Monday, February 14, 2011

Having a Ball, Wish You Were Here

The dog is barking across the way. I can hear him, even with all the windows closed. I suppose they are leaving him out now. I've heard him several times recently. The house is quiet and dark. I had toast to eat and then a cinnamon bun Mike got Sunday. I've had it wrapped in plastic for him but I decided to eat it. He won't mind.

I do not want to do anything but go to bed. The only thing that stopped me was the thought of waking up at 3 a.m. unable to sleep. I'd never get through the day if that happened.

About 3:30 p.m. I went for a soda. Came back to work and had a horrible dizzy spell as I was hanging up my coat. Had to lean against the wall. Took a bit of time to pass off and then I felt bad. Can't explain it. Just bad. When I got home about an hour later I checked my bp and it was 154/98. I know it is high. I take meds. An hour later it was down to 149/84. Not enough.

I'm badly depressed tonight. I was yesterday as well. The sun is shinning somewhere but not here, not for me. And I do not have a way to fix this. I'm beyond the point where I think there is a way to fix it. I do not enjoy my life this way. I do not look forward. I do not look up. I see only the path right at my feet. It is a yawning chasm. Carolyn thinks my vacation will cheer me up.

It isn't one day. It is every day. Smiling, laughing, talking, going through motions that are meaningless and so very exhausting. I come home so very tired now. Never rested, never refreshed. I can hold out for about 2 hours before I need to lie down. Only you can't lie down in an office where there are no closed doors allowed. So you push past it, stay in motion. You don't stop until you get inside your house and then you sit down. And you can't get up again. You can't do dishes, sweep, make the bed, pay the bills, do your taxes, or remember what pills you took.

There is no one to come home to to listen the day I had or fix my supper or curl up next to and feel wanted, needed, and loved. I can't fix it and neither can anyone else. I feel lucky if I wake up and can hobble to the bathroom. I'm freaking 53 years old, not 93. I can't move most days without hurting. I can't read, sew, crochet, or do puzzles without agonizing pain the next day in my neck. Today my hands are hurting. My knees hurt. I can't put my elbow on a table because it feels as if there is a broken bone in there. There isn't. Tomorrow, something else will hurt. I will get up and if I'm very lucky, I can actually walk upright to the bathroom. I... am. . . tired.

I took a nap yesterday and I was dreaming of Mama. My leg hurt and I was telling her where it hurt. She was trying rub it for me. I woke up. My leg hurt. Mama wasn't there. No one was. There was nothing I could do except get out of bed and walk. I was still tired. My leg still hurt.

I'd like to think there is a silver lining, a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. I'd like to think there was even a rainbow. Not today.

Yes, this is depression. It is a lot of things. Depression, frustration, exhaustion, aggravation, indignation, agitation all rolled into one big ball. I'm having a ball.

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