Or I do, anyway.
I feel perpetually exhausted at the thought of the struggle to come out on the other side of this latest bout of depression. I’ve done all the right things, put all the support networks in place prior and it STILL hasn’t helped. Except maybe to convince people that I am functioning well, when the truth is that I am not.
It is not constant, either, which you’d think would be a good thing but in my case, again no. I get brief periods when I think I’m coping well but they never last longer than an hour or so, tops. Back down to the depths again and more utter misery, probably compounded with extra obligations, due to the things I committed to do the last time I felt ok.
I don’t want to put any of my grief on my mother or my SIL (I suspect all three of us are behaving similarly, though, and withholding for the same reasons) so my poor husband gets it all. He’s been sterling but I wouldn’t want to be married to me right now. Hell, I don’t even want to be me right now.
The constant fluctuation of up and down is so much more exhausting than just being chronically depressed. It also totally fucks up my memory and I can’t remember more than two thoughts in a progression. Life is a huge, huge struggle right now.
And I am so tired. I dream every night; exhaustive scary dreams that I remember the next day. This week’s winner was me being chased through the dense words by a big black dog/cat thing that constantly bit my legs as I ran: I couldn’t see it because of the dark night and the bites came totally at random out of the dark. I was absolutely terrified,both in the dream and when I woke up.
I only ever have such vivid nightmares (or even regular memorable dreams) when I am mired in the mud and fog of clinical depression.
The black dog is chasing me.