Well, I kept my appointment with the doctor today. It was just with my GP, not with a specialist. She listened to me and agreed that something else besides depression was going on. She did up the dosage of my anti-depressant to help me through the next month or so. She stopped short of saying it was bipolar, but wants me to see a psychiatrist and consider therapy. She didn’t have one to recommend, so I worry about finding a good one. This area is not known for great mental health support, and we have gone through hell finding any help for my daughter during the past 6 years. Hopefully I will find one that will listen to me. I am going to kept writing and keeping my mood journal until then.
I feel….anti-climatic. I guess I wanted her to give me some sort of test and say, “You have _______ wrong with you and here is the magic pill to make it all better.” Logically, of course, I KNOW this will never happen. There isn’t a definitive test for mental illness. There isn’t a magic pill. I have seen my daughter go through such incredible struggles, and I know the road is never smooth. But my life has never been smooth and sometimes I just wish I could get a little slack….Okay, I’m finished whining. I will do what I always do: put on my big girl pants and keep on going. It just seems that if I stop trying it would be so much easier.
Depression sits in the corner like a panther waiting to pounce. Sometimes it pounces suddenly without warning, and takes over with a vengeance. Other times, it is more like smoke that curls out around me, slowly wrapping me in an embrace like a shy lover. If you are lucky enough to have never experienced true clinical depression, it is hard to understand how it colors everything you see and do.
My husband is one of those lucky people. He doesn’t understand the lows that knock the wind out of me. I stopped trying to explain it long ago and when he asks what is wrong I respond, “I just don’t feel good.” If it lasts too long (or interferes with things in his life) he suggests I “go to the doctor and get some vitamins or something.” It sounds harsh, but he means well. He just has no understanding, even though both my daughter and I suffer. He has attended family sessions in support of my daughter, but he just can’t wrap his mind around it.
I know I post a lot about depression. It’s not that I like being reminded of it, it just needs an outlet, I guess. My friend, Dot, commented about a post I made. She said it was a good description of depression, but she didn’t like being reminded of it because it was always there waiting. It’s funny, when I sit down and decide to write, I don’t have a plan. I place my fingers on the keys and they begin to type whatever needs to come out. When I wrote the poem “My Shadow“, I wasn’t feeling depressed. I just knew there was something I needed to say, and it all came out.
I also have moments when my exuberance needs to come out. I feel high, on top of the world. During those times I try to post photographs. When I am feeling good, the colors of the beauty around me seem to glow and speak to me. I want to capture little bits so I can hold them close when the darkness covers me again.