So, I've been feeling a bit down of late. This feeling of moroseness has been occurring on-and-off over the past few weeks, but really came on strong a couple of days ago. Sleep patterns probably had something to do with it. I was better the next day. But then I was worse again this morning. Perhaps it is seasonal? Who knows? All I do know is, I've been dealing with this crappy thing called depression for a long time, and wish I could break free.
For the longest time, I resisted the notion that depression could actually exist within me. The concept was... unacceptable? To this day, I still am not 100% sure why that was the case. The resistance to acceptance was rather nebulous in its reasoning. Perhaps it is the idea that one is not completely in control of oneself? It is true that depressive symptons can often come on out of nowhere. And, even if they are triggered by something, it's obvious that the feelings of gloom that follow are often far out of proportion with the situation at-hand.
Once I accepted that I have depression, that was a first step. I've been on a generic for Prozac for almost two years now. It helps, I guess. Things were getting bad before starting the drug. I would get nervous about something, until it almost paralyzed me with anxiety. That had to stop. And it has, definitely. And the depressive moods don't come nearly as often as they used to, yet, here we are. Autumn is upon us, and I'm in a funk.
It makes no sense, really. And I suppose that's one of the more frustrating aspects of depression. For the reality is that I have a wonderful life. There is so much to be cherished about it, both emotionally and materialistically. I am truly fortunate. I know this. I am acutely aware of it. Yet, somehow, this depression creeps in, insidiously, until all I can think of is how nobody loves me, life is boring and bland, and I wouldn't be missed if I were gone. It is a constant struggle during times like this to dismiss those ideas as false.
Today, the struggle continues.