You know those times that you look back on your life and realize that the Great Depression was nothing compared what you have survived. Those times when you realize that the high you just exploded through was minor compared to the tidal wave of craziness that usually accompanies you. Or you take a mirror and look deep into your own eyes and see not intelligence, nor any sign of life, but rather a hole that exactly explains where and who you are.
I am in a hole. I am not sure all the reasons for this these days. My husband and I seem to be getting along – although how do I know. My children while causing the normal amount of stressful hours of homework, friends, and who gets to play kickball, seem to be doing alright. There have been complaints from that corner but mostly over the food – and they always complain over the food.
I just sent in a book for editing. And while it is taking a lot of energy and much more stamina than it took to write the thing, I am taking it a day at a time. Going through notes, suggestions, revisions, and then revising some more is not for the faint of heart. Part of me wishes it were like this blog – send it out there and dare someone to comment on my grammatical skills.
From my doc I know where this funk started. It took a whole hour of her constantly asking me, “What changed?” for me to get to it, but I eventually did. Of course, this required her to completely and totally tick me off so that I had no choice but to yell out the truth to that question asked over and over again. I think it surprised both of us: me because I hadn’t thought of that answer yet, and her because she had never actually seen my angry.
For the first time in my life I seem to have friends. And I have honestly been trying to cultivate these friendships by sending texts, keeping up with the gossip, and basically pretending I really care about all the myriad details. I don’t really care about all the details, but I am learning they don’t care either. It is just nice to have an excuse to sit around with a bottle of beer and bitch. Really we are there just for the beer.
So what is it that has got me in this funk this time?
And it is a this time. It is always a this time. Every time is a this time. And it is a stubborn and scornful this time. You look around and realize that what you have is what you have always had and all of a sudden it is a this time.
I have a disease that causes depression; sometimes deep and sorrowful depression. I have a disease that requires all these pills (so many pills) and so much fight and energy that there is the required resentment towards the thing. I have a disease that causes all kinds of chaos and destruction, along with a good dose of upheaval and occasional hurt. I could say I am not the disease until I am blue in the face, but to be honest most days I would rather blame it all on the disease and never consider the idea that it could really just be me.
But what really bothers me about this disease, besides the hurting of others, is that it doesn’t come with a guide. It doesn’t come with a treatise that explains that on this day at this time you will be experiencing these emotions because of this reason. There isn’t a piece of information on the internet, in a book, or in some random post that will explain the reason that I am in a funk today.
And why not? I get that each of our brains are different. We have different pasts and different experiences. But why can’t we simply say, hey if you are feeling depressed you dopamine levels have gone below six degrees (I don’t know how to measure these levels) and we simply need you to take this little shot and you will be fixed all up.
Because there are times that I feel depression and there isn’t a comprehensive reason as to why. There is no major event or simple conversation. There is no lack of sleep or the loss of appetite. There is none of the cutting, the suicide, the weather, the ultimate desire to just fly away. It is just a funk. Caused by something? Who knows, there is no explanation for any of it.
Just once I wish that someone like God himself would sweep down whisper in my ear and give me the necessary answers in order to better my world for my very tolerant family. I wish just once I could give my children the reason as to why I am like this so that they can understand. Skip my understanding, give those poor children a explanation. No child deserves to live without explanations.
But sadly, there are no explanations. I will have to drive myself through this funk all alone, just like I have done a million times. Sitting here typing I don’t know where I am going to get the energy to actually care enough to do it, but I will do it. I have done it my whole adult life.
I will continue to fight this funk today, tomorrow and every day of my future. It is a bleak and rather depressing future, full of hair-trigger tempers, long periods of not writing or reading, frustration at the most ridiculous of things, and the ever popular nights when I leave my family in my husbands hands and go hide. I pretend to sleep, but really I am just hiding. Oh, and don’t forget living with the side effects of those popular pills – like, oh I don’t know – no sex drive.
One explanation that is all I am asking. One reason for why. One reason for what. One reason that will define a roadmap that may help me find the resources to fall in happiness again.