I often feel that life is passing me by. Oddly, I’m not really bothered by that. I’m actually more concerned that others will be bothered by that. You know, my husband, my sister, my therapist. My friends. I spend my days just watching time pass, never engaging, never quite living life. And, it didn’t surprise me at all today to discover this blog entry from last summer. I still feel exactly the same way, day after day after day, despite medications, therapy, more medications and more therapy and more passage of time. I could as easily be standing at the edge of a lake skipping stones. And, I might rather be, honestly. At least there’d be some purpose to all this.
Friday, June 17, 2011
I haven’t been in here in months and I couldn’t really tell you where I’ve been. I’ve been in the “state of depression” is about the best I can describe it. I’ve been working with a therapist for nearly a year — on the pretense of adjusting my medications. We’ve been doing just that. For a year. Honestly.
It seems that they work to keep me from killing myself but don’t give me any real reason to live. No joy. No urgency to accomplish something. Nothing.
I wake this morning to find myself in that same limbo. I have lots of things to do — a list worthy of a whole community, and it includes things I know bring me joy and a feeling of fulfillment. But, can I do them? No. Obviously not.
Depression is a strange thing. And, I often wonder if anyone understands it. What’s the accomplishment in keeping someone alive (no suicidal thoughts here) if you can’t help provide a life that’s worth living or gives a person any wish to live?
If you know the answer here, please clue me in. I’m facing yet another day of doing little, feeling guilty, wanting to medicate or drink or eat or something, and counting the hours until night time meds can put me to sleep.