3 A.M. Is My Depression's Favorite 'Party Hour'
Last night around 3 a.m. — or as I like to call it, “depression’s favorite party hour” — I sat with it staring me down like an ugly monster with a snaggletooth smile.
I glanced down to my hands that had previously been folded in prayer that were now clenching at my sheets. The depression had got me, deep in my chest. Down into its lair I went. I grabbed my journal and out of sheer desperation, I started writing down all the reasons I needed to live, the reasons why I need to make it to morning light.
With darkness around me and a face drenched with tears, I began to write.
My dog… Oh wait I have to give her up because being disabled with Crohn’s, I can’t afford her and I’ve been having a tough time walking her. My depression grinned as if to say: “I gotcha there.”
I went on. My kids… But they are 30 and 35. They do not need me anymore.
Breathe and keep writing, I thought. Keep writing.
My cats… and before depression could pull me in, I shot back: “Be quiet, I’m thinking.”
I know being in my head with this cruel villain can be dangerous and feel like there is no where to hide. There is so much junk in my head sometimes. It’s like my favorite junk drawer where all the crap goes that I can’t compartmentalize. My thoughts are in free fall, floating like objects in space with no gravity. Not good. Back to my writing.
My kids. Yes they do need me. I hope to be a grandmother someday, I cannot miss it. Who would drive my kids nuts, if not their mom?
My cats. Who would brush them with as much love and style as I do? Who would make sure their kitty McMansion is clean?
Now it’s 4:30 a.m. and I can almost hear the morning birds. I looked at my journal with such gratitude. What would I do without you, my confidante, my safe place to do battle with my depression? I give it hug and tuck it away for another day…
The morning birds are singing now. Today I still have my dog, Hattie, and the snow is melting. Time to get up, take it easy and know that while I may have conquered my depression last night, there will be days it will reappear, ready to rumble. This I know to be true, but I also know I can win. With my journal in one holster and my faith in the other, I take it one minute at a time and one day at a time.
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Thinkstock photo via KatarzynaBialasiewicz.
I was diagnosed with Crohn’s disease when I was 13 yrs. I was a tomboy who rocked party dresses. I was curious, loved my big Siamese cat called Shabooey and Surf, my soft shelled turtle. Curly Auburn headed, petite and topped off with enormous dark chocolatey brown eyes. The day the pain began, that little full of life girl, went dark...no one believed me. First bowel resection was in 1973...I had no idea how sick I was because back then or at least in my family, you did not speak of anything that wasn’t all shiny and bubbly. Thru the many, many years of confusion, denial and ignorance...I survived by skating on the surface of my life. Married, two beautiful children, a divorce and a successful career I loved, hit the fan and all 4 tires blew at once. In 2002 I became officially disabled. I had to stop working so I left the big city of SF and moved back to my hometown. I bought a pretty Victorian home and went from Corp executive to jeweler. After my 8th bowel resection, and blasting thru every drug on the market, tacking on more delightful diseases; sarcoidosis, primary immunodeficiency, Sjögren’s, and the list goes on I decided enough is enough, for Pete’s sake. I opened Heartandhammers.etsy.com and became a tiny business owner. And then I rescued a ginormous, sweet 110 lb dog, Greater Swiss Mountain dog who I named Ollie, a darling little sprite of a kitten, aptly named Skeeter and my older, mature Ruby. She is a calico with all the grace of a queen bee. We are happy some days, others too much pain. Bearing the weight of too many diseases takes the wit right outta me. I’m single so I do my best to balance everything but plain and simple...it’s really damn hard. I’m writing this from the hospital..I’m a little drugged up, sleep deprived and feeling lonely but...I’m a warrior now. So I’ll do what needs to be done and get home to my little family of 4 legged loves....rinse and repeat.
pamelasquires