I wouldn’t wish this on anyone.
It’s been weeks now (months?). Of monotone days. Monotone. Monochrome. Drone. My mask is quite excellent. There has been some functioning. I’m able to write semi-articulate blog posts about issues I care about. I seem to manage one small thing a day with my child, sometimes this involves actually leaving the house. I feel desperately sorry for him having a mother like me. The feeling that I let him down every single day is one of the worst feelings I think you can experience as a Mum.
I don’t think this is me. I don’t think this is my personality, but it becomes ever more difficult to separate out the bits that are me and the bits that are depression.
I somehow manage a few hours in the daytime sometimes that are slightly less devoid of colour. I somehow manage to accumulate enough energy to move around my environment with enough oomph that I don’t feel quite so much like I’m living in quick sand.
My sleep pattern has gone to utter shit and I don’t know how to get that back in check.
I don’t think there is anything in my life that makes it particularly horrendous. I have my problems, for sure, but nothing that should warrant reacting/behaving/existing like this.
I don’t even feel unhappy to be honest. I just feel….l don’t know, empty, incapable of doing what is required of me. Sometimes I feel a quite physical emptiness which I can only describe as being hungry but having no appetite. I don’t know if that makes sense to anyone.
Although monotone days is what I chose to call this piece of writing there are times when that would not be a good way to describe what is happening. Sometimes I feel so full of excitement at all the things I could achieve, all my many crocheted projects that are in progress, how my writings on this blog might make some sort of difference to someone somewhere, how I’m going to super tidy the house and take L on lots of brilliant day trips. I tend to not ever make much progress with all of these ideas as there are too many all at once.
The same sort of thing applies to my thoughts themselves – the too many all at once thing, that is. I don’t really remember experiencing this so much in my previous bouts of depression. It’s…kind of aggravating…but it doesn’t seem to stop me functioning as much as the other bit, the deadness I feel. It’s frustrating though, as I find it is hard to make sense of things sometimes.
And so this afternoon, finally, after spending too long thinking I can get myself out of this blip, I go to the doctor. I will do my usual begging for a blood test in the hope something very physical and tangible can be found to blame all of this on. I’ll be honest, this really is the main reason I am going. I don’t think medication is a good idea (for me that is, rather than in general), I don’t think I’m “bad enough” and I’ve not found anything in the past medication wise that has helped me. And as for counselling, I don’t know. It has helped enormously in the past but I don’t know, it doesn’t feel like it would help much right now. I think I have some bizarre desperate hope that the doctor will magically be able to just make my brain normal.
Update: Went to doctor. Blood tests shall be done. Referral for counselling. Should be quite quick. Seems I’m much luckier than others in that respect.