I’m very depressed. This shouldn’t come as news to followers of this blog. I’m not planning on committing suicide — I’m just very depressed. I call these times “jags” because they certainly feel jagged. I’ve gone through many in my lifetime and I’m sure I’ll go through many more before I shuffle off this mortal coil.
Once you begin therapy and medication for depression or any other mental illness, it somehow tempting to hope that you’ll never be depressed again. It doesn’t work that way. Depression cannot be cured, but can be managed.
One of the ways I’ve learned how to manage my depression is to accept when a jag arrives and just ride it out until I’m either bored with feeling miserable or just feel better. So, I get as depressed as possible. I spend a lot of time sleeping (or trying to sleep). I’m not going to recommend this for everyone with suicidal depression, but for some weird reason it seems to work with me.
I guess I’m getting over the worst of this depression jag. I’m writing today. I’m doing a load of laundry. Yesterday, I only had my laptop on for about 10 minutes before I couldn’t stand it anymore and the day before that I couldn’t write a word, no matter how long I stared at the computer screen. I’d even start a sentence, then look at it, pronounce it crap and delete it.
So right now, since Mom is feeling better and a heat wave is keeping me indoors, I’m basically just sleeping, eating and reading. I have washed the dishes and taken care of the pets all this time, so I didn’t totally vegetate. I also fished a squirrel out of the neighbor’s inflatable above-ground pool. Poor thing scrambled up my arm and then shot off into my yard — where my dogs were. The biggest dog was too busy taking a crap to get the squirrel and the smallest, youngest dog was completely befuddled at what to do when prey is lying right at your paws.
I managed to rescue the squirrel from the dogs and it hopped away. Well, I may never amount to much in my life, but at least I rescued a squirrel — twice.