Previously, on Sweet Sassyfats, I've extolled to virtues of spinning. I've also extolled the virtues of working with a personal trainer who has pushed me to achieve levels of fitness I didn't know were possible for me. I've counted some blessings, and I've probably extolled some other crap that I don't have the energy to link to right now. Today I don't feel like extolling anything about nuthin'.
Since the beginning of the year, I seem to have been sick more than not. Nothing major, mostly just cold and allergy related stuff. But it's been enough to knock me off my stride. My energy keeps slipping downward, and my motivation to do anything spectacular is just plain gone. Don't feel like working out. Don't feel like eating healthy stuff. Don't feel like writing. I don't even feel like watching Ghost Adventures, for cripes sake. In short, I pretty much don't feel like doing anything that makes me furiously happy (A phrase I've unabashedly stolen from the one and only Blogess. [<-- That link is to a post that sums up just about everything I love about the Blogess. In fact, just go read her blog for awhile, I promise it's way more interesting than anything I have to say from here on out. I promise not to unleash my fury on you if you go. That would take way too much energy.])
If I had my druthers, I'd be curled in the fetal position watching Lifetime Movie Network and eating my weight in chocolate covered french fries each and every day. However, I live here in the real world, where I have a living to make and children to care for. So I must achieve a level of functioning that makes me appear to be a competent adult every day. So I push through the "I-don't-wannas" and go through the motions of my daily life and hope the facade holds up until the kids are in bed for the night. 'Tis exhausting.
I've gone enough rounds with depression to recognize the symptoms. I've also gone enough rounds to know that this bout will not last forever; I just need to keep pushing through it until I get to the other side. The thing about depression, though, is that it renders you incapable of doing the very things that will help you come out of it: Eating healthy foods, getting enough exercise, doing things you enjoy, etc. But that sneaky bastard sneaks up behind you and whispers in your ear, "Don't bother. Won't work. Not worth the effort. Oh, and by the way? Nobody cares." Bastard.
Those of you who have already dialed a 9 and a 1, can go ahead and put your phones down. I have a lonnnnnng way to go before I reach some of the depths I've seen before. In fact, sitting here writing - even though I don't feel like it - is already having a theraputic effect. And despite the fact that doing so sounds like a monumental task, I'm gonna call the doctor on Monday. (Yes, I'm on meds. No, you are not allowed to judge me for that. Yes, I'm going to link to the Blogess again.)
So maybe you're wondering why I'm exposing the inner workings of my broken psyche to the world - or at least to the three or four people who read this blog. And the truth is, I'm not really sure. I guess part of me feels like I'm not going to get over this slump until I step out of the darkness and into the light. Writing this post is my way of donning my silver ribbon and saying, Yep, I have depression and anxiety disorder. And you know what? I'm OK. Or at least I will be again. If I and others step forward and speak openly about this very real medical issue, then maybe others will realize they DON'T have to hide in the dark. They DON'T have to buy into the lies their illness tells them. There IS hope. And working to find that hope again is so worth the effort.