Today I cried. A lot.
I’m currently in a limbo-transition phase switching over from one anti-depressant to another. While the anxiety is at bay for the most part, its trusty pal depression is relishing in a guest starring role in my mind.
So I cried.
I cried long, hard sobs. I cried big. I cried loud. I soaked my husband’s shoulder with my salty tears, and then I sobbed some more. I used toilet paper to wipe the tears away and blow my snotty nose because we were out of tissues. Probably because I cried in all of them too.
I know depression effects everyone differently, kind of like anxiety. For me, if I’m not crying, I feel nothing. I feel no joy, no excitement. Just a sad abyss of nothingness. My motivation is zapped and I’m exhausted. Thankfully, it seems to only creep in for a few hours a day and then off it goes. Farewell, fucker.
But in that state of perpetual sorrow I begin to spin out of control. I convince myself that life will never get any better than this, and that this is it for me. I’ll be a sad, crying mess forever. I begin to think about the trips I’ll never take, the job that I’ll fail at, the children that I’ll never have. And I think about all the destruction and pain my anxiety has caused in the past and I fear that will be repeated. It’s not a nice place to be.
But there is the tiniest glimmer of hope that I cling to. Partly encouraged by my husband, who continues to remind me without any doubt that things will get better, and that time needs to be taken to let my body and brain heal.
It will get better because I’m doing all the right things.
It will get better because I’m keeping an open mind.
It will get better because I’m strong enough to see this through.
It will get better because it has to.
On a cold and wintry day that keeps you freezing and bored indoors, you don’t accept that every day following will be the same. You know the clouds will lift eventually, letting some sun peak through. You know you’ll be warm again, even if you have to listen to a few thunderstorms before you get a blue sky.
I’m just waiting patiently for those clouds to lift, and the sun to shine brightly. And in the meantime, toilet paper makes for an excellent tissue.