Crawl

I’m having a depressive episode.

I sleep 14 hours a night and still feel so lethargic that I spend the day feeling like I’m moments away from giving up and just crawling.

I should’ve seen it coming. I slept almost nonstop all weekend but wrote it off as just being tired. But that was a missed warning sign, because nobody needs as much sleep as I was getting. Monday was a rough day at work and I felt very bottled-up and upset about some stuff that happened, but fortunately I had therapy and that helped a bit so I still didn’t think anything was really amiss.

Tuesday, though, the depression monster got me by the throat.

I woke up for work and within an hour started wishing I was dead. Not actively suicidal, but so sad and in so much pain that I wished I could flip a switch and just be gone rather than live a day in that misery.

My depression, much of the time, is like having everyone who’s ever been terrible to me, ever abused me, ever repeatedly cut me down, trapped in my head with me. And they’re always insidiously whispering awful things, like how I’m fat and stupid and ugly and I’ll be alone forever and don’t deserve any of the good things in my life and I’m going to rot in hell for my bad choices and I’m not talented or competent so eventually everyone at work will realize what I fraud I am and I’ll get fired. Those things, on a loop. All. Day. Long. And because I’m all fucked up, I believe every word of it.

I probably spent, all told, two hours of Tuesday crying silently in the bathroom at work. Just little bits at a time so my face didn’t get too messy. I’d allow myself a couple of quiet sobs and then make myself shut up in case anyone in there could hear me. I got in the elevator and it was empty so I hysterically sobbed my way down nineteen floors and then composed myself before the doors opened.

I didn’t eat that day because I didn’t feel like I deserved to.

Sitting at my desk, I took out my powder compact and the dead eyes in the mirror scared me. Just blank, glassy, expressionless, dead eyes. The depression monster, looking out.

I saw my very concerned therapist again on Tuesday night, and I was able to get in to see my psychiatrist on Wednesday morning. He didn’t seem alarmed, but then again, he never does. (Rather taciturn, that one.) We’re going to try upping one of my mood stabilizers a little bit and see if I even out. No drastic measures yet, like putting me on lithium. Lithium side effects can be nightmarish so that’s an absolute last resort.

Today was better. It’s probably at least partially the placebo effect because of the increased meds, but I didn’t cry at all, I had a little energy, I ate, and I only spent a small portion of the day absolutely loathing myself. I call that improvement. Part of it, too, is that in the midst of feeling so awful, being taken care of feels so good – going to my therapist an extra time and letting her soothe me, seeing my psychiatrist and letting him help me, getting loving and concerned texts from friends and letting them support me…it’s all a direct contradiction to the voices telling me I’m alone and unworthy and all that shit. And it shows how far I’ve come as far as seeking and accepting help from my support network. Turns out that letting people show concern and care for me really helps. Duh, Minerva. Duh.

This is the worst episode I’ve had in a long, long time. It scares the hell out of me. But like I said, I’m letting people help me and hopefully this med tweak will lift me out of it and also keep me from having episodes this severe anymore.

That’s all. Just documenting, more for myself than for you, my sweet readers. I’m probably depressing the fuck out of you lately and for that I am sorry. Thanks for reading, and for the times you comment or reach out to me privately. I’d still do this even if nobody read it, but I do find it comforting and satisfying to know that people do read and even sometimes take something away from it. Y’all are awesome. Thank you.

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