The Sometimes Unbearable Heaviness of Being Me
by
I am told to write when I feel depressed–to journal the things that are weighing on me. The idea is that by writing them down, I can put them to rest at least long enough for me to get a night’s worth of rest. Since I cannot sleep, I will blog.
Today was not an easy day, although things ended on a much better note than they started. Tomorrow is looking to be rough as well. And Thursday, Sun will accompany me to her second funeral. Seriously, too many deaths this year. This time, a friend’s father. He has been ill, but last we knew he was doing well. He was very well loved and his funeral will be a difficult one (but, then, whose funeral isn’t?).
It isn’t the holidays or my upcoming birthday or money or concern about my job or my marriage or even impending house-guests that is causing the depression this time. After a day of careful reflection, I really don’t know what exactly is bothering me anymore. But that is how my depression is–it starts with something concrete and then blossoms into a general malaise. It permeates my thoughts, my emotions, my physical being.
It’s possible that I can turn the corner on this depression without any real effort. It could turn out that being really busy at work tomorrow is all I will have needed to distract my mind from its funk and then the fog will have lifted. Or not.
I don’t think it’s an event that causes depression. I think that if chemically, you were going to be depressed, you will be able to identify an event that made you feel bad, but if you were in a good place, you will deal with that event without the corresponding emotial crash. I know I’ve dealt with some pretty bad events on solid ground, and then sometimes a conference call will not go the way I wanted, and suddenly I’m convinced I’m the crappiest lawyer on the planet.
I hope this passes. The holidays are a hard time.
Could it be post-partum depression?