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Down (again!)

19 September, 2013

This morning was a delayed start in the house getting out the door. It was raining, just a mid range rain, neither a downpour nor a drizzle. One that wets my glasses as I walk but not one that soaks. We were all slow to get out the door with the daughter taking the final insult by putting toast on. Well you just can’t rush a toaster, now can you?!

The poor dogs! Our beagle gets this pathetic look on his face, body rippling shivers and lifts his right paw up as he looks up with his brown eyes. The other two loonies just run around in the wet and don’t seem bothered by it. I hope the beagle hides in the kennel during the day while we’re out – oh to creep up on them!

We get in the car after hubby blasts the horn – as if that makes us hurry! The petrol light is on hubby points out to me. It goes on and off as we drive into the city and hubby again brings up my errant spending. “Did you not plan this out?!” No, I clearly didn’t.

In work I get a blocked call on my phone. I ignore it and surprisingly a voicemail is left – probably my phone company – it’s friendly like that and I got a call in the last couple of days saying I should pay my bill (it gets divided fortnightly and must be behind by a fortnight).

Another blocked call. I answer this one. Oh great! A credit card company that I spoke to last week. What do they think is going to have changed?! I hang up after going through the usual spiel. I really don’t care.

Hubby sends an email asking how my day is going. “Shit”, I tell him. Over the next couple of emails he finds out the extent and I wonder where he thinks this fictitious money to pay off arrears will come from.

But honestly, I don’t give a crap. I don’t care that I might be sent to a collection agency. I don’t care that I might be given a bad credit rating.

I used to run the household, the budget, the finances, the tight shopping expenses, the juggling of bills. I used to be on the ball and come up with creative meals on a shoestring. Now I’d rather make a coffee and sink into the couch – or better yet, go to bed where I’m alone.

I’ve only recently had an increase in my Pristiq from 100 to 150mg. Yet I still seem to be in this perpetual slump of a mood with no buoyancy and enthusiasm.

I’m reading Nick Vujicic at the moment, “Life without limits”. In it he talks about his depression and wanting to give up on life before he came to terms with his disability. He mentions that the answer doesn’t lie in pills but in our choices. I guess it’s my attitude to my depression in some ways but in others I saw the difference Prozac made when I first took it. My goodness – the pep that gave! It was the lift that Prozac gave me that convinced my doctor that my depression was real and needed medical intervention.

Now I feel that I’m going along unassisted, even though I take my drugs in the morning and take another tablet at night. There are times that I hate it. Actually taking the morning ones are easy as they just float in the background of my supplements and are insignificant as I pop them. It’s the evening ones that I take with my final coffee or milk for the night. I get frustrated with myself when I make it up to bed without taking it.

So how, with meds, with reflective thinking, with reading books, studying psychology, do I turn this mess of a brain cycle around? When I’m in this mood I just don’t want to do things. Hubby is sailing on Friday evening and asked me if I’d join him – Nah.

Yesterday he (thankfully) left work early, which meant I had to leave work early as we share the car. What this meant though was I had time for a run before meeting the daughter off the bus. I actually surprised myself by running most of the 2km run this time. I walked the hardest uphill bits but ran the rest.

Did I feel good afterwards? Not particularly, as I went home, had a long shower and got back into the car to collect the youngest boy off the bus. It was just another “one of those things you do”. Then it was home, iPhone on couch before thinking about dinner.

I fed hubby and the kids and then got in the car again to save the middlest a walk up the hill home. I didn’t eat. I didn’t get asked about why I wasn’t eating. Much later I got a Twirl chocolate bar and ate that. One piece of Twirl would have been enough.

My colleague wasn’t in this morning, I forgot she had a doctor’s appointment this morning. When she did show up it was nice to see her but she’s not well and I encouraged her to take the days off her doctor recommended.

Again, I wonder about work and have to make an effort to plod through the workload. Do I care though? Not much. She’s come back from lunch and taken off and won’t be in tomorrow. Do I care – about her, yes. I’m glad she’s going home, if only she would rest. I did think I mightn’t bother coming to work tomorrow though – who cares?

The high point to day was going for a coffee. In my lunchtime coffee shop I said I’d have a house blend. When one of the owners suggested the single origin Sumatran coffee I hesitated until he said it was well rounded. I tried it. OMG it was heaven! I could have stayed there all day drinking it! Why couldn’t I just stop and stay there?!!

So here I am. Staring at my Word document, typing slowly. Radio in the background sounding all chirpy. Automatic light has gone off due to my lack of movement. I hear others in the corridor occasionally but if I wasn’t here would anyone miss me or even know?

I’ve thought of going to the top of the stairs and just sitting there for a while hoping no-one would be energetic enough to take the stairs.

A news report told the story of a teenager who had been bullied in the last week and she had suicided as a result of the bullying. As I read how she suicided I wondered if I could do that. Another report was a coroner’s report of a death last year due to overdose of Opium tea. What would that death have been like? Peaceful or painful?

I’ve wondered how I would react by taking the whole packet of Largactil but you can’t find much stuff online in a brief glance about what happens if you take however many milligrams of a drug.

Then I wonder how God intended for this thought process to develop. If He knows all things He knows I’m battling this – what is the answer and support for me in all of this? I don’t want Bible verses. I want real, honest to goodness, love. I want the mental torture to stop.

I feel like my days consist of clock watching. Of watching the minutes tick by. Creativity has stopped. I ask for stories to read that will make me really understand. I want to read a book and to go “that’s MY life” and there is hope out there for me somewhere.

I don’t feel it though.

I just feel oppressed.


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