Stay here

Last night was rough. I woke up and alluded my existence to that of a mold, bacteria, or worst of all, a leech. The life is sucked out of me and I'm afraid I suck the life out of those around me with my downtrodden attitude and whispers. I decided in my sleepy-time stupor that there is no reason for me to be here anymore. I cried and cried--Ronald woke up. He held and read to me until I fell back to sleep.

This morning I feel wasted, once again used up like an old peeled sponge. I wait for him to come home--I hold on. I wait for the pills to work--I hold on. The demon looks me straight in the eye, and I hold on. To stay in the center, away from any jagged edges. That is the death defying challenge.

derby

Maker's Mark Mint Julep is going to be the death of me. It is so yummy and reminds me of The Great Gatsby. Today we are going to muddle berries into it and create our own version of a bourbon cobbler.

Ron is over at his parents house helping with yard work and I am home with my little nuzzling cold. Its no fun being sick on a Saturday. Its no fun being sick and depressed at the same time.

I feel like I'm somewhere I don't want to be. Wandered and trapped in this scathing disease. I'm lost and lonely and all I can think of is how my head is pounding. My heart is fumbled, silica, I am amongst the glass works--fragile and fibrillated.

lullaby

Here is our new clock. I absolutely adore it and think it will look marvelous on our blue green walls in the living room. Now just to hang it...

I think I am getting a cold. I feel like it never ends for me. I start feeling a little better then get food poisoning, I feel better from that then a cold. Sometimes I wonder if God is up there laughing at me. I will just lay down on my chaise with my soft ivory blanket with the blue coral and rest. But I'm tired of resting. So tired of it in fact.

I am reading Unholy Ghost: Writers on Depression. Its stunning and personal, makes me feel less alone. To know someone else is tired of making breakfast every day. Someone else can't keep a gun in the house because they don't trust themselves. Someone else has developed precise checks and balances in their mind in order to stay on earth. One poem in the book that hits me hard:

When I was born, you waited
behind a pile of linen in the nursery,
and when we were alone, you lay down
on top of me, pressing
the bile of desolation into every pore,

And from that day on
everything under the sun and moon
made me sad-

My doctor and I have tracked (as well as we could) my depression to when it started, and it seems to have began around the time I was four or five. To look back at myself in a motherly way and see that sadness, that despair, breaks my heart. I wish I could go back and remind that little girl that she was not alone and to insist to her mother that she needs help. I wish I could go back and maybe stop some of this hell that I am mired in.

(mostly) clean house

Yesterday I had energy. It was an amazing amount of energy. I was able to go out by myself and run errands (something I haven't done in weeks). I came home and cleaned, dusted, did some laundry and even had the energy to make pasta for dinner. It was wonderful to say the least I hardly needed a nap in the afternoon but took a small rest anyway. Today I still feel a slight pulse of energy. What an interesting and exciting turn of events.

I don't know the exact reason why this energy has come about. It may be from the Lamictal or from the Zoloft which I have been on for about a week, or an increase in sheer will could be the culprit. Whatever the cause, I'm relieved to know that I may not be doomed to a lack-luster life.

Home sweet

I have a love/hate relationship with our house. I love it because of our blue-green and white living room, I love it for its location, for its snug vintage kitchen with the faded orange counters, I love the beams on the ceiling, I love its quiet street and the enormous tree in the front yard. I hate it for its unfinished walls, the holes in the floor, the brown weeds in the yard, the old cracked linoleum and this impending feeling that the roof over the garage is sinking. But its our little bungalow in the midst of an extremely ritzy neighborhood that I feel we don't necessarily fit into, our house definitely does not. That makes me sad and happy at the same time.

Ron and I got food poisoning from some pizza we had the night before last. We both have tummy aches and just feel miserable. Poor Ron had to go teach regardless. I finally want to go grocery shopping but don't know if I can because of the ache. My plans dashed again. There seems to always be something getting in the way of my goals. Oh well.

fern-ish

These are pictures I took from my sick bed. I'm tired of resting. I lay on the chaise with blankets and my most comforting pillow and sleep; sleep for hours and hours. I wake for a quick lunch and see part of a show and then back to sleep. I take at least two naps a day followed by a full nights sleep. I feel like a sick swaddled baby.

Its hard because part of my living in bed is due to my I-can't-even-describe-it lack of energy but its also due to depression. I don't see the point in doing anything; I don't have the desire to do anything; I don't have the energy to do anything. I used to love going out, doing crafts, cooking, going to the market for fresh flowers and vegetables. Now I can't seem to even get out of bed, to shower, to stand up.

Today I'm going to try to do something with Ron's help. Maybe go out, or tidy some of the mess in the house, or scrapbook. Its daunting to think of doing anything but I need to try hard, to put all my dwindling strength into it.

Why I need a nanny

I need a nanny. A nanny to wake me up, make me breakfast, clean the house, help me dress, brush my hair, and take care of the dogs. These things are nearly impossible for me to do right now. I imagine my nanny a large sweet kind woman in vintage garb (she has to somehow be transported from 1901), she is gentle and pleasant to talk to and gives me good advice.

Above are my two sick beds, our bed and the chaise in the living room. I hate these places, they remind me too much of being sick. I love my art room, but wish I had the energy and ability to spend time in it, tidy up and create.

Its so hard being this depressed and having no energy to distract myself with other things. Instead I live in mess and clutter, I can't even take care of myself. This makes things so much worse. Its hard to describe how debilitated I am right now, I'm good at hiding how much this bothers me, I'm good at pulling myself together when I have to and hiding how hard it is to shower, dress, get made up--how this takes all my energy.

I'm alone for a few hours this morning and it is hard and I'm lonesome. I'm glad I miss him so much when he is gone. He is utterly amazing; working and going to school and caring for me. I don't know how he does it.