I’m going to ask my doctor for an increase in my dosage of antidepressant at my next visit.  Oddly though, when I do this I always procrastinate.  I don’t procrastinate because of what the doctor’s reaction might be.  The more depressed I am the more it is hard to recognize I am not taking care of myself in the best way that I could.  In my mind making the request becomes something agonizingly hard.  When I am more depressed I tend to avoid things that make me uncomfortable.

A Facebook friend recently posted some thoughts on her experience with depression.  I found that very brave and courageous.  I can’t let people know though.  They must think I have everything under control.  I think this need for people to think I am in complete control stems from growing up in the dynamics of having an alcoholic parent.  I won’t post my friend’s exact words here, but I found myself nodding in agreement. She posted something about how doing something simple sometimes feels like a herculean task.  Sometimes I feel like I am made of lead, just the very effort of swinging my legs out of bed seems monumental.  Long before I ever thought I was depressed I remember the feelings of being made of lead.  I supposed then I chalked it up to laziness.

I had some flickers of sunshine in my day yesterday.  Seeing my son and his friends acting silly.  Sitting around the dinner table, sharing a meal. Of course the dog always makes me smile.  She looked at me in a pleading way and got me to take her for a walk on a beautiful fall day. I know I can do better though.

There is a new job posting at work.  The hours would be less than ideal, and I probably won’t pursue it for that reason.  Half of my brain says this is something I should try.  The other half though, the one ruled by depression says learning the ropes of a new position will be uncomfortable, that it might be hard.

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