The Great Depression
I’ve noticed, and I’m not sure I’m happy about, my recent entries being more focused on parenthood. I don’t want this to be a mommy blog. I want it to be a testament that it’s possible to be a mom and to keep learning. That’s what my writing, book and movie goals are for. Yet the mommy stuff what I’m living most immediately on a day-to-day basis. I’m trying hard to find the humor and joy in the experience.
Earlier this month, my psychiatrist confirmed what had begun to suspect: my depression is worse, not better. The heartening news is that I’ve got a good group of healthcare people helping me, and a good circle of friends and family. The not-so-good, though unsurprising, news, is that depression sucks. This is not a pull-myself-up, cheer-up, look-on-the-bright-side kinda thing. Rather, this is being tired and angry, lacking focus, taking forever to complete simple tasks, and forgetting things. It’s having a bad day, every day. It’s like moving through mental, physical, and emotional sludge. It’s getting side effects from the medication without getting the benefits.
For distraction, I visit gossip site Perez Hilton. Like other readers, I was horrified when I saw that Britney Spears had shaved her head. Crazy and nuts were two adjectives that leapt to mind. Soon, though, I recalled how only a few months ago I thought about shaving my head. It was just as baby Guppy started hair pulling in earnest. My husband G. Grod talked me out of it; he said it was rude, as people would think I had cancer. I also probably wouldn’t have gone through with it out of vanity. My hair is pretty much my go-to, feel-good-about-myself asset.
It didn’t take me long to wonder whether Britney and her hard-partying, wacky behavior isn’t just a 25-year-old with too much money, not enough sane support, and a whopping case of post-partum depression. Like so much that has come to me with motherhood, I yet again realize that I can identify and empathize, but I sure as heck can’t judge. This is me, eating humble pie, again.