That’s the thing about depression. It sneaks up on you when you aren’t paying attention, and just when you think that everything’s hunky dory, BAM.<\/p>\n
Okay, it’s not quite that bad, but I’ve been in a funk for the past week that I just can’t seem to shake. Worst part is I know what’s wrong, but it’s all out of my control. Which is not such a good thing for someone with OCD.<\/p>\n
So lemme get it all out and see that gets it off my mind.<\/p>\n
First and foremost is the recurring issue that I’m not going to bring up in a public space. Michael and I spent a lot of time discussing this issue this evening, and I’m once again back to the mantra, “it’s not me, it’s her.”<\/p>\n
Secondly, something I haven’t much talked about, is that several older women in my life are seriously ill and or dying. Michael’s grandmother has slowly failing kidneys, and has been refusing dialysis for the past year, so it’s only a matter of time. She’s in a nursing home, and with her physical problems, doesn’t get out of bed very much.<\/p>\n
Then my cousin’s grandmother (I actually spent a lot of time with my cousin’s grandparents when I was younger. They were a lot of fun.) suffered a series of small strokes, and is now under hospice care in a nursing home. I was sent a picture two weeks ago, and was shocked to see how thin she has become. It’s hard, because she wants to go home, but that’s is physically impossible at this point.<\/p>\n
The just before New Year’s, my other grandmother had a series of small strokes, and is currently in a rehab center. She is also apparently suffering from dementia, and her lucidity comes and goes.<\/p>\n
And then there is the fact that I have a horrible phobia of nursing homes. As in, it’s so bad just the idea of going into one freaks me out (as in nausea and hyperventilating freaking out), and I haven’t set foot in one since I was eight. (Long story at an impressionable age) So: guilt and depression.<\/p>\n
That is not to say that I’ve done nothing. I write weekly, and we send flowers regularly, to cheer up their rooms. But it’s not the same as being there. And being me, I always feel like there is more I should be doing.<\/p>\n
Is there anything I could plausibly be doing? I don’t know. Is there anything else I should be doing? Probably not if I want to retain my sanity. Are there things I should be doing? Yeah, I need to do a better job safeguarding my own mental health. Problem is, taking care of myself feels like I’m wasting time when I could be doing something more useful for other people, even though I know I do a crappy job taking care of others when I’m depressed. (Hey! Catch 22!)<\/p>\n
So what do I do? Take my meds. Exercise. Write my letters. Send flowers. Take care of myself. Relax.<\/p>\n
Why are these things always easier said than done?<\/p>\n