The Great Depression
So I guess I'll blow the dust off this old thing. Forgive me Blogger for I have sinned; it has been... several years since my last post. I'm not updating recent events in my life unless they become relevant to the story. No, today I come to talk about depression, and what a bitch it is.
This year I decided to try and do something about my depression. And possible anxiety. I'm seeing a psychologist in a couple weeks. I'm off my depression meds, which is painful for me and everyone around me, evidently, as evidenced by this afternoon's events.
I woke up late today, after staying up late last night. Almost noon. I woke up in pain, because I had slept on my back, and if I haven't mentioned it before, I have a bulging disc in my lower back that's bothered my for years. So I'm in pain, and upset that I didn't wake up until just about noon. I'm going to have to start setting my alarm on the weekends. My wife has gone to work, the upstairs is quiet, and the basement is filled with Harry Potter movie sounds. I wake up the boys, because they are teenagers and won't get out of bed on the weekends unless you make them. Been there, done that. I go make coffee. The filter is a little wrinkley but I don't pay it any mind. I should have. I go sit on the couch and play some Fallout 4 while I wait for the coffee to brew. I don't sit in my spot though, because my blind kitty is there, and while I hadn't had coffee yet I somehow had some empathy. While I am multi-tasking Facebook and Fallout, I notice that the coffee maker doesn't sound quite right. I go to investigate, and notice that there is some coffee leakage on the counter next to the coffee maker. I flip up the lid where the water and filter are and confirm my fear; the coffee is overflowing the filter and grounds are getting into the coffee. Ugh. In my anger I holler at the boys to get out of bed again, since it had been almost 30 minutes anyways. Dump out old grind-tainted coffee, refill the water. Take out another filter, this one is just as wrinkly as the first one, fuck you, goes in the trash. Took another out, third time's the charm. Finish starting coffee again. My back is killing me, took two Aleve, which doesn't help, never really does, but at least I can say I tried. Ate a banana, drank some grind-free coffee finally, played some more Fallout.
My youngest daugher calls as she's driving, as she usually does. I'm hungry and make some scrambled eggs, with some pancetta mixed in. We talk for a bit, then I get off the phone to eat. I took a few bites (it was delicious) and my intestines let me know, in no uncertain terms, that in order to take more in, we're going to have to make some room in the near future. Well fuck, I have to get ready for work soon, I hope this doesn't take long. Yeah, it does, or at least, longer than I would have liked. In my rush to get out of the bathroom, I accidentally fling the night light into the tub where the bulb breaks and the glass comes off the mount. Not happy, but at least not totally destroyed. Wife is not happy, but says she'll clean it up. I get dressed for work, I'm running late now, in a half-panic rush. She asks if there's anything she can do for me, and I say put me out of my misery. Black humor. I use it sometimes, and she doesn't like it, takes it too seriously. If I was going to kill myself, it would have been before now, believe me. But pain combined with depression equals dark depression. I tell her at least I'm removing myself from the situation, as I can see my mood has already poisoned her. As I'm getting ready to leave I call her into the kitchen to apologize for my mood and behavior. I take her hands in mine and I ask her forgiveness. We look into each other's eyes for a time, but she never gives it. She tells me about how she had a great day until she got home and I ruined it. She may not have used those exact words, but that was the meaning. She tells me I have to stop doing this, to stop feeling this way. Well no shit. I see the psychologist in 3 weeks, and I'm going to see my regular doctor about a new anti-depressant because the one I was taking is really freaking expensive. $300, after insurance. Once I hit the deductable on my insurance it will come down some, but not enough.
I don't know what else I can do. I can't control it, my depression. I can be fine, having a normal day, and my psyche will say to me, hey, you're a piece of shit, out of the blue, and I fall apart. And that wasn't even today, today I already felt like shit, and now I feel even more like shit because I made my wife feel like shit, and not even on purpose. Well, never on purpose.
