Been Awhile

I haven’t written any posts lately, and, quite frankly, I don’t know when I will again. For the last 2 months I’ve been struggling with major depression. I haven’t been down this road in 15 years and I thought I was done with it. I have had terrible anxiety at times and have skated across the blahs, but this darkness is all its own. I had forgotten.

I’m not really ready or interested in going into the details of why this depression came about. I have a lot of work to do to get to that point. Suffice it to say, I’m digging my way out, rebuilding my individual landscape to resemble the times when I’ve been at my strongest and happiest. Of course I’m also going to therapy again. I wish I weren’t, but it’s worth it to push hard and gain perspective. I’m constantly amazed at how many “unique” feelings and experiences that I’ve had that aren’t really unique to me at all.

This week I’m trying a new type of yoga called Bikram yoga. Yoga was a great sanctuary for me in the past. I always found it to be a restorative practice that centered me emotionally, quieted me psychologically and strengthened me physically—all things I am in need of these days. Bikram adds heat—105 degrees to be precise—to the practice in order to open up the joints and to assist in releasing toxins throughout the body. I love heat so winter seems like a good time to go get an infusion of it.

I have also been writing a lot, though not here. I have been writing every night in my journal, again something that I had done religiously in the past. I’m also writing about the origins of my depression, the experiences that live in that dark, stuffed-down place. This is intense work that I have not done since it came naturally to me as a teenager. Though it can be overwhelming to feel the feelings that accompany those experiences again, writing them out has enabled me to release them onto the page and then eventually look back at them with some degree of detachment. I have longed to share these writings with someone, but I can’t bring myself to open them up to anyone but Steve. Maybe someday. Renewing this practice of writing has born much fruit. I feel better, relieved of my burdens. It also assists me with reflection on events and drawing connections between my feelings and reactions, and it has awakened my desire to go back to my book. All good things.

I know I have yet to tackle the enormous task of social support. For all my friendliness and my willingness to express my opinions, I’m pretty introverted. Reaching out is not instinctive, but rather more of a rational command. I’m starting with coffee dates and hopefully some girls’ nights out.

After my last depression fifteen years ago and likewise after the time in my life when I suffered from anxiety and panic, I walked away stronger and with more insight. I am just now at the point where I can accept the possibility that the difficult and painful work I’m doing now will add to that insight and build upon those strengths. My husband says that this is my time and that I should take it. “Do the work now and you won’t have to do it again,” he says. And since I don’t have Jack Donaghy’s mind vice, that’s what I’m doing. Wish me luck.