You know, I’m so busy lately, and find myself in the middle of so many difficult situations that I forget about it, but it’s still true. I’m depressed. I have been for a while. I’ve even been cognizant of it.
I know all about being depressed. I’m quite good at it. I’ve done it FOR YEARS. It’s almost like my other way of being. It’s about as comfortable for me as not being depressed is; I’ve spent an equal amount of my adulthood doing both. So finding myself here feels deceptively okay, if only because I’m so used to it.
I forget about it really. When I’m dealing with something that is hard, I assume I just feel shitty because so much in my life right now feels shitty. TTC is hard for me, whether it should be or not, it’s incredibly difficult for me. Not being able to work on our relationship because Mi.Vida needs to take the reigns for himself is hard for me. Mi.Vida struggling so much and me needing to pick up slack is hard for me. Packing my classroom at work when I don’t even want to be there next year is hard for me. Waiting for my daughter to be two years old next week, and knowing we’ve hardly started trying to give her a sibling is hard for me (I’m realizing, actually that her second birthday is triggering all sorts of unexpected shit that I plan to work through more completely in a later post). Looking for houses while considering our bleak financial situation is hard for me. So I think to myself, all of this is–in some way or another–pretty shitty, so it makes sense you feel like shit.
But it’s more insidious than all that. It’s more systemic and farther reaching than just the effects of any one of those, or even all of them put together. I see it in my day to day exhaustion, in how hard it is to stay awake when I’m driving, despite getting a decent amount of sleep. I see it in the way I have to force myself to sit down and look for jobs and how when I find one I could apply for I basically don’t do it because it all seems so stupid and useless anyway. I see it in the way I’m not even really looking forward to seeing my friends this summer, even though I’ve wanted a trip like this for ages. (And it’s not just because I’ll be missing my O date – of course that had to fucking happen too but I swear it’s not making me not want to go). I see it in how I’m not even really all that excited about my writing classes anymore, instead I’m focusing on what a pain in the ass it will be to get across the bay twice a week. I see it in how much I hate myself for the weight I’m gaining and the fact that I can’t button my favorite jeans and the names I call myself after I’ve snacked on whatever dumb thing is in front of me. I see it in the general apathy I feel toward every day. This bout of depression is here and it’s real and I’m not sure what to do about it.
If I weren’t trying to get pregnant I’d just go back on my medicine. Easy as that. But I am trying to get pregnant and I’m assuming the best thing to go on at this point would be Zo.loft, which I did NOT love when I was pregnant. So I’m really apathetic about going on it now, and it’s not just because I’m depressed (ah, the Catch-22 of being too depressed to do anything about being depressed, I know it well).
Financial (and time) constraints are holding me back from other treatments I would consider, like acupuncture or more yoga. In fact, I can’t even go to yoga this summer, as I couldn’t afford another six month membership when it was available and I promised Mi.Vida I would give it up while I’m at the writing classes, to make our evening commitments at home more fair. So yeah, not being at yoga this summer is going to make things even worse.
The reality is I don’t feel bad enough, and haven’t been feeling this bad for long enough, to do anything really proactive yet. I’m not in a place where I feel I NEED to do something right this minute, but I will be soon.
I think my current plan is to wait until I’ve packed my classroom up and summer has started to see how I’m feeling. The room packing is causing me a lot of anxiety, as is the end of the school year, so maybe if I just get through that, get that weight of my shoulders, I’ll feel better about things. If not, I’ll have to reassess, make an appointment with my psychiatrist and see what my options are. I can’t imagine I’ll be particularly fond of any of them, which makes it difficult to want to go in the first place.
It’s hard being in this place. It’s doubly hard with an energetic toddler in tow, one who is hell-bent on testing limits and exercising that fabulous new word of hers, “NO!”. I want so badly to be there for her, with her, in the moment, to soak up everything wonderful about this time, but it’s hard when the apathy keeps pushing back, cloaking everything in a muted gray.
I was just thinking of what pictures I’d use with this post but then I realized I don’t need any. Sometimes I forget how easy this space is. I’m thankful for that, now more than ever.
And for now I’ll just accept that things are hard and focus on getting through this minute and then the next and then the next. It’s all I can do, really.