It’s only really hit me in the last couple of weeks exactly how far I’ve regressed from the normal, function human being I used to be.
There was a time that I exercised. every. single. day. without. fail. There was a time when I spent upwards of 45 minutes getting ready for the day, every day. There was a time when I took pride in my appearance, a time when I had any pride at all.
I am in mourning for my ability to trust my own mind. I’ve lost my ability to be self-sufficient. There’s no wonder I spend many of my days in PJ’s and it’s no wonder that I rarely try to look nice. I never aspired to be a housewife and stay at home mom without the ability to do anything outside the house job-wise, but here I am.
Here I am. Here I am, depressed. Try as I might, this is just not the lifestyle or the mental state I aspired to, at all.
I’m doing what I can to work myself out of this rut. I am taking my medication relatively faithfully. We decided our house is really dark on the inside with the brown accent wall and dark beige walls, so I am painting the living area white. I actually made an effort this morning to look nice and be ready for the day before Jared left the house. I get out and see friends whenever I have the opportunity to do so. I’m letting Abby be the therapy dog she loves to be.
But, this whole depression thing….it’s a hard road. It seems to be my mind’s default state.
I was complaining about not being stronger, mentally, to Jared the other day. In his ever-present wisdom, he reminded me that my mind is strong….he reminded me that I would never have come back from any of those psychotic episodes if I weren’t strong enough to deal with this. And on some level, I know he’s right.
I can’t think of many more painful things, though, than to not be able to trust one’s own mind. My mind, on no less than six occasions throughout my lifetime, has proven that it will break under strain, that it isn’t trustworthy under duress. It’s a horrible feeling that I struggle to put into words, to know that any traumatic event….even potentially minor ones….may throw me out of reality, briefly or for weeks.
I remember each and every triggering event with each previous episode. At the time, each event seemed like it would topple the world as I knew it.
Now that I’ve had years and years and years of therapy, I know exactly what my specific trigger is and I know how to avoid it. I’ve redefined and cut out relationships that were harmful to my psyche. I know, deep down, that I have the power to avoid the psychosis. Knowing it and processing it emotionally, though, are two entirely different things.
For now, I’m still in the depression stage. I pray acceptance comes soon.
Time for more painting. I need the lighter feeling the bright room will bring.