seems like depression, and I think it is, sometimes. But it doesn’t persist, so when I’ve felt like everything sucks for a week or so, I’m suddenly back in the pink, making last Thursday’s depression irrelevant. Also, I know I’m not doing all I can to beat this thing (medication comes to mind), but I want to see if I can first change my thinking, or my diet, or my supplements, or my conflict management, or my expectations, or my lifestyle, or my neediness, or my something, my anything, to change depression’s course on my own.
I’ve always had hope — a little gift from my dad. As a child, he gave me the idea that if you try, if you move, if you keep at it, life would progress, work out its kinks. So I’ve kept at it. Even when I wanted to give up. But yesterday, as I sat by the bay in Coronado, looking across to downtown San Diego, watching the currents peak as little waves, I imagined for a brief second saying goodbye to my family and just slipping into the water, Not to kill myself, Lord no, I’m too much of a hypochondriac for that, but to just go away for awhile. I saw myself wading past the rocks and the shallow part, and just swimming with the current, parallel to shore, until the riptide gently deposited me on the opposite side. Because I don’t see how I can get there on my own. Hope doesn’t seem like the buoy it once was.
I’m no dummy, just wounded, so I know my daydream was a metaphor. In a nutshell, I’d like to stop fighting so much. Go with the flow. I’ve got so much inner conflict that the external conflict I mentioned above makes everything so much worse. And then when I try and I try and I try and I find myself no closer to the shore, well, I don’t know where to go next.
Or, do I stay still?
Somehow that seems worse.
p.s. Turns out I’ve written this before.How predictable. Another thing to depress me. Except this post has 85% less dry skin flakes, which is a bright side. I guess.
p.p.s. And although the depression comes and goes, I’m confident it’s not bi-polar disorder. You need mania for that, right? Although I’d relish the extra energy, I blessedly don’t suffer from mania. More likely is an extreme case of turbo PMS with a rocket fuel chaser.