It seems fitting for me to post my musings here amongst my favorite books and music, for that is how I live. My books and music keep me sane in my world where I struggle to just maintain.
I was hoping that my depression was improving, but can’t kid myself any longer. Even on my Wellbutrin I find myself overreacting to stimulus surrounding me. I have had some fairly extreme ups and downs lately, and am reminded of the end of my Junior year in high school when I was quite manic. And frankly, that scares me!
Some history on the subject: My first bout with depression (for that is what I now recognize it as) was brought on by the collapse of my perfect world. After years of being friends with everyone, I suddenly found myself with only one loyal friend. I was constantly bombarded with hurtful words and actions from those who I had counted as friends just days before. The campaign was to ruin me because I refused to date one of my friends; and for the most part, the campaign was successful. I went from highs of laughing and happiness to sobbing in a crumpled heap in the back of the library in a matter of minutes. I truly didn't know what to do.
This round of depression seems to be stubbornly hanging on, sinking its teeth and claws into me and not letting go! (You have no idea how hard that is to admit!) I don’t like to be medicated, but I don’t dare to go without. I’ve seen myself at my worst, and no one deserves to face that!
It is strange to think that school is my “happy place”. Perhaps this is because I can let go of other worries and concentrate on my job and sneak in a little “me” time while I’m at it. I have discovered how important “me” time is, but that doesn’t make it any easier to find it. I still have a husband and 3 children that need fed, clothed, directed, and nurtured. So “me” time is pushed to very low priority on the scale. And exercise? What is that? It is at the very bottom of the list.
Even sleep is no longer a friend; in fact, we haven’t been on speaking terms for some time now. I cave to the calling of my books late at night because I know that sleep is elusive and I lack the energy to stalk it. By the time I climb under the covers, I am devoid of feeling, so tired that my brain and body crave the sleep that comes only after lying motionless for an hour or so. Even then, sleep shows me his fickleness by not allowing me to find the depths of his being. He allows only unsettling dreams and restless slumber, laughing contemptuously when my alarm sounds at 5 AM.
The solution to all of this continues to evade me, though I search diligently. For now I will continue to devour book after book while shuffling through music genres as my mood changes.
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