Hello Depression, my old friend
It's been a... mixed day. I've known for a while now that a down-swing in my mental state was coming. Frankly, the symptoms at this point are virtually unmistakable. Dwelling on arguments and disagreements, irritability, physical discomfort, insomnia alternating with hypersomnia, immersion in fictional worlds -- it's almost surreal how I can see them, catalog them, and then carry on with such emotional detachment. It's almost as if the portion of my consciousness that sees these tendencies and recognizes them as symptoms of a depressive phase somehow believes it's all happening to someone else.
Today was as deep as I've delved, though. I started out the day by sleeping until after noon, waking only to hear the doorbell ring. I stumbled to the door, looked out the peephole, and somehow couldn't deal with the possibility of interacting with another human being at that moment. So I didn't answer the door, just quietly went back to bed. He rang again and I ignored it. He went away. A little while later, after I came to my senses a bit, I went to the door and found a note from UPS, saying they'd attempted to deliver something to me. Drat. Turns out it's a birthday present from my mom. They'll try again on Monday, so I'll leave a note saying to leave the package at the property office.
But this was how the whole day began: the paralyzing dread of dealing with anyone who might possibly react to me in any fashion.
I got online, found the email from my mom asking if I'd received the delivery, and put off calling her for a few more hours. I mindlessly trolled around on the Internet while waiting for proper consciousness to rouse itself. When it became clear that was hopeless, I called Mom anyway. As usual, the conversation wasn't nearly as terrible as I'd feared it might be.
Still, my brain was quite insistent on forcing me to confront the loathsome, worthless, deceitful, unworthy creature I am, and to confess (to myself if to no one else) the awful sins I perpetrate on the world simply by being in it. In an effort to find distraction from this I decided to do what usually works, drowning myself in sad, evocative music. It didn't take much, just a few carefully selected songs which always draw a reaction, and voila -- instant catharsis.
It wasn't until a few hours ago that I started feeling better. Unable to concentrate due to the litany of complaints and accusations incoherently spewing out of my subconscious, I found a song I don't often listen to, one that a friend sent me several years ago. I turned off the monitor and closed my eyes and clutched the small stone that is as close as I have to a rosary and just... listened. By the time the song was over, I felt at least centered enough to attempt something useful, so I emptied the dishwasher, refilled and ran it, and washed a few other things by hand that wouldn't fit.
When the phone rang I hesitated to pick it up but resolved to answer it anyway, reasoning that whoever was on the other end could always be hung up on if necessary. It was Mimi, my grandmother. We talked for a little while, not about anything important, but I reassured how that I was doing well, despite being out of touch this week (because I've been hiding or wanting to hide since Tuesday night). She gave me my Dad's number, and I decided to go ahead and call him as well, despite not having spoken to him in months. That too was pleasant, as I filled him in on how things are going in my life, I reminded myself that my life is proceeding very, very well. I'm doing great. It was nice to talk to him again, and I'm resolving to call at least once a week from now on. My mom, my grandmother, and my dad.
So, yes... I'm now a year older. By any useful metric, 23 is beginning much better than the last several years. That my brain chose this week to stomp its feet and insist everything was going to fall down around me because I'm fundamentally and essentially bad is unfortunate, but not the end of the world, to borrow a phrase from Hope. My brain will cycle back to something more productive soon, and until then, I'll manage.
Today was as deep as I've delved, though. I started out the day by sleeping until after noon, waking only to hear the doorbell ring. I stumbled to the door, looked out the peephole, and somehow couldn't deal with the possibility of interacting with another human being at that moment. So I didn't answer the door, just quietly went back to bed. He rang again and I ignored it. He went away. A little while later, after I came to my senses a bit, I went to the door and found a note from UPS, saying they'd attempted to deliver something to me. Drat. Turns out it's a birthday present from my mom. They'll try again on Monday, so I'll leave a note saying to leave the package at the property office.
But this was how the whole day began: the paralyzing dread of dealing with anyone who might possibly react to me in any fashion.
I got online, found the email from my mom asking if I'd received the delivery, and put off calling her for a few more hours. I mindlessly trolled around on the Internet while waiting for proper consciousness to rouse itself. When it became clear that was hopeless, I called Mom anyway. As usual, the conversation wasn't nearly as terrible as I'd feared it might be.
Still, my brain was quite insistent on forcing me to confront the loathsome, worthless, deceitful, unworthy creature I am, and to confess (to myself if to no one else) the awful sins I perpetrate on the world simply by being in it. In an effort to find distraction from this I decided to do what usually works, drowning myself in sad, evocative music. It didn't take much, just a few carefully selected songs which always draw a reaction, and voila -- instant catharsis.
It wasn't until a few hours ago that I started feeling better. Unable to concentrate due to the litany of complaints and accusations incoherently spewing out of my subconscious, I found a song I don't often listen to, one that a friend sent me several years ago. I turned off the monitor and closed my eyes and clutched the small stone that is as close as I have to a rosary and just... listened. By the time the song was over, I felt at least centered enough to attempt something useful, so I emptied the dishwasher, refilled and ran it, and washed a few other things by hand that wouldn't fit.
When the phone rang I hesitated to pick it up but resolved to answer it anyway, reasoning that whoever was on the other end could always be hung up on if necessary. It was Mimi, my grandmother. We talked for a little while, not about anything important, but I reassured how that I was doing well, despite being out of touch this week (because I've been hiding or wanting to hide since Tuesday night). She gave me my Dad's number, and I decided to go ahead and call him as well, despite not having spoken to him in months. That too was pleasant, as I filled him in on how things are going in my life, I reminded myself that my life is proceeding very, very well. I'm doing great. It was nice to talk to him again, and I'm resolving to call at least once a week from now on. My mom, my grandmother, and my dad.
So, yes... I'm now a year older. By any useful metric, 23 is beginning much better than the last several years. That my brain chose this week to stomp its feet and insist everything was going to fall down around me because I'm fundamentally and essentially bad is unfortunate, but not the end of the world, to borrow a phrase from Hope. My brain will cycle back to something more productive soon, and until then, I'll manage.