In the past week I’ve admitted to myself, my husband and a handful of friends that I’m still not doing well, depression-wise. After a grim March and part of April, I had started to feel more like myself at the end of April. I had done up on the dosage of my anti-anxiety meds; the weather was wonderful; I was getting back into the swing of things with running. One day I even caught myself singing aloud in the car. B and the kids had even noticed a difference.
But a few weeks ago I cratered again, and now I’m barely holding it together. Most days the only reason I get out of bed is because there are four short people relying on me to feed them and dress them and get them out the door.
My energy level is zero. I have no interest in things I usually love – like knitting and reading and running. And I find myself again counting the hours until I can go back to bed. I barely leave the house – I missed the preschool carnival because I couldn’t handle the idea of making small talk with people. Yesterday I went to a runners’ group event and had a hard time not crying while trying to talk to people. Then I went home feeling like a complete and total failure.
There’s nothing major that has spurred this. The kids have all been relatively healthy (knock on wood), and work has been going well. B’s business has picked back up to the point that he is slammed, but he’s still been really helpful the past few weeks. I’m still going to counseling with a therapist I like, even if she is a little tree-hugging at times.
We do have the stress of the whole moving process. One of the ducks that we needed to get in a row wandered off and got blown up two weeks ago, so we’re in limbo with that again. But I’ve been able to largely put that aside. Being in limbo means I don’t actually have to do anything.
All I can come up with at this point is that my medication needs adjusting – I either need to go up in my dose or try something else. I’m calling today with for an appointment with a doctor (I can never remember whether it’s psychologist or psychiatrist) who can hopefully get me on something that will help.
In the meantime, if you don’t hear from me, it’s because I’m hunkered down, trying to keep myself together.