Doing my best

I’m struggling again. I’ve stopped writing. This is dumb, I know. Writing so often is the release that helps me make sense of my emotions and start feeling better.

I know I need to write. It’s a form of depression medication. Every day, I plan to start writing again soon.

This morning, I started writing, with no thought about where my thoughts might meander. This post is the result. It is not organized. It does not have a concrete point or purpose.

It is the outcome of me sitting down to write for the sake of writing, which, after all, is the purpose of this blog.

I am well-versed in appropriate self-care protocol for depressive cycles by now. My triggers are alcohol, sugar, too little sleep, too much screen time.

I know what I need to do to pull myself out of this. A depressive cycle isn’t as devastating as it used to be. The down times hit, and then they pass, and that’s okay.

I do wish they didn’t hit with such frequency, though.

This time, it’s on me. I tried having sugar and alcohol in my life again for the last week or so, and I suffered predictable consequences. Yes, I should know better. Yes, I did it anyway.

I had a couple good cries yesterday and got back to nourishing my body and mind with healthier fuel. I’m determined today will be better.

Quick vent, though:

I bought a beautiful new couch, the first real piece of furniture I’ve added to my living room in my new home. The tactile sensation of the fabric is proving irresistible to my cats. They have never scratched furniture before, so this is wholly unexpected. The couch is already showing signs of fraying in sections, after only three days in my home. I’m going to have to see if there’s any type of return policy I can take advantage of.

The door of my dishwasher broke. Have to sort that out, too.

And, finally… A filling popped out of a tooth last night, so I’m dealing with that pain. The dentist can’t see me until tomorrow afternoon.

These are all things that it’s okay to have big emotions about.

These are things that are annoying and distressing. They add to an already overwhelming to-do list. In one instance, they actually cause physical pain.

I wasn’t doing great, to begin with. Yet with these specific things, I recognize it’s okay that I am upset, angry, irritated.

Someone else might take everything in stride better. I likely would, too, during a brighter time.

But right now is a dark time and that’s the way it is.

On a related note: depression lies.

Depression tells me people don’t like me. I’m a burden and anyone who is nice to me does so for reasons that have nothing to do with me. Depression tells me people complain about me and wish they didn’t have me in their life.

This is true even of my closest friends, and in particular, my parents and my siblings.

I try to tell myself this is a lie depression tells, but I usually fail to be convincing. I believe these lies and, as a result, I rarely give people the opportunity to show me I’m wrong. I keep people at arm’s length, even my siblings, who I dearly wish I had a better relationship with.

I don’t reach out because I assume doing so will cause annoyance rather than pleasure. I assume people are too busy for me.

I assume I am their lowest priority.

I don’t know how to change this. I lack those skills that allow one to engage in expected ways. I can either go deep or I do not talk at all. Nothing in the middle.

I found myself in a rare situation where I was proven wrong yesterday. My friend’s husband has a birthday this week. I forgot his birthday. I invited the two of them over for dinner the night they were planning to go out for a nice dinner to celebrate.

They invited me to join them and I assumed it was a pity invite. Not wanting to butt in on their date night, I declined.

I hurt their feelings by assuming I was not wanted. The misunderstanding cleared up, or I think it did, anyway. Still, I hurt feelings by assuming I’m disliked. I thereby created real cause for dislike, which is rather a conundrum.

It was one of several things that moved me to tears yesterday.

I don’t feel I’m doing well lately but I rarely do, I suppose.

Maybe this is okay? I’m taking care of basic hygiene, getting to work, getting my job done, feeding myself…

For all intents and purposes, I’m functioning as a normal adult human, yes?

I know a depressive cycle can be so much worse than this. I’ve been there. Right now, I’m sad, and in despair, and feeling really shitty about myself…

But maybe, despite all that, despite all the lies the depression monster tells me, maybe, just maybe…

Maybe I’m actually doing okay?

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