The Abyss

I am not in the abyss...yet. I am clinging to the walls with my fingernails digging into the rapidly disintegrating edge. My head is straining to see over my shoulder into the darkness. I am alternately spiraling and slowly seeping into the vortex.

It is so easy for me to be all candid and brave when I have just been ejected from the abyss thanks to a combination of medication and shock therapy. Not metaphorical shock therapy, real shock therapy. But when I am sliding toward the brink, denial thwarts action. Or even recognition. I've been going too fast and too hard for too long. I'm just tired. I'm not irritable...the world is just irritating.

Negativity is not just a momentary, fleeting thought, but an insidious mindset that is critical of everything. My body. My clothes. My parenting. My friendships. My habits.

Because of the crazy, chaotic schedule of the past month or so, I am about a month late for my monthly dose of ECT. A month ago I was researching online to see if, in fact, this monthly course of ECT to which I am committed is really necessary. I felt great! My marriage felt sound. My kids were doing great. I was optimistic and social. I was myself...the good self, the healthy self. I fantasized about the ECT doc telling me that, no, I wouldn't need to do this every month. I was cured!

Now I feel like I will never be cured. And not in a healthy acceptance kind of way. In a miserable, I'm damaged goods kind of way. The simple tasks of cashing a check at the bank, going to the grocery store and fixing dinner are feeling monumentally insurmountable. My bed taunts me with promises of blissful unconsciousness. My books remind me that I am not finding the joy that reading has always provided. My children's eyes seem to be filled with the awareness that Mom is not herself. She's just going through the motions.

I never wanted to get back here. I promised myself that I wouldn't. I was committed to scrupulously following my treatment regimen. I didn't. Depression sucks. It fights dirty. It sees a moment of weakness and capitalizes on it. It kicks dirt in your face when you are down. It never puts its hand out in a gesture of fair-play.

I wanted to insert a paragraph of hope here because I know that I will get back on track with my treatment and this brief moment will be a distant memory...a memory that the zap of ECT might even erase. But right now, it just felt necessary to write this down. To look at it from this side of the crevasse instead of from the other side where the view is diffused by the vaseline-smeared lens of retrospect.

Di

Comments

[Leigh]

I think the hardest part of any kind of chronic condition is it is, unfortunately, hard to come to terms-if you ever do- that there may never be a "cure". That some things can only be managed. I have chronic migraines, 10-15 per month (which is a lot) and it took me years of trying to no t think about it, chase after possible causes (turns out weather is a big one) before I just dealt with it, buy tons of pills online from India, keep them stashed everywhere, car, office, etc., and I try to be grateful that these drugs are available. But I have missed out on a lot, and it affects Flipper, she is always afraid that I will get a headache and be unable to get out of bed for the hour or two it takes for the pills to work. Lot of guilt there. So. Thinking of you.

[JoAnn]

Oh, Diane.....my heart is just aching. Consider yourself hugged, very hard.

[Karen]

Oh, poor Di. I am struck by how self-aware you can be about what's going on -- and yet realize that it still can get away from you. Go get your treatment, my dear. It's no different than insulin for a diabetic. You need it to stay healthy. Hugs to you.

[Beth]

Take good care of yourself, friend.

[Shirley]

I appreciate your honesty in dealing with depression. It helps me to better understand what its like there. I hope you can get your treatment soon and feel better.
Hugs

[JaniceNW]

Thanks for the comment yesterday, In 12 uears I know there are up and downs within the depressive state. Kinda like a scareeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee roller coaster.

If you ever need some one to listen, my email is mamakrb@aol.com. You're brave.