Dirty Laundry

I’ve never been one to discuss the details of family problems in this blog, and I don’t intend to this time either. Suffice it to say that things have been about as tense as can be around here, and I’m doing my best not to lose my shit. I was depressed before all this started, but now I’m both depressed AND anxious…and I have to postpone my Wednesday appointment with Dr. Goodenough because I’ve got no way to get there. The timing couldn’t possibly be worse—I need him to help me sort things out and give me a new script for Klonopin—but other than renting a car for the day, which I can’t afford to do, I’m just going to have to bite the bullet and reschedule.

Now don’t get too worried about me: I’m taking my meds exactly as prescribed, and I’m not having any sort of dark thoughts. In fact, I can even hear the ever-so-gentle whisper of March Madness in the background; like Shelley’s confused daffodils which are already flowering in some spots, my brain isn’t sure which direction it’s supposed to go. It’s not a mixed episode, at least I don’t think it is, but it’s been so long since I’ve had one that maybe I’m not recognizing it. But I certainly don’t have the energy that usually comes with it; I spend my days on the sofa with the computer and Netflix, as the TV is out of commission (long story) and bestir myself occasionally to do the dishes and clean up the kitchen. Otherwise the only activity I get is walking from the sofa to the kitchen to the bathroom, and then to the bedroom at night. My primary care provider would be so thrilled. NOT.

I also have laundry that I just can’t seem to do anything about. It’s sitting in a pile on my bedroom floor—all I have to do is pick it up, dump it in the washer, toss in a Tide Pod, and turn on the machine. Why is that so difficult? I have trouble showering too, but at least I can do that a couple times a week without it being sheer torture. Now I’ve got to get that laundry done because I’m running out of underwear and leggings…but it still sits there in front of my closet, judging me.

Speaking of leggings: I live in the things. I swore I’d never wear them because of my size, but Clint talked me into trying a pair, and I’ve never worn anything so comfortable in my life. I wear them and a T-shirt to bed and change them when I shower; no pajamas necessary. They are form-fitting, but that’s good because they hold in my sagging thighs and butt. Now I own like 12 pairs and I haven’t worn jeans in a year. The only place I go where I don’t find leggings appropriate is church, but then I haven’t even been there in two weeks. My church attendance has also been dicey for awhile…sometimes I just canNOT drag my sorry ass out of bed. Did I ever tell you I hate winter?

So no, I am not having a good time. I believe things will get better and life won’t always be like this; even though I’m depressed, I know this too shall pass. And somehow, somewhere, I’ve got to conjure up the energy to get that pile of laundry done!