Patterns

I doubt that the lone person who reads this blog, or maybe the two of you, knows that I have a long history of clinical depression. It's usually not a big deal. It seems to be cyclical. Or rather, once I managed to take action years ago, it's become cyclical. Every few years, I'll notice patterns re-emerging, and I'll know it's time to see the doctor. I'll have a flare-up (like some people do with bad hips or knees) every two or three years, go on meds for nine months or a year, and then I can be off them again for a couple more years. So I have an appointment with the doctor in two weeks. This time's a little different, though. Normally, just making the appointment is enough to make me feel a little better. One of my symptoms is avoidance, so knowing that's I'm at least doing something is a boost. I made my appointment on Thursday, but I didn't feel better. In fact, and completely contrary to past instance, the decision to get help seems to have almost given permission for the beast to get more aggressive. Saturday was awful. I wasn't sad, I just... wasn't, in a metaphysical sense. Eric and I had planned to go see Cloverfield, and I just didn't feel like it. We did a little shopping, mainly so I could avoid doing homework, but I didn't find anything I liked enough to buy, not even a nifty pen- normally the collectible Muppet Xmas ornaments for $2.50 each would have been brought home with absolute glee. When we got home, Eric asked if I were all right. I said no. I wasn't sad. I wasn't anxious, I was just, well, depressed. More so than I've been in a loooong time.

Luckily I can recognize it for what it is. Sadness has a reason behind it; depression doesn't. And if anyone happens upon this blog finds themselves thinking they might need some help, well, I'm the poster child for It Can Get Better. I know in a few weeks I'll be me again. And if you've been going through it for so long that you don't remember what it's like to Be You, I've been there, too. I was so depressed through the last couple years of high school and my first, oh, ten years of college that I barely remember them happening. And I know that if I can make myself put up with the day-to-day for a few weeks till the meds kick in, I'll be back where I want to be. Till then, doing homework is almost painful, and going to class isn't much easier. It's cliche, but there is a light at the end of the tunnel.