Hubby recently hooked up my old external hard drive to my computer, and I’ve been working on getting important files copied over, and other files deleted. I spent some time this afternoon horrifying our youngest (fourteen) by showing her the tons and tons of selfies she took with my camera when she was younger, then I stumbled across something I wrote six years ago, called “Depression.” I’d forgotten I’d written it, but I now vividly recall sitting at my desk, in our cluttered apartment, not having showered in days, and feeling like a total failure. I’m so amazed I’ve come so far from this, in such a short (five months) period of time.
April 14, 2008
It hit me again, creeping up slowly and fooling me because I was functioning to a certain degree. I can’t be depressed, because I’m starting to write again. I started my own writing group. I’m making plans with friends. Yet as I walk through the kitchen, the dishes rattle in the cabinets because gravity seems to be working overtime, focusing just on me. I try to walk lightly, but despite no change in weight, I still feel as if my feet are sinking into the linoleum with every step.
It’s little things. I might be in the bathroom, and notice that the trash is overflowing. When I’m not functioning well, that will be as far as it goes. When I’m “firing on all pistons”, I’ll think to empty it. Or it’s a shampoo bottle on the side of the sink – the longer it stays there without being thrown out, the farther down in the hole I am.
There is so much noise in my head too, which is part of the reason things like that get forgotten/don’t register. I feel like there’s a radio tuner in my brain, and I’m hearing all the stations at once.
It feels like when you’re in a pool, and you get next to the filter, and it has such a strong pull and suction that you almost feel like you can’t escape it. However, the pool filter in this case is gravity itself, and no matter where I walk , or sit, or anything, I feel as if my soul is being sucked down to my feet. I can’t escape it’s pull, while everything else around me floats past effortlessly.
I know it’s bad when the thought of making cream cheese bread (he doesn’t like things toasted at the moment) and warmed up milk for my son’s breakfast seems an almost impossible task. Then, when my youngest then asks for toast and milk a few minutes later, I almost want to cry. Whereas when I’m “normal”, it would be so effortless to do those simple tasks that I’d almost forget that I’d done them, and would ask the kids if they wanted breakfast, only to find I’d already done it.