I’m coming out of this. Eventually. Strange and beautiful. The Suburban Jungle: Jenny from the Blog is like comedy crack, only more addictive and less, um, whack?
All Fooked Up: I suggest you start drinking before you read this blog. This Is Mommyhood: A Mama To A Toddler Who's Like A Hummingbird On Crack. Flourish in Progress: (T)hug Life: Part hood. Part good. Mommy Shorts: Because you can't give them back. This is not that blog: It's that other one. Pregnancy Calendar at Alpha Mom: Amalah's week-by-week guide to the miracle of pregnancy and all the various indignities that come with it. THE WOMAN FORMERLY KNOWN AS BEAUTIFUL Aging Vaintress, Former Wacktress (waiter/actress), Mom Butler, Wife Dominatrix. Like the Vodka: Stephanie married a Russian so you don't have to.
OP! Blog Con Queso: Cheese, robots, margarita jello shots. Sandrandan Jewelry: Dangerously beautiful. David Thorne: So fucking awesome it makes me hurt. Coffee, Clutter and Chaos:FULL OF AWESOME. Vivid and Brave: What if you told your story without fear of who would hear it? Blurbomat. Several of you have made the request over the years that I share my perspectives on living with someone who has chronic depression.
I’ve been reluctant to share for many reasons. The biggest reason I haven’t is that part of living with someone who can spiral downward and inward means that I have to be careful about what I say and do. If the fire is raging, you don’t throw fuel on it or add gunpowder to it. Day to day, I’m probably being overly cautious. During stressful times of the year or during stressful events, those days where I need to be careful are more frequent.
Fixing It by Not Fixing It As a heterosexual man attracted to a woman, I have a range of emotions and ways of dealing with whatever life throws my way. Because I couldn’t say it on the phone. I was recently at lunch with a few friends, one who had just been diagnosed with OCD that manifests itself in a need to straighten up everything around her, and I was all really?
That’s considered OCD? Because I thought that was just considered BEING ALIVE. And because she hasn’t ever read this website she asked if I had ever been treated for a diagnosis abbreviated with capital letters. I looked across the table at my other friend, someone who is very familiar with what I have written here, and she almost gagged on an ice cube. I nodded and then explained that I’m in ongoing therapy for what’s called C-R-A-Z-Y. I feel like I need to say something today, right now, about my feelings toward therapy and medication, because in the last couple of months I’ve watched several people around me suffer needlessly because they were either too afraid or too arrogant to take care of their mental health. Depression Part Two. I remember being endlessly entertained by the adventures of my toys.
Some days they died repeated, violent deaths, other days they traveled to space or discussed my swim lessons and how I absolutely should be allowed in the deep end of the pool, especially since I was such a talented doggy-paddler. I didn't understand why it was fun for me, it just was. But as I grew older, it became harder and harder to access that expansive imaginary space that made my toys fun. I remember looking at them and feeling sort of frustrated and confused that things weren't the same. I played out all the same story lines that had been fun before, but the meaning had disappeared. Depression feels almost exactly like that, except about everything.
Adventures in Depression. Some people have a legitimate reason to feel depressed, but not me.
I just woke up one day feeling sad and helpless for absolutely no reason. It's disappointing to feel sad for no reason. Sadness can be almost pleasantly indulgent when you have a way to justify it - you can listen to sad music and imagine yourself as the protagonist in a dramatic movie. You can gaze out the window while you're crying and think "This is so sad. I can't even believe how sad this whole situation is. But my sadness didn't have a purpose. Essentially, I was being robbed of my right to feel self pity, which is the only redeeming part of sadness. And for a little bit, that was a good enough reason to pity myself.
Standing around feeling sorry for myself was momentarily exhilarating, but I grew tired of it quickly. I tried to force myself to not be sad.