The 25th? Good lord. I was thinking the twenty first or the second.
I haven't written in a while; I've been battling depression. It's a quiet battle and is renewed each day.
On good days, I feel like getting up, instead of having to force myself to get up. I feel like writing instead of playing endless, mindless games of Spider Solitaire or watching so much TV that the jingles from the commercials still ring on and on in the dark when I finally go to bed.
It has been dark and dreary for over two weeks straight. A couple days ago, the sun struggled forth enough to cast watery shadows of the dogs onto the sodden grass. The shadows wavered and ran along side the dogs for a little while and then dissolved again into the grey.
I watched the local channel to try and get hope of seeing some sunlight in the future, but none was forecast. Not only that, but she did not express any horror, or even any wonder at the weather pattern. She did not cry out, "Which one of you sacrificed something to an unholy god, to cause this curse of clouds?" which I certainly would have said.
"Declare yourself," I would demand, "and like Jonah, you will be tossed from the state of Kentucky into darkest Tennessee so we can get on with it and prevent mold from growing on our sheets."
In fact, she acted as if all was normal and that was the worst part. "Cold air coming in from...blah blah blah..." and "...a chance of snow late Tuesday night but won't affect Wednesday morning commute...etc, etc."
I mean, really! At least in Colorado the weather people were mildly apologetic when the weather turned to the worst. There was the usual stilted banter between them and the news anchors.
"More bad news, Bob? When are you going to show us some sun, huh?"
(Canned laughter.)
"Well, Carl, I'll do my best for next week; I know you want to get back out on that golf course..."
(Canned laughter, jumbled awkward moment as female anchor says something at the same time as Carl Anchor does and then someone leaps in to cut to the next commercial break.)
But this weather person! No, no apology from her, just wooden declarations of another solid week of rain, snow and clouds. It's not so much that I want her to be sorry for something she can't control, it's just that her non-reaction made this weather pattern appear commonplace.
There are two things that I must do to keep the depression manageable. I must make the bed and walk the dogs. If on any given day I fail to do both, then depression rises up in the mid afternoon and swallows me whole. There is then no escape from the deadening lethargy and bleak, sepia tones that bleed away into the grey evening.
To date, I have sometimes failed one or the other, but never both. Most days I go from task to task like a mountain climber reaching for the next handhold. I grope, grip and heave myself from the task of breakfast and onto the next task of laundry. When I've reached a certain height; the bed made, coffee consumed, the dishes washed, I can take a deep breath and feel some lightening of the burden.
I then must tackle the afternoon and that means going outside, no matter what. To date, I have walked through one thunderstorm, two rain showers and a snow fall. It is no fun carrying an umbrella in one hand and the leashes of two rather large dogs in the other and it is especially no fun balancing these and the poop bag when the occasion demands, but I have done so and will do so, no matter what.
On the worst of days, I look at the coffee machine and don't even want to bother with it. Now, that is bad. On the best of days, I do all the same things as I do on the worst, but everything is filled with a light, buoyant sense of purpose and accomplishment. I naturally flow from one thing to the other, the afternoon is filled with quiet tasks, such as dusting, or the pleasant anticipation of dinner, which I research on line. I come up with a menu or a recipe all my own and then busy myself in making it, while listening to the evening news. I put away the washed coffee cup, the deep navy blue tone pleasing to the eye, and think with pleasure of the next morning, the wash of sunlight and the steam rising up, the peace and quiet.
Depression comes with a kind of stigma, but I think most of us women experience it to one degree or another at certain points in life. Mine at the moment is seasonal compounded by monthly. The combination is deadly, but at least I know what's causing it. That helps; I know that I have about another week of being in the very densest part before experiencing a most welcome lift up and a renewed focus on projects, like the sewing machine that I have not even taken out of the box. Poor thing.
Now if only the sun would come out.
