I haven’t been quite myself for the last few weeks. I’ve told myself that it’s hormones or my arthritis acting up or allergies or an infection and it’s probably all of those a little, but the truth is that it’s a low level depression that I’ve been fighting off. And that’s harder to admit because even though I know I’ll always deal with depression it’s so much easier to pass it off as something that everyone can relate to and that doesn’t make others feel uncomfortable or nervous. I say that it’s low-level because I’m still able to leave the house and laugh and be functional, but the level of exhaustion (both mental and physical) is so utterly wearing on me. I have so many half-finished posts or stories I want to tell you but I don’t have the energy to finish them or the self-confidence to think that they’re as good as I know they can be when I get my head back. Instead I take my frustrated artistic energy and draw ridiculous things and make notes to myself of things will be fun to write about when I get that part of my head back again.
Depression is a lot of things, but sometimes for me it’s like having people in. In my head. The same way it is when you have people in your house to paint walls or replace a ceiling or rip out the plumbing. You can still go about your life but you always have your guard up. You know that there are parts of your home that you relied on that are now torn up and filled with strangers. You know that in the end it will be worth it and that having people in, or having parts of your home raised isn’t the end of the world but it stops you, over and over. You switch on a light and remember that the power doesn’t work in that part of the house for now. You know it’ll come back, even though you don’t have an exact date when. You move in the darkness, a bit more slowly than ever. You avoid the mess when you can. You switch on the light (again) and remember (again) that there’s no power in that room. You do it again and again and again because even when you feel helpless you know that one day the light will come back. And to not try is to give up. And I can never do that.
So I’ll be here, trying the lights, and hiding in the rooms that are still safe and reminding myself that even when I think you’ll give up on me, you probably won’t. And I won’t give up on you either. I’m still here, even if you can’t always see me.
I’m just looking for the light.