- It takes me 30-45 minutes to stop hitting snooze and drag my ass out of bed.
- I dawdle over breakfast, the newspaper, blogs, showering, getting dressed, making up, packing my stuff for the office, etc., so that it takes me at least two hours to get out of the house after getting up.
- If I add a run to that routine, it dawdle over suiting up, getting to my route, stretching, etc.
- Sometimes I don’t start my “real” day until lunch time (though then I usually work through much of the evening to make up for it).
- I play Free Cell and online blackjack repetitively.
- I can’t seem to keep up with any personal life obligations: letters, gifts, and other correspondence I owe people; house cleaning; laundry; doctors’ visits and hair cuts, etc.
- My house and office are both a mess.
- Every time anyone asks me to do anything my first reaction is to hide or freak out.
- Any new obligation or reminder of one I haven’t completed makes my stomach hurt.
- I’m filled with a constant sense of dread.
- I can’t concentrate, especially on work. I can’t even concentrate on posting to this blog long enough to type up two substantial entries I’ve already written.
- My energy is low.
- I feel a lot of guilt for having low energy, which only makes my energy lower.
- My sleep is uneven and even after eight hours of seemingly uninterrupted sleep (like last night) I feel unrefreshed.
Yup. I think I’m depressed. Or as a therapist I once had said, after the initial get-to-know-you appointment: “Congratulations. You’re depressed.” (Maybe, if I’m very lucky, it’s just a PMS slough. God, can’t believe I’m hoping for PMS!)
Frak. I don’t have time to be depressed!!! Frak. Frak. Frak.
Now what? This isn’t “about” something — it’s that physiological demon that has no rhyme or reason, the kind that really frakin’ annoys me because I can’t “solve” it by putting my mind or energy to taking care of it. Do I get a therapist? So I take St. John’s Wort or eat more protein? Do I hope this too shall pass (as it usually does, except for those two awful years in sprawling Big City when events exacerbated the situation)? Is naming it and announcing it to the whole freakin’ internets enough catharsis?
Don’t worry. Quod She isn’t about to become The Depression Blog. In fact, so far, I haven’t posted a single inner-turmoil/emotional entry here, and I probably will rarely do so. I’m not so good with expressing my emotions (except maybe “pissed off” or “annoyed”). I really am like a guy that way. Or maybe just a WASP like my Mom. But if I was all “la-la, happy, happy fun time, all is great in Dr. V’s world” all the time, I’d be really annoying, wouldn’t I?
But still, I’d really appreciate it if this particular depression demon would get the frak out of my head and leave me alone. I have shit to do, dammit. Tons of it. Clearly the gargoyles outside of my office windows are NOT doing their job protecting me from evil spirits.* Dammit.
Grrrr. That is all.
*Note: I don’t really believe that depression is caused by demon-possession, of course, but it makes a good metaphor. It feels like that. Even in our modern world, we still use metaphors like “I’m not feeling like myself” to describe depression and mental illness.