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.