Wednesday, November 1, 2017

On feeling blue

Sunday night ended beautifully, a good day in the books, good for no reason other than it was just good.  Picture with my kids, smiling, happy faces, a blog post dedicated to it all.

Monday morning began with heavy gray skies and a relentlessly racing mind, racing for no reason, flipping through the channels like an ADHD kid on crack.  When I'm burdened with my monkey mind is when I know shit isn't good and my good friend depression has bypassed the courtesy of knocking at my door, and instead has set up camp and is rearranging my underwear drawer (joke's on her, it's already a mess!).

I eked my way through a lackluster workout at the gym, then managed a couple errands, only to head home where I knew my love would still be in bed, barely awake but still warm and gooey from his few hours of sleep.  I entered our bedroom, darkened by blackout curtains, and slipped next to him, wrapping my arms around him as if he was the life vest that would save me from drowning in my own depressive swamp.

I said very little, not wanting to worry him with my irrational, heavy emotions, and when it was clear that I was close to sleep, he slipped out of the room so I could nap.  I put in ear plugs and curled up next to Charlie, grateful that the sensory deprivation of my external world ironically quieted the havoc that was happening within.  I allowed myself to be comforted by the dark, quiet, womb, and I slept for a short while.

I awoke and Erik came upstairs to find me sitting on the couch, still quiet and somber.  It was then that he realized I wasn't fully OK, and with compassion and love he talked with me, carefully cradling my delicate soul.  He never judged, he never questioned, he never criticized.  He simply cared for me in his own sweet, tender way, and in his unconditional love I began to heal ever so slightly.  By the time I left for work I was feeling better, immensely grateful for a partner who is so kind and understanding.

I truly hate depression.  Just when I think I'm doing OK, it comes out of nowhere and ambushes me as if it has determined I am undeserving of a normal, happy existence.   It's a constant struggle, but I know that there is hope to be had, even in those moments when hope is what feels furthest out of reach.

Luckily it was just that one day - the days following have been good.  I'm fed, I have a roof over my head, I have clean clothes to wear, and I am loved beyond measure.  Even in my worst days I still have it pretty damn good and for that I am grateful.

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