OK, I’ll admit it: I am mildly depressed.
As I said in another post, it’s hard to look forward to the holidays when you’ve lost the love of your life. It’s hard to look forward to anything, to be honest. My birthday, his birthday, etc., both of which are coming up soon. And of course winter, my least favorite season, is on its way with its grey skies and rain and the occasional snowflake. My light box is keeping the worst of it away, but still…I am not having a good time.
I’m just about convinced that I suffer from major depressive disorder, rather than bipolar. I haven’t had a full-blown manic episode in three years, but I have had several nasty depressions since I was diagnosed and I can’t help wondering if the BP diagnosis is really the right one. If I sound confused, it’s only because I am—how is it that the meds keep the mania away, but not the depression? And here’s another thing: I’m sick to death of taking pills. Twice a day, every day. It gets boring. I know better than to go off them, but I sure get tired of dealing with them.
I realize this is all situational, therefore I’m not particularly worried about myself. I just need to vent. I don’t have any suicidal thoughts; in fact, I don’t think I’ve ever felt less like wanting to end it all. (Well, other than when I’m high.) I have a family that would be devastated if I were to make an early exit. And as much as I miss Will, I only wish he were here with me—I’m not ready to be with him. There’s a big difference.
But I am definitely down in the dumps, even if it IS situational. And I know there’s no medicine that can ease this pain…I just have to go through it. Dr. Goodenough says it takes an average of three years for a widow/er to get back to whatever passes for “normal”, and even then life is never the same.
I believe it. It’s only been five months since Will passed, and while I’ve gotten somewhat used to the idea that he’s really gone, I’m nowhere near ready to move on with my life. Tears are never far from the surface, although I’ve gotten better at controlling them. It won’t do to have my nose perpetually buried in a handful of Kleenex. I allow myself to indulge in crying when there’s nobody around, although there are times when a song or something on TV catches me by surprise and I can’t help it.
That happened last Sunday as I was driving to church; I was listening to the car stereo when “Where Are You Christmas” came on. The lyrics that got to me were “My world is changing, I’m rearranging, does that mean Christmas changes too?” Boy, does it ever. Of course, I lost it and boo-hooed all the way to the church. I had to sit in the parking lot for some fifteen minutes to glue myself back together.
That’s why I treasure every moment spent with family. I love it when we’re all sitting around the living room talking and/or eating; it takes my mind off my sadness. I know Ethan and Clark make a special effort to spend time with me, and I bless them for it. They work hard and for long hours every day, and they can’t possibly know what it means to me. So I’ll say it here, and maybe they’ll read it so they know how very much I love them.
That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it. What is yours?