I took a lot of time off the last week.
With P out of town, I hunkered down for the weekend and watched hours and hours of Netflix. I took naps. After my bad knee gave out on me Saturday, I even had a reason!
The outside-my-body-voice was monitoring the situation, asking if I was sliding back into a major depressive episode. I have felt nostalgic and a bit sad the past couple of weeks. Friends in my hometown are having babies, buying homes, and I want to be there for those things. I've had many days where all I can think is that I need my mom's advice. The winter is coming, and I am hoping that my internship will let me pick up more hours when the semester ends, as I can't have a month of down time without spiraling.
Am I already spiraling?
What I've learned about depression is that you have to be ever-vigilant. And I haven't been exercising, really, which is key for my mental health. And I've spent a lot of time alone. An alcoholic does not go into bars, if they want to remain sober. Similarly, I need to commit to stay ahead of the spiral.
I think I needed this weekend off before the real craziness of the semester hits me. But then sometimes I wonder if I am just lazy. Or maybe I will always struggle with depression. And it's scary because I see evidence throughout my life, starting around age 6, that this is the case. But when I have good stretches, it's easy to think it's over. But I have to believe that it never will be, in order to hold it at bay. It's a strange thought experiment.
I've been weighing a big decision heavily during this weekend of solitude. I keep thinking, "Once I decide, then I'll be happy." But I know that isn't true. I think of my clients, refugees, who can't do much to change their circumstances. And yet, they find a way to rebuild. And my situation is nowhere as precarious and traumatic as theirs. I need to find a way to be happy today. And I backslid this past week.
At the end of one of my favorite plays, Our Town, Emily asks, "Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it--every, every minute?" The answer, actually, is tattooed on my arm. This struggle to appreciate the present has been a constant for me. My arm, and Thornton Wilder, respond to Emily with: "The saints and poets, maybe--they do some."
I used to think that depression meant they you could not "realize life." But now I think that maybe, we realize it too much. Maybe that's the trouble.
