Waiting For The Other Shoe to Drop

I feel like a weight has been lifted. I feel light, and happy, and free. Most of all, I don’t feel depressed. And frankly, that scares the shit out of me.

Depression is weirdly comforting. It hurts but I know what to expect. Sadness, heartbreak, self-loathing… they hug me tight and I walk through life with them by my side. I felt lonely in my depressed but I feel naked without it.

To not be depressed is terrifying because I’m waiting for the depression to set in, again. I know that life without depression won’t last. I know that something could trigger it at any moment. I remember exactly what it feels like and the irrational thoughts that ran through my head, and I wish more than anything that I could fully recover.

It doesn’t help that something really great happened to me last week that I think might be giving me a temporarily inflated ego that’s quieting the usual I’m-not-enough conversations I love to have with myself. It’s easy to feel better when I have something to hide behind.

The worst part is that I can’t fully enjoy or relish in the non-depression because I’m still so focused on being depressed. How horribly ironic.

Once again, depression has me irrational.

When You Cry at Work

I feel embarrassed just typing this, but today I cried at work. Not just a few tears but the kind of crying I’m known for in my family – a deep sob that causes me to have trouble catching my breath. Even worse, I let it happen in front of my boss.

There’s no need to go into specifics but on top of dealing with my day-to-day depression I’ve been experiencing today I got burned my a colleague. It caught me off guard and I couldn’t control myself. I could feel tears welling up in my eyes  and I tried to fight them back. I was doing a great job until my boss called me into his office.

We were about to have a conversation, completely unrelated to my issues, when it happened. I turned around to shut the door and I completely broke down.

I’m embarrassed and ashamed. I feel silly and ridiculous. I feel small and weak.

But I feel oddly supported. My boss didn’t flinch. He asked questions. He let me cry it out. When I posted my embarrassment on Instagram I received so many positive responses I never expected to receive, and even a message from someone who admitted they cry at work frequently. Even more so, I feel so much better after that cry. A sort-of weird catharsis.

I don’t want to speak too soon but I wonder if my mental health might be taking a turn for the better.

Alone vs Lonely

I used to think there was a difference between being alone vs being lonely. I used to pride myself on my ability to be alone.
To be independent.
To be comfortable with silence.
To be comfortable with myself.

Now, I’m having trouble finding that distinction. The lines seem to be blurred. What is the difference again? They seem to be one in the same.

It’s 2AM and I am alone. I’m alone on this queen mattress. The world is asleep. I turn the TV to quiet the deafening silence but it doesn’t help.

I am alone.

I am lonely.

In my involuntary solitude the only thing that seems to exist is my depressive thinking; you are not enough. You are unworthy. You are unloved.

Alone.

Lonely.

The difference doesn’t matter anymore.

Dawn

Watching your chest rise and fall

Your arm curled around the pillow

The sound of your breath as it escapes your lips

Morning light catches your arm hair, making it appear golden

Three months ago I would have moved in closer

Three months ago I had no doubt you loved me

This morning, as dawn breaks, I memorize each and every part of you

Knowing this will all come to an end

Therapy, Round Two

Today I went to my second session in this round of therapy. I find that the days I think, I have nothing to talk about, or, I feel OK today, end up being the hardest sessions. Today’s appointment was no exception. There were lots of tears and seven hours later I still feel so exhausted.

My eyes hurt. Every part of me feels achy and I don’t think I can attribute it to this morning’s workout. I’m tired. I have no appetite.

Therapy is work.

My feelings about my therapist are complicated. My last therapist was a sweetheart. Sitting in her office felt meditative and serene. It was exactly what I needed during that time. My new therapist is kind of a realist. She tells me like it is and doesn’t sugar coat it. It is exactly what I need this time.

My previous experience was about learning about myself, opening up old wounds, and finding my coping mechanisms. This experience is about perspective. Both will be equally important. Both will save my life.