walking the black dog
You know you are capable. And strong. And resilient.
You know you can cope with anything. Nothing fazes you. You're tough.
You know you are eating too much and smoking too much and a bit grumpier, moodier, than normal but, because you trust your own strength, you know it is just short term. You'll have a good eye day, or they will find a treatment that works or your Mum will stop being a royal pain in the arse and, presto, you will have control again. You know so.
Then, one day, something silly and trivial happens. Something with which you have coped umpteen times before.
And you blow.
The next thing you can remember is being in a doctor's surgery, a week of your life totally blank and lost from memory, your husband pacing the waiting room, and the doctor handing you tissues for the tears and saying that dreaded word.
Depression
And you don't even argue. You take the script he hands you and trust him. Because you are not strong and you are not capable or resilient or tough. You are hopeless and helpless and know that it would be so much easier if you just didn't wake up tomorrow.
Help, and hope, come in many forms. Sometimes it is friends and family rallying round. Sometimes it comes in little green and blue pills. I was luckier than I deserve. I got both.
I may not be as strong as I thought but, during the last few weeks, I have been lent and awful lot of strength from people who love me. I know it is worth waking up tomorrow.
I've been bloody lucky.
4 comments:
Oh Fi, I am sorry you are going through this, but I am glad you have found that you have people to love you and support you through this. Many hugs to you, and I hope that things start looking up from here.
I feel you, I really do. Cymbalta is my new best friend. It isn't a happy pill, it is a karen-is-normal-again-pill. I hope yours work as well as mine.
purple chai/oldwoman
Cosmic's friend is Cymbalta, mine is Lexapro. I had seen every member of my mother's family deal with depression, but still it took me years to be willing to take the med, and almost immediately, I wished I had taken it twenty years ago. All my best to you. It's not a matter of strength, you still are who you know yourself to be. Treating depression just helps you be happy to be that person again.
I wish I lived closer to be able to give you real hugs, but Zen hugs will have to do. I am glad that you have family, friends, to cherish you, and also a doctor who understands and supports you!
I hope things get better soon darlin'.
Post a Comment