It’s a thing

It’s a thing

Depression is a thing.  It’s real.  Let me tell you how I know.

Throughout this week (and yes, it has been a very stressful couple of weeks lately), I’ve been getting more irritable, more impatient, more unreasonable.  I’ve been crying constantly, even though I feel dead inside.  Why am I crying?  What is my problem?  I couldn’t pinpoint anything.  It was many things, I thought.  But that’s anxiety.  I don’t feel anxious.  I feel nothing.

Yesterday was my breaking point.  I brought Elliott to Cait’s so I could go get my blood drawn for an upcoming test.  I actually couldn’t stop crying, and I found my self yelling at the little guy for not eating (which is his norm).  She kept him all afternoon and he had a great time with his best friend cousins.

I got my blood drawn, treated myself to a nice lunch by myself, and took a long brisk walk.  It felt good, but it was hard.  I still kept crying on and off.  No reason.  Many reasons.  Cried in the shower.  Felt tender and sore and irritated.  Barely held myself back from verbally attacking someone for saying my house smell liked Gary (even though it was the cauliflower Bill nuked for dinner).

At 6:30, I went to bed.  I couldn’t stop crying.  Everything was so painful.  I want to stay in my dark bed all the days.  I cried myself to sleep.  Woke up, cried myself to sleep again.  I was so lonely, but I couldn’t be near anyone.  I felt hideous, didn’t want to be seen or touched or talked to.  But I didn’t want to be alone.  I stayed in bed until nine this morning.

Poor Bill didn’t know what to do.  So he just kept real quiet and checked on my every so often.  Decky asked me what was wrong a few times, but I didn’t know what to tell him – nothing, everything.  It was better I stayed in bed.

This morning, Bill coaxed me out of bed with a nice breakfast.  I stopped to take my pills, and noticed something.  My little blue pill was missing.

Every Sunday, I fill up Bill’s and my pill boxes so we don’t have to do it every day.  Yeah, we’re old.  This past Sunday, I apparently forgot my little blue pill, my zoloft.

I cried.  I went back to bed.  I had a devastating epiphany.  I realized I had depression.  I realized that those pills don’t just make me feel normal.  I’m not just taking them to get through my grief over Dad’s death.  They keep me from falling apart.  They keep me sane.  They help me perform my activities of daily living.  They help me be the best me I can be.  Every day.

There’s some chemical in my brain that I just don’t have.  The one that Bill has in abundance.  And my little blue pill gives me that chemical, it keeps my brain balanced.

And I can’t do without it.

I have depression.  And it’s a thing.  And I will take that pill for the rest of my life.  Small price to pay for being able to get through the day.  Every day.

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