Tuesday, December 9, 2014
I have avoided those words for so long, resisted what they mean, especially knowing my most-read entry on the blog this year was on finally finding joy.
But so it is: My depression came back.
This time is different, though. Because this time I asked for help.
On Sunday evening, I asked Andy to please "treat me like a sick person," as though I had the flu or a broken leg.
And he got it. He plugged in my laptop next to the bed with Netflix ready to go. He ordered my favorite comfort foods and made sure I ate something. He filled my water bottle and did my laundry and put Caleb to bed. I felt loved and taken care of, and it occurred to me that maybe, just maybe, he did it because he believed I was worth the time and energy and effort.
So the next day, I decided I might try believing it, too, and I called a counselor. I also made myself a decent meal, and I turned off my computer and crawled into bed at midnight instead of 1AM, which is a baby step but still progress.
This morning my neck hurts a little bit less (it always stiffens up in times like this), and Caleb put himself to sleep in his crib for a nap, and I'm listening to podcasts and tackling some more cleaning projects. I'm so familiar with the downward spiral, and crawling back out is so freaking difficult. But I'm doing it anyway.
Because there is hope. I'm choosing to surrender to life as it comes instead of giving in to the (sometimes overwhelming) temptation of death. I would unceasingly defend the life of a child, of all children, because I believe each and every one has a right to be here and a purpose to serve. I can accept this as true of most anyone....except myself.
I'd still say I'm less lonely at home than I was when I was working, and I never miss the small talk or pressure to smile. But there is a heaviness, a different "aloneness" that has always been so. A sense of never quite fitting in, of being too sensitive and smart-but-not-that-smart.
It can be so hard to navigate this world.
But here I am. Still typing, still breathing. Still "in the world," and still learning. It hurts, but I'm doing it anyway. Which is about as big a victory as there is, I'd say.
Practicing what we most need to learn never quite looks like we think it will, does it?