And now I'm at work, and I have 8 hours by myself with my brain, in my glass and aluminum cage.
This year I decided to try and do something about my depression. And possible anxiety. I'm seeing a psychologist in a couple weeks. I'm off my depression meds, which is painful for me and everyone around me, evidently, as evidenced by this afternoon's events.
I woke up late today, after staying up late last night. Almost noon. I woke up in pain, because I had slept on my back, and if I haven't mentioned it before, I have a bulging disc in my lower back that's bothered my for years. So I'm in pain, and upset that I didn't wake up until just about noon. I'm going to have to start setting my alarm on the weekends. My wife has gone to work, the upstairs is quiet, and the basement is filled with Harry Potter movie sounds. I wake up the boys, because they are teenagers and won't get out of bed on the weekends unless you make them. Been there, done that. I go make coffee. The filter is a little wrinkley but I don't pay it any mind. I should have. I go sit on the couch and play some Fallout 4 while I wait for the coffee to brew. I don't sit in my spot though, because my blind kitty is there, and while I hadn't had coffee yet I somehow had some empathy. While I am multi-tasking Facebook and Fallout, I notice that the coffee maker doesn't sound quite right. I go to investigate, and notice that there is some coffee leakage on the counter next to the coffee maker. I flip up the lid where the water and filter are and confirm my fear; the coffee is overflowing the filter and grounds are getting into the coffee. Ugh. In my anger I holler at the boys to get out of bed again, since it had been almost 30 minutes anyways. Dump out old grind-tainted coffee, refill the water. Take out another filter, this one is just as wrinkly as the first one, fuck you, goes in the trash. Took another out, third time's the charm. Finish starting coffee again. My back is killing me, took two Aleve, which doesn't help, never really does, but at least I can say I tried. Ate a banana, drank some grind-free coffee finally, played some more Fallout.
My youngest daugher calls as she's driving, as she usually does. I'm hungry and make some scrambled eggs, with some pancetta mixed in. We talk for a bit, then I get off the phone to eat. I took a few bites (it was delicious) and my intestines let me know, in no uncertain terms, that in order to take more in, we're going to have to make some room in the near future. Well fuck, I have to get ready for work soon, I hope this doesn't take long. Yeah, it does, or at least, longer than I would have liked. In my rush to get out of the bathroom, I accidentally fling the night light into the tub where the bulb breaks and the glass comes off the mount. Not happy, but at least not totally destroyed. Wife is not happy, but says she'll clean it up. I get dressed for work, I'm running late now, in a half-panic rush. She asks if there's anything she can do for me, and I say put me out of my misery. Black humor. I use it sometimes, and she doesn't like it, takes it too seriously. If I was going to kill myself, it would have been before now, believe me. But pain combined with depression equals dark depression. I tell her at least I'm removing myself from the situation, as I can see my mood has already poisoned her. As I'm getting ready to leave I call her into the kitchen to apologize for my mood and behavior. I take her hands in mine and I ask her forgiveness. We look into each other's eyes for a time, but she never gives it. She tells me about how she had a great day until she got home and I ruined it. She may not have used those exact words, but that was the meaning. She tells me I have to stop doing this, to stop feeling this way. Well no shit. I see the psychologist in 3 weeks, and I'm going to see my regular doctor about a new anti-depressant because the one I was taking is really freaking expensive. $300, after insurance. Once I hit the deductable on my insurance it will come down some, but not enough.
I don't know what else I can do. I can't control it, my depression. I can be fine, having a normal day, and my psyche will say to me, hey, you're a piece of shit, out of the blue, and I fall apart. And that wasn't even today, today I already felt like shit, and now I feel even more like shit because I made my wife feel like shit, and not even on purpose. Well, never on purpose.
And now I'm at work, and I have 8 hours by myself with my brain, in my glass and aluminum cage.
Labels: anxiety, depression
posted by Tom at 5:31 PM
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