I wasn’t thinking when I began this post that perhaps posting a depression post was not the best way to start off the week, but I’ve started so now I’m going to finish. So … Happy Monday.
(This is how I originally began this post, and then held off and decided to post it today — hump day. So happy Wednesday instead.)
Since my diagnosis two years ago, I’ve realized that one of the most predominant themes surrounding my struggle with depression is one of “uncertainty.” I’m constantly dissecting my feelings and emotions. That flutter in my chest — Is that anxiety? Excitement? Gas? What about the tears this week? Do I need to consider changing my meds or am I just suffering from a severe case of PMS? Uh oh, mommy’s getting a little short-tempered the last couple of weeks. Last time it led to a near breakdown, and then I met with my doctor and realized my neurotransmitter levels were alarmingly low.
Living this way kind of sucks. If I’m sad or angry or simply experiencing one of those melancholy type of days, I’d like to know that, embrace it, and then sit in bed eating chocolate almond chip ice cream and watching sappy, ridiculously unrealistic romances, blubbering my way through the day with uninhibited emotion. That is rarely the case. I feel the sadness pervade my body — beginning in my chest with an anxious flutter and radiating out to the rest of my body slowly zapping my energy, covering my brain with a hazy sludge that results in making it virtually impossible to form any type of coherent thought.
In stark contrast, there are days and entire weeks where I am bursting with energy. I’m moving through life with an almost crack-induced frenetic pace (I should let you know I’m only using that analogy because it’s what I imagine that energy to resemble and not because I ever have or will ingest crack. Is that what you do with it?). At these times, I’m able to leap “capital ‘T’ with a single bound” or (more likely) whip up five tasty weeknight dinners, clean the kitchen, wash, dry and fold 10 loads of laundry, and crank out some pretty compelling RM blog posts. (Did anyone notice that little homage to the 70’s kids’ show Electric Company and it’s Letterman character?)
Faster than a rolling ‘O’
Stronger than silent ‘E’
Able to leap capital ‘T’ in a single bound!
It’s a word, it’s a plan…it’s Letterman!
No? I loved that show and used to have regularly occurring dreams that I was part of the cast and “Tommy” was my boyfriend.
Anyway … days like those above are fantastic and I feel like Supermom really does exist. At least at our house. But then I begin thinking, is this for real? Have I been misdiagnosed? Am I bi-polar? Did I accidentally ingest some sort of magic energy pill without knowing it? Is this NORMAL exhausted-mom-of-three-kids behavior. Maybe I shouldn’t be working this all out via my blog and give my trusty therapist a call, I think to myself.
Then I begin wondering if I’m going crazy. If my family thinks I’m going crazy, or if they are simply going through their lives as usual — “That’s just mom” or “Thank God Kelly’s making meals again, because damn, I’m hungry.”
Then I take a breath, and maybe a large slurp of wine (Hey, it’s 5 o’clock somewhere), and move on. Because right now, that’s the only solution I’ve got!