... who has suddenly lost the ability to do -- well, almost anything. I’m not, I swear, this person who is letting the weekly dinner plan fall to only what comes out of the freezer in vacuum-sealed packages: tilapia fillets, mixed vegetables, pot stickers. Not all within the same meal either. I’m not this person who crawls back into bed after breakfasting on coffee. I used to do laundry and dishes and file the innumerable bills and other important items from the mail. I would read the news over my cereal, then start my workout. I’d shower before lunch. I'd even floss. I could go about my daily responsibilities without feeling like each small task required so much will. And pleasurable things -- they were effortless to pursue, not these chore-like endeavors they've suddenly become.
It will get better. It has to. But this person who's taken over my body in the last week since I got back -- you're not welcome. You're no stranger to me; I remember you all too well from previous dark times. I'd just forgotten how sneaky you could be. I mean, twelve days ago, I really did think I was fine. I was up to my elbows in revisions; I was chasing down thesis committee members. Hell, I even managed to sell a TV and a microwave on Craigslist to two different people and get a foster cat adopted by a third while I was three time zones away (thanks, D, for doing the in-person follow-up for all that).
And then, some time in the early morning of the last day before I was to fly home, you showed up. You hopped into the bed while I was in the hospital and curled right up under the skimpy white sheet like a delighted child who had found a new playmate. I'm sure I told you to go away. But you knew I'd been worn down, knew my defenses were gone. You'd been watching me for days, waiting for your moment. I realize that now and wish I'd recognized you sooner. Maybe I did and was just in denial.
I understand that you've decided to sojourn here for a stay of indeterminate length, but I'm not cool with it. Do what you have to do (or don't, as the case may be) -- I'll give you that. But tell me what it is you really need, tell me how to provide it, so I can send you away again, this time, I hope, for good.
Because you don't get to stay forever. One way or another, I will figure out how you work. And when that day comes, I'll be the person in charge again. Yes, me. And I won't make it pleasant for you to hang around. So do us both a favor. Help me help you so we can go our separate ways. Really, it'll be better for everyone involved.
13 comments:
Great post...I like your spin with this. Just tell it to get up and skedaddle (I just love that word!) so you can get your life back!
Ugh - I'm sorry you have this tag-along. Might it leave when you find out the results of the tests you've had? Have you found out yet? Is this biochemical? Physical? Emotional? All of the above?
I have periodically chased my other person away with the help of little pills called Welbutrin and Lexapro (the latter had the most horrible withdrawal symptoms I've ever had). I took them during periods where I needed to break a cycle and now they are no more...
But that's just me - I hope you find out how to evict the little bastard!
Sorry that you have this inky shadow to deal with. Is it any comfort to you that you've managed to produce a powerful piece of writing despite its presence?
Here's to sunnier days ahead.
Powerful post! That's just exactly the way it happens. There's been a lot on your plate lately and hopefully it's just situational and will slink away with brighter days. I'm with MW -- when my shadowy other shows up I usually need some help giving it the boot. Take care and hope you get better soon.
CT - you have put this so well but I am sorry that this has come to you. You've been through a lot of medical worries over the years and other problems too - it's such a shame that now you are back in your own place and want to get on with stuff, well - that this 'thing' has dropped its cloud over you.
Tell it at regular intervals to get out of your body.
So sorry the Winter Uglies have come to visit. I know the feeling well. (((hugs)))
SuziCate -- thanks. It seems the last few times I forcibly sent it packing, it was only a temporary sort of eviction. So some negotiation has to happen. I have to listen to what it's asking me to pay attention to. Once I do that, I'm hoping it'll decide to leave on its own.
MW -- regarding the question about tests, we do have almost all of the results (yay!). This tag-along was tangentially related to those things. It was more an old ghost of griefs past that came back (so this is emotional more than physical).
Kristen -- thank you. I do find that writing can be helpful (perhaps why I found my niche in nonfiction, as I was saying over at your place). What's moderately disturbing is that the writing sometimes doesn't gain as much potency in sunnier times! A perverse relationship, no?
Sherlock -- thanks for the good wishes. The sneakiness is infuriating, eh? I'm glad you've found something helpful for you when you've needed it.
FF -- regular intervals, yes! Persistence is key. Thank you for reminding me of that.
TKW -- if only I could really blame the Uglies on winter. It's green and blooming out here, which makes me extra frustrated with this particular Ugly who has invaded. Well, hmm, it was still winter at Almost Dr. Sis's. Okay. It was clearly a stowaway, not a native to the Pacific Northwest. Good call.
I'm sorry you're going through a rough patch. I think so many of us can recognize its face and try to shove it away. I hope soon it leaves your place and stays gone, for good.
this was a wonderful piece of writing, and I also hope that with time, venting with through your keyboard, and seeing all of the support you have, helps.
Thanks for stopping by, Becca! How I wish that face, as you describe it, weren't so recognizable to so many people. I wouldn't wish it on anyone. You are right, though -- the keyboard and the support here make a crucial difference. I'm grateful for that.
What a beautifully raw and touching post - that so many can relate to. Sharing this will comfort many - me included! It's nice to know we're not alone. Makes it a bit easier to bear, somehow.
Jane, thanks for visiting. It is easier when we know we're not alone. Couldn't have said it better.
P.S.: I have bad candle pictures to post soon. Total coincidence that you posted pictures of cool ones; hence my comment over at your place :)
Aw, CT. I'm sorry you're in this place. And do you not even have a kitty to snuggle with right now?
I have not experienced depression (is it okay to say that word in here?), but your description of your stealthy visitor is so well written. Thank you for sharing, and I hope you figure out what your visitor needs so that you can send it away long term.
(((CT)))
No kitty here at the moment, GEW. We might get another in a few weeks -- the cats that come into our foster care tend to exert emotional demands we want to be sure we can meet. They can bite, scratch, hide, and in general act in non-snuggly ways (understandably) after being stressed in a less-than-ideal shelter environment. It's not fair to the kitty to expect it to comfort me! (Though it would be awesome if there were a super-friendly one who wanted nothing more than to sleep in my lap.)
It is totally, totally okay to say depression here. And I'm so glad you haven't had to experience it. That is, without doubt, a very good thing! Thank you for your kind words. And also your lovely list of joyful bits. I smiled when I read it :)
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