I struggle to keep myself busy. Washing the never ending pile of kitchen dishes, feeding the cats, cuddling the cats, going out for a daily walk. I sing karaoke with a friend every Saturday, sometimes at her place… sometimes at a bar. I visit my parents every Sunday plus my groups all start in another few weeks. And I’m depressed through it all.
Depression leaves me bone weary, like someone filled my marrow with cement and left it to harden. Every chore, every task is that much harder. I’ll go to message a friend or call a family member and realize I just don’t have the energy. I still manage to take my walk most days but need a nap afterwards, just so I can function, something that irritates the heck out of Colin. The nap… not me functioning.
It’s frustrating and a bit scary. I’m already taking Effexor, Abilify, and Lithium for depression (and clonazepam for anxiety). How much more can I take? What if this is the best I can get?
Every day I force my mind away from catastrophic thinking. If there’s a worst case scenario my mind has already come up with it and two alternatives. Will the bus crash? Will I get attacked on the trail? Will I fall and badly hurt myself? Will a train fall on me? Yes, that’s one of my concerns.
Every day I give myself reasons to live. It would hurt my parents endlessly. It would scar my children for the rest of their lives. My grandson would never know me. I’d wound my friends. Blackie and Lara would never understand why I didn’t walk through the front door to pet them again. Then there’s the person who would find me and the ambulance attendants. Too many people hurt for a moment of selfishness. Peace at too high a price.
So I stay away from the balcony, take my meds twice a day, go for a long daily walk, eat healthy food, get plenty of rest, and tell my negative thoughts to fuck right off. And I take my half hour nap, desperate for a tiny handful of oblivion.