I miss you

Today I'm looking back. I used to be so thin. I used to not be on antidepressants. I used to have energy.

I used to live in an adorable apartment with painted walls, nice floors, and amenities like air conditioning.

I used to wear chucks and be a rock and roll girl. I was messy back then, but not as messy as I am now. Sometimes I wish I could go backwards. I know I idealize the past, but right now, positive or negative, it looks so much better than being in the here and now.

We talked last night about how we need to stay with the family business, about how I don't snuggle him as much anymore, about how aloof and distant I've become. Its scary to see who you are, what you are; a lost girl, an unabiding demon loving hell bound animal, a depressed person.

He made me breakfast in bed this morning and I was shocked to see the pills on my nightstand. I forgot that I swallow those every morning and every night just to feel like this. Just to feel like shit.

bottle brush

Therapy, grocery shopping, and lunch leave Catherine a tired girl. I want to try to clean but will have to find a little cavern of hidden energy in order to do so. I did buy some flowers for the coffee table at least.

In therapy we talked about how I am fake around people because I am afraid they can't handle me and my opinions. I am afraid that if I show who I really am I will be abandoned. This inauthenticity leaves me feeling depressed, unknown and different. I have to set out on a slow path to honesty, goodness, and Catherinedom. I like to make my name an empire, a philosophy, a religion.

My antidepressant is being raised by 50 milligrams and the doctor claimed that this should take me from teetering between depression and melancholy to being in the melancholy realm or better. I hope better. Hope me better, hope me well, hope me, hope me out of hell. Yes I made a little rhyme...

Now to resting, now to finding the doldrum monster budding energy creator and fall in worship of him in order to get moving.

at the zoo

I feel like our house is a zoo these days. We have Amelia, Isabelle, and our two cats along with Ron's parents bulldog named Winnifred who we are watching for a few days. Feeding three dogs twice a day takes time; especially when they are picky and need things just so. Its tiring as our Amelia (the lab) has decided to jump on the bed every morning for a fun romp all over me. In other words, I'm exhausted.

Things are turning grey for me again. I'm down for no reason, tired all the time, unmotivated, overwhelmed by the littlest things, and grumpy. I'm consistently waking up cranky like a terrible-two's toddler. Ron has stayed home with me for the past two weeks. I thought he could go back to work this week but now am not so sure. I hope I can get on my feet again soon.

I'm reading a book called Lincoln's Melancholy. It is comforting in a way to read about his struggles and to know that I am not alone. He was so successful in spite of (as the book theorizes) his bouts with major depression. The book is making me think a lot about things which is good.

Now to watching movies and resting with Ronald.

Clementine

Our little house. There are some things I love terribly about it. One being the way the kitchen looks in the afternoon sun. It glows and sparkles (well as much as an unfixed-fixer-upper can sparkle) and is as hot as a steam room.

Things change, they turn and twist around me and suddenly I have energy, suddenly feel less pining-board depressed. But then to figure, ponder and figure, what to do with yourself when you are feeling better. This is the tricky thing. I don't know what I want, I don't know who I am. I feel empty in a new way. I feel mournful for what could have been, for all the time I've lost and will lose because of my black bile demon. I'm scared of when he will leave and when he will come back. In some ways I'm scared of losing him because I don't know how to live without him. I do know, and know very well, how to live as a depressed person. Now to learn to live as a full person. Then to remember that it will come back--and I have to learn to live with that, the fact that I will never be in remission from this curse. There may come a time when it is under control, but never a time when it is gone, when I can truly let my guard down.

Cleaning lady

Yesterday afternoon we had a cleaning lady come to the house and give us an estimate. She drives up in her brand new Land Rover and gets to work, poking and prodding through our house. She seemed a little surprised at the fixer-upper-state the place is in; wallpaper glue on the walls, old linoleum and drywall aren't very inviting. She said our house was really messy so we would have to pay her extra for the first cleaning. She will cost $200 a month to come every two weeks.

After some more thought I decided to give myself more of a chance to get on my feet and start cleaning again. This morning I went out and bought a planner and a bunch of cleaners. I am using the planner as a cleaning schedule. I think that if I do a load of laundry every day and one other project the house will stay clean.

I didn't realize how emotional cleaning is for me. Having a cleaning lady come made/makes me feel like a failure. My mom really pushed on us the 1950s idea that a woman is in charge of running a tight, clean household. Every morning I would wake up to her deep cleaning the bathrooms, kitchen, mowing the lawn or redecorating. She did this on top of homeschooling us, baking, and cooking homemade dinners practically every night. I am not that ambitious/successful/neurotic. In most ways being different from my mom's ideal is a good thing, in little emotional ways I feel led through the ringer.

Isabelle

Poor Isabelle is so hairy these days you can hardly see her eyes. I am going to call the groomer today and set up an appointment for her to get a trim. She hates the groomer with a passion so its hard to let her go (yes, she is spoiled).

I'm feeling so-so today, up and down at the same time. Ron is home with me so that is definitely a good thing, but I'm still melancholy as hell. I don't quite know what to write about it anymore.

Yesterday I was able to go to therapy, tidy the house, go to Costco with Ron and paint my nails. That is a very successful day for me. My energy is slowly, slowly creeping back which makes me terribly, unbelievably happy. I was so debilitated even last week, I could hardly stand up. I can't wait to start cooking, living, gardening, writing, creating again. I know this will also help some of my depression subside. I guess this morning I have a little hope.

grow up

I feel like my growth has stopped due to my illness. Maybe it is still there, maybe it is smaller than a pin hole, or maybe it is more concentrated and aloof than it used to be. Regardless, I can't shake this feeling of stagnation.

My heart isn't in things anymore. It lurks on the fringes, prim and proper. I am in the darkness, in the gutter next to the crumpled up trash of humanity. It stinks, and I'm still here.

Last night I dreamed about cleaning the house only to wake to the mess around me, a literal and figurative mess. This afternoon I think I will try to tidy away and see how much I can get done.

I'm so relieved it is hath September.