I stopped blogging for just over a year. At first I thought that, after Cheeto Hitler took office, that nothing I could complain about in my blog could be as bad as the new reality was. It wasn't until many moons later, near the end of the year, that I realized it was really because my old companion had dropped in for a stay, a much longer stay than I had anticipated.
I had stopped going to yoga, I had stopped following my diet. I had stopped doing nice things for myself like buying clothing, getting my hair or nails done or treating myself in any way but with comfort food. The pounds started adding on and I felt worse and worse....which made me treat myself worse and worse. So, now I'm here again. A place I've been many times before and really both loathe and like. I'm at that fork in the road where I either go back to being the obese, depressed, anxiety ridden version of me that ruled most of my youth or it's where I slap myself in the face and get shit done.
There a lot of things to wrestle with at this point- acknowledging the problem is the first step, but it's not the last one. I talked to my doctor- something I used to be hesitant about because I figured it was all my fault and something only I could manage. Ya, that's complete BS; that's the depression talking. I don't know how that little bastard keeps getting the key to my brain, but it sneaks in, moves in and then tries to control everything. Depression is like the world's worst roommate. This time, instead of just depression moving in, he brought his friend anxiety, a friend I'd met before but he'd never really stayed for a long time. This time, these mental bros-from-hell came as a duo, so I figured I needed to ask the professionals for some upgraded weaponry.
So now there's new medication in my ritual, which is an oh-so-fun process. As bad as I feel in my own head, I feel more sorry for the husband who has to live with me....a woman is generally crazy enough, now deal with one who is in the process of trying to align her brain chemicals.
It's also day 5 of trying to eat better once again, a process I need to ease into. When you're depressed and occasionally convinced you are either about to die or at least deserve to, carbs are very comforting. A cake has never told me anything negative and no cookie has ever made me feel ugly.
Now I'm lucky that I have an incredible support system around me. My husband is simply the best human being I've ever met. My family also have these same struggles, so we are like our own little support group. I have some great friends who have been to hell and back with me and I with them. Without these people, I'd probably look like Jabba the Hut and be alongside those guys on Queen Street who yell at bees for no reason. The fact is, I am depressed and anxious and trying to piece things back together....but I am also happy. I have a great family, friends, job, etc. I like my life, just...not the depressed part.
I think the reason a lot of people don't talk about depression and anxiety is that people on the outside often react with 'what so you have to be sad about' or ask 'why are you sad'. That's like asking me why I have brown eyes or why do I like the taste of peanut butter. I just do. That's how I'm built. Yes, I'm sure you think I should exercise more, eat more kale, get a dog, get a fitbit, go skydiving, travel to Asia...etc and I will feel better. Depression is not an injury. No quick fix and it's gone. It is a chemical imbalance within your brain, and every brain is different. You have to find a lifestyle and a mix of remedies that suits you. So go ahead and tell me that I need to 'get out of my shell' and 'just get out more' however I will casually reply by asking you to please change your eye colour....because that's how it feels. I'd love to see the conversation change from "What is wrong with you?" to "Are you OK?".
Sure, studies have found that exercise can help with depression. Smoking is bad for you but do you think smokers thank you when you tell them that? Yes, we know. It's not that we don't want to. Just because you can't see or haven't experienced the mental disability keeping us from hitting the gym, going for a walk or even leaving the house doesn't mean it isn't there. Encourage us to get there, but don't tell us to do it as if it's solving the problem. We will go when we're damned well ready.
Yes, I am rambling and not following a very cohesive train of thought, it's my blog and I do what I want. This entire blog is basically just me pep talking myself, and if that's the weirdest thing I do today, I'll consider it a good day.
I'm trying to recognize the good, the pieces big and small of my life that the depression hasn't stained. I'm taking each day for what it is, some are good and some are bad. Today the sun is out, it is a Friday and I can go home later on, sit in my rocking chair and read a book while my cat plays with her tail at my feet. In 10 minutes, I may have an anxiety attack that makes me feel like my life is falling apart and send me into a sobbing ball of sad...so I'm going to hug my happy thought while it's here.
If you've ever wondered what an anxiety attack is like, I would liken it to season 2 of Stranger Things, when Will is out with his friends, having fun, but then gets flashes of being in the Upside Down and he's suddenly stuck in a terrifying other world for no reason....kinda like that.
I wish nobody ever had to be depressed, or if they did, that there was a magic pill to make it all go away. It's not fun, it's not easy and you can lose a lot of time, energy and friends to it.
Also, I should warn you, I don't have a conclusion or an ending to this post. Wubba Lubba Dub Dub.
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