Well, it's been a couple of days since I've been here. Lots has been going on, and then again, nothing has been going on. I'll try to be brief.
(let me interject this real quick - I enjoy writing. For the most part, I'm a good speller and use correct grammar. But there are certain spelling rules I can't seem to master and certain words I can't spell to save my life. Same goes for certain grammar principles. Factor in that I'm constantly sleep-deprived and, well, just cut me a little slack. K?)
It's been a full week since I started my new medication. I'm seeing some changes, but not what I had hoped. I'm forcing myself to get up and get dressed every day, first thing. I'm making myself do more, although I'm honestly too exhausted to do a whole lot. But to be honest, I'm just not feeling great. I'm not where I want to be. And, if I'm being completely frank, I'm actually a little more sad than I had been.
I think I know what this is. In the past, it has been my experience that when I start a medication, I always feel worse before I feel better. I am really, really hoping that's what's going on. I'm ready to feel better.
Have you ever had an experience where you know you should do something, you KNOW you're going to have a good time and feel better if you do it, but you just can't make yourself do it? I'm in that position right now. I have an invitation to go somewhere this weekend with friends I haven't seen in weeks. I should go. I would enjoy myself. I've tried psyching myself up to go. I've tried demanding of myself that I go. I know that I should go. But I can think of a million reasons why I should stay home. These are the friends I prayed for and sought out, they've been good to me...yet I'm hiding from them. Why? I don't know why. I don't understand it myself. I've no idea what I'll ultimately end up doing.
The Eagles' song "Hotel California" has always been one of those songs that meant something different to everyone. To me, it's always been a perfect analogy for depression/mental illness. Particularly the bits about "stab it with your steely knives but you just can't kill the beast" and "next thing I remember I was running for the door/had to find the passage back to the place I was before/'relax' said the nightman 'we are programmed to recieve/you can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.'" How true. For many people - at least me, I can knock it back til it's a tiny little whimpering fraction of my life, but I can never make it go completely away. I'm still determined to do that, but I've just had a couple of bad days.
Andy, my oldest, lives with his father in Virginia during the summers. He comes home every other weekend, but I haven't seen him since Father's day weekend. For a while, I had been so overwhelmed with so much going on for so long, that it was almost a relief to only have two kids for a while; like a pleasant break. Now, though, I am really starting to miss him. Andy's my cuddler, he is my buddy, and my snuggly one. Andy's the one who volunteers hugs and kisses. I'm starting to miss that.
I love my husband. I ADORE my husband. But he has a three and a half day weekend coming up, and I have a feeling we're going to be ready to kill each other by the fourth. We get along beautifully together, as long as we have things to do. Extended periods of idle time don't suit us well, and we have nothing to do this weekend. Currently, we're trying to come up with some things to keep us occupied. He wants to go to the beach. I'm prepared to send him.
I don't want to post and only post depressing crap, so I'll leave you with a couple of funny little scenes from my life.
First, Charlie has learned a handful of words. Not many, but a couple. What's really amusing is when he uses them appropriately, especially accidentally. Of course, he's figured out "no." (Kill me now.)
Today, I laid him down on the floor to change his diaper. (He's entirely too big for the changing table.) After I get his diaper off, clean him up and he's lying there completely naked, he starts hollering "No! Help!" and takes off running across the living room. His little butt and little blond curly head were just bouncing...and I had to run him down. Could not help but laugh.
Also, I swear Chris is out to get me. Backstory - Chris works for a grocery company. He knows I'm dieting. I'm trying hard, and mostly succeeding. Today, though, he comes home with an entire pumpkin pie. The whole thing. All of it. And he cut me a slice. I ate the entire slice and called him a bastard through a mouthful.
Love to all,