As much as I don’t like to admit it, the depression has got a pretty firm grip on me. Last night’s sleep came a little earlier than it has been lately, but was interrupted several times during the night so I didn’t get the kind that refreshes and renews. I can’t believe I’m having this much trouble sleeping when I am on three heavy-duty tranquilizers, but it is what it is and I’m not happy about it.
My brain is also apparently enjoying its visit to the dark side and has been refusing to let go of the dangerous, yet seductive ideas floating around inside it. I don’t suppose I have to spell out what most of those ideas are about, only that they’re a torment because I’m not going to do anything about them except fret about the fact that I’ve been thinking along those lines. It’s a good thing too, because I have the time, the necessary materials, and even the opportunity (Will has a club meeting tonight and will be away for several hours). The trifecta of doom, if you will.
Fortunately, I also have a great support system, and I asked them for prayers last night. And God must have heard, because this afternoon as I was exchanging miseries with a couple of my friends who are in the same boat, it suddenly occurred to me that my brain is lying to me. It’s telling me all sorts of nasty untruths and making me think things are worse than they are. It’s saying “Everything is hopeless” and “It would be better if you weren’t here”. Better for whom? Will would never recover if he came home from his meeting to find me in a bad way. The family would be devastated, and then they’d be furious with me for leaving them. And what if everything I think I know about the afterlife is wrong and it’s worse on the other side?
No, when you get to the point where you realize your brain is outright telling you lies, the healing has begun. What I’m struggling with right now might not be what I consider living, but it sure as hell isn’t dying. And in a way, this is highly instructive because I know now that having these thoughts doesn’t mean I’m going to act on them, or that I’m awful for thinking them. Pushing them away and pretending they don’t exist only prolongs the misery; it’s better to simply acknowledge their presence and then remind myself that it’s all bullshit.
Rest assured, Constant Reader, that I’m only telling you these things because the danger has passed. Not that I think I really would have done anything foolish, but when I’m this uncomfortable I tend to look around desperately for a way out, and there don’t seem to be too many. I said yesterday that I wasn’t going anywhere, and I meant it. Doesn’t mean I won’t think about it again, but it IS bullshit and I know it.