I suffer from depression. I believe I was diagnosed with clinical depression in and around 1986. And ever since, I have fought to keep things under control. I have been on several anti depressants over the years, and currently I'm taking one that seems to have helped me the most. At least, until now.
For the past year or more, I have turned into a hermit. I stay home. I usually stay home in my robe. It takes a lot of energy for me to try to even visit a long-time friend. Bathing daily is almost impossible. I don't know why. I color my hair because I hate seeing the grey, but washing my hair more than twice a week is something I just don't do anymore. And what makes it worse; I don't even care.
I don't care to look good anymore. Makeup just sits in my box in the bathroom barely used. Shaving my legs? Why bother, no one cares. Buying new clothes? Forget it, that means going out of the house.
I tried joining Facebook to connect with others more. That seemed fun for a while. The games I used to play on Facebook grew tiresome. I feel no one cares about me. I don't have as many "friends" as others on Facebook. Not many people "like" my posts. I am alone in a crowd.
So earlier today, I deactivated my Facebook account. I believe it's contributing to my depression. It certainly isn't making me feel connected to people. It just makes the rift look larger.
I understand I'm under a lot of pressure and grieving from the death of my father. Being executor is not easy. I wish this task upon no one. And it's thankless task for certain. The only thing the other heirs want is their money. I'm working on that. I just wish it would go faster, but I can't force the courts. I tell them this. And in return, I get people talking of me behind my back. And I think someone put a knife there, too.
My husband is my rock. He is so kind and loving to me. He leaves me love notes each and every morning before he goes to work. He lets me cry. He lets me yell. And in return, he still loves me. I can't even express to him adequately how much that means to me. I just still feel so numb. And sad. And lackluster.
I hope I don't sound selfish, because that's the one thing I strive not to be. I will say I am one of the most generous people that I know. I ROCK generosity.
I guess what I want is to feel appreciated, instead of being used. Doormats have feelings, too.
1 comment:
I knew it was bad for you, but I didn't realize just how bad. I sit hermitted in my house in my robe, not wanting to throw my depression your way.Sorry I'm a bad friend. I enjoy our long texting while we watch our real friend , the TV. But I just can't handle the phone calls and lunches that other people seem to be up to. And I look at all the shit on FB that they are up up to, like a cat wondering how do you do all that? When do you nap?
I'm glad you have your Spence and your meds. I can't think of anybody I could stand to be around. Let alone who could possibly care about me enough to let me just be depressed when I need to. It makes me sad. But I drink.
Like you I don't wash, don't clean, and don't care what I look like anymore. I'm old, I'm fat, I look jowly like my gramma...what does it matter if these are the same clothes I wore all week?
Anymore my only thought is to get up and go to work, pay my bills. And if that is all I accomplish in a day, that's enough. Start there. Holding my house and car and shit together with thread.
My family never liked me, I've chased away most of my friends. I make half-hearted stabs at socializing, but can't keep it up.Anything that does happen outside my house means effort and work and keeps me from laying here and drinking and just wanting it all to be over so I can finally nap for good.
I can understand your depression, but I really don't know how I can be of help to you if I'm so fucking damaged too. Except that I can not offer cliched platitudes, cuz we sure don't want to hear that.
When it gets real cold I sometimes wear two bathrobes.
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