anecdotes and reflections on life with depression and anxiety
As I mentioned in a previous post, I’ve been in a bit of a slump the past couple of weeks. I wouldn’t call it a rut, not a downward spiral, but definitely a downturn in my mood and energy. I’m not talking about the kind of desperate, gnawing sadness that I’ve described before, not a string of really terrible, hopeless days, but more of just a low-level, doing-the-bare-minimum, getting-by kind of depression. The low moments are not as painfully low as they are on a truly awful day, but the high moments don’t feel as happy and carefree as they should (and do) when I’m completely well. I’m a little more able to get out of the house and put a smile on my face, it’s just still hard to feel like I’m glad that I’ve done so.
It’s impossible for me to tell when a slump is coming. It just happens, as I slowly realize that I have been stringing together days and days of “blah.” My body might ache a bit more; I’m more prone to headaches and stomachaches; and I sleep a lot. (For example: last night was the first night in two weeks that I was not in bed before dark.) Over the weekend I slept and slept and slept. I got up for a few hours and then went back to bed after dinner, finding it difficult to think of a reason to stay up. If I couldn’t sleep, I escaped into a crime novel and read until my eyes closed. And then I slept some more.
Sometimes I sleep like this because I’m genuinely fatigued. I took a day off from work, using sick time to try to sleep off the misery and exhaustion I was feeling. It didn’t help, but back to work I went the following day. I fought my way through the rest of the week, doing my work, taking moments here and there to check in with my husband about how I was feeling. I tried to just let the depression sit with me through my days; I was functioning but feeling a constant, dim kind of melancholy. Sitting with even just that faint sadness all the time is really, really tiring. So I sleep.
Other times, I sleep like this because I just don’t feel like there is anything more important or more interesting to do. I let the pile of clean laundry sit unfolded. I let the dust gather around the jewelry and toiletries overcrowding my dresser. I notice that the shower curtain liner is starting to mildew. I just let it all go. None of it feels more important than being horizontal, in my bed, away from the nagging world. So I sleep.
Slumps like this can last for days, weeks, even months, for me. I function, get through work, cook some occasional meals, but mostly I just use my energy to get by. Socializing is hard, even with my closest friends and family. I want my husband home but when he’s nearby I get irritated with him for no reason. As soon as I push him away I want him back in the room with me (I’m sure this is maddening, but he takes it all in stride, thank God). I cancel plans so I can rest, or sleep, or hide, and then I feel guilty about canceling plans, so I spend energy using positive self-talk to remind myself that I’m not well and I need to take care of myself. That’s exhausting too, so then I go to bed. Again.
If you see me during a slump, you might not even know I’m having one. Upon starting this blog, several people close to me let me know that they would have had “no idea” that I suffer from depression if they weren’t told. I guarantee they have all seen me during a time like this, probably not on a horrible day, but during a bit of a hard time. I have learned to smile and, if not engage, at least quietly observe what’s going on around me and try look interested (rather than grimacing at the negative thoughts in my head, or muttering under my breath for the monster to pipe down). The good thing about slumps is, while they take a lot of energy to get through and they are damned persistent, at least they don’t suck all the happiness out of a moment. I can still get in a genuine smile here and there. I’m learning that it’s better than nothing.
So, slump or no, I try my best to be present for the important moments in life. I can name birthday dinners, reunion trips with college friends, weddings, even parties that I have hosted myself that have all occurred during a rough patch. I show up. I look the part. It’s okay. I can acknowledge happy occasions and wonderful people. The deep, sustaining joy in knowing that God is good and life is beautiful is not gone from my mind and my heart; I just am less equipped during these moments to fully experience and express happiness in all its shapes and sizes. I have still made the memories, still witnessed the events, still been present in the moment. At the time, I might feel like all I’m doing is mucking my way through the swampy waters of depression, the exultant world around me hazy and out of focus; but I try to remember that what I’m doing is being here. I’m living. Maybe the happiness won’t be as big, as uproarious, as full in my heart as I want it to be; but I’m here, where the happiness is, and that’s more than worth slumping through.
oh, hey --
My name is Lauren. I'm thirty-something, and I like to take naps and read good books and watch bad television. I love my husband and I love my cat, and I live with depression and anxiety, which is mostly what you'll read about here.