So after being untreated/undertreated for quite some time for my Depression, there are a number of things that still are not quite right. This is frustrating to me.
It feels like I am at the scene of some wildfire that has mostly been extinguished, but there are still smoldering patches here and there. And over there, just out of reach, something will suddenly burst into flame. I'm tired from dousing the big fire, but if I don't get my butt over there and stamp out the little flames I will be in danger of letting the whole conflagration start again.
I want to just say: Look! I put out the fire! I am not Depressed anymore. No need to worry. Now we can all just sit around on our lawn chairs sipping Mojitos with fresh mint from the garden.
I accidentally ripped out the mint that was planted in our garden on the one day that I pulled weeds and left them all over the front lawn.
We didn't have a "kid birthday party" for either of my kids this year. We can make up all kinds of excuses for why this didn't happen but the truth is I just did not feel up to dealing with excited children or their nice parents. I make my spouse attend all the other parties including class parties because I just don't do well. Sorry.
Everything I didn't want to deal with got chucked in the basement for future scrutiny. Now all those things have spontaneously come together and formed some kind of knitted-book-game-sewing-clothes-toys-paperwork monster. I am afraid to go downstairs because it might eat me. Guilt.
I don't know where the clothes are that fit me.
I have leaned too heavily on my other families to cover for me. And I am not saying this because I think that a woman's place is in the home blah blah blah. I am saying this because as the person who is home most of the time I have done the fewest things around the house. This seems wrong and unfair.
We did not celebrate Chinese New Year in any meaningful way. And this has become my favorite holiday. But all I did this year was go out for Chinese food at a somewhat mediocre restaurant next door to my place of employment.
I have not tended my friendships well.
I have neglected my faith community and not contributed positively to the health of the Meeting. I just fell apart. And since I am Quaker and there is no laity that means I have been a horrible minister.
I have not opened my mail unless it bites me first.
I have not been kind to people that I have no patience to deal with. And I don't care that I ended a sentence with a preposition. Not even a little.
I have not kept up with family except for my children's grandmothers who have pulled more than their fair share helping take care of my children when I am at work. And they are awesome. But I should be doing things for them.
I have too many unfinished projects.
The back screen door of the house needs new hinges. The garage door opener needs to be tinkered with so it works. The gutters need cleaning. The weeds need mowing. The garden needs weeding, watering and oh yeah, planting. Didn't do that until mid-July.
I am missing an entire year's worth of photographs that encompass all of my second child's baby pictures.
I stopped reading the newspaper because sad stuff was making me sad, and fluffy stuff was making me enraged, and the fact that there was a whole section called "the funnies" seemed designed to mock me.
I accidentally dissolved a trilobite in our aquarium. I have killed off several generations of fish due to somewhat benign neglect.
I have never gone to coffee with my neighbor.
I haven't read any of the weekly newsletters sent from my Quaker meeting, my children's school, my children's teachers or any other newsletters that I am receiving and haven't bothered to follow.
I have not returned phone calls, emails or twitter direct messages (the last because I don't know how) from my literary agent (who I really like) because I am not prepared to deal with the guilt of having let my novel languish because I haven't had enough of a big-picture brain to do anything to it for the last two years. (Two years!)
I don't see how confession could possibly be good for my soul. Setting aside the fact that I am not convinced about the whole soul thing in the first place. Perhaps confession is only good for people who believe they can be forgiven.
I do see why having a guilt journal is not top on the list of recommendations for people recovering from Depression.
Grateful Crap: A child with an artist's eye who shares my love of photography, a daughter who is strong willed, a dishwasher that works, having a place to stay out of the heat, having much less heat today than yesterday,
Quaker, teacher, parent,