Crash and Burn

by Nola

It’s not often I lose the fight to stay hiding in my bed. No, usually common sense, the sense of responsibility, and the mere thought of utter laziness does the trick and forces me out of bed. Not today. With the unusual dark morning giving the sense of winter, the list of craptacular things I need to handle on a personal basis today, and the knowledge that I’d return at the end of what I was convinced would a self induced woe-is-me kinda day to a sloppy, toy-ridden house did me in.

So I took my personal calls, emailed into the office and dove back under the covers. Then lay in bed. With eyes wide-open. Then I sighed and roused myself to at least take a shower and make a pot of coffee.

I’ve been struggling, and my husband will tell you my struggle hasn’t exactly been valiant, with depression. I can rally for an hour here, and afternoon there, but lately that dark absorbing spot is licking my heals at every step I take, waiting to suck me back in at any moment I am caught unawares.

I give thought to getting on meds to help with being depressed. But, well, isn’t it the human condition to get depressed from time to time? Is that a reason to go onto medications that in much probability will alter the physicality of one’s brain? If days like today were plentiful–if I missed work on an even somewhat regular basis for having the blues, I’d consider it. But as of this moment, it seems that 95% of the people I know are on some sort of anti-depressant/-anxiety medication. And I wonder whether it’s helping at all. Or just numbing us all into not giving much of a shit. In America, doctors want pleased patients, and when folks see commercials about pills that are the equivalent of magic beans, all too many doctors are happy to oblige. So I know I just need say the word and I’ll have my happy pills. Without the need even to be bothered with a psychiatrist.

But I’ve taken the approach that maybe what I need ISN’T a magic bean, Jack, but being active in my life: more yoga and less television; more staying on top of the never ending mess of toys Sun spatters all over the house and less expecting a four year old to tidy up to my exacting satisfaction; more walking around the block with my family than being online; more cooking than eating out. And in the mix, allowing that sometimes life DOES hand us a shit sandwich. And whether we eat it in small bites or big ones, it is hard to swallow all the same.

So I am off to drink the worst cup of coffee I’ve possibly ever made. Then I’m gonna tackle the toy room. And if there’s still time after that before I have to get Sun, those yoga ropes on the back porch are going to get some action.

This case of the blues may pass today, or I may need another week, but I will NOT be found in bed for the duration hiding it out like a zombie chewing on magic beans.

 

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