"It was taking me twice as long to get anything done because I couldn't concentrate. I typically spent much of the day day-dreaming, exhausted, and unable to think straight. I was procrastinating about doing tasks I thought were difficult or were going to take more time than others, which only put me further behind. I made To Do lists almost every day to help
me prioritize the work I needed to get done, but these lists just kept getting longer. I tried to give myself deadlines hoping I would get the important tasks done more quickly. My efforts failed. I would just changed due
dates when they came and went, and projects were still not completed; sometimes not even started.
I had no desire to go anywhere. I went to work, and came home. If I needed groceries, I bought them at the pharmacy while picking up med-ications. I was constantly physically ill and ate little more than yogurt with granola, if I ate at all.
By this time, I'd convinced myself I was worth nothing. I felt nobody cared about, needed or loved me, and no one would notice or care if I wasn't here anymore. I didn't see my life getting any better, and completely believed I would be that miserable forever. I was planning how I would commit sui-cide. I wrote notes to my family and a few friends, explaining why I felt this was the only way to end the pain I'd been in for so long.
My ex called again, but this time was different...I was different. There were no more buttons for her to push, no more open wounds to pour salt in, or were there? Maybe it was just that I couldn't feel them anymore. That must be it, I couldn't feel anything. She took my demeanor as a silent cue that things were fine between us. She actually had the audacity to invite me to lunch the following week. I was glad I couldn't feel. I never wanted to feel anything again, and so much as told her so. I said I wouldn't be there next week to talk to. She wanted to know where I was going. I told her to think about it, then asked why she would care, anyway. It seems
my ex figured out my thinly veiled message, and phoned my parents, who, along with my sister, drove to Kansas City that night to make sure I wasn't going to hurt myself.
It was a long time before I connected the dots, that my ex had called my family. I was in such a confused state, I was trying to figure out how they knew I was contemplating suicide. They convinced me I needed to be ad-mitted to the hospital for an assessment and counseling. That was the first I'd heard I should have been getting counseling, and the first they knew I wasn't. I guess we all just assumed. Truth be told, whether I knew I needed to go to the hospital or not, I refused to go that night, feeling they'd gotten me through the initial crisis. Had my boss not gone with me after work a couple of days later, I wouldn't have followed through at all. Even know-ing I needed to go, I'd have used work as an excuse to put it off. Work, of course, being more important than getting help for myself.
So, how did I go from being a severely depressed functional depressive to where I am today? It started with a trip to the hospital for assessment and a definite adjustment to my medication; amazing what the right dose can do. I participated in the counseling sessions and group activities the hos-pital made available to me (after spending my first three days hibernating in my room) that is. I spent a week in the hospital getting stabilized. The attending physician arranged for me to see a therapist when I got out, or I'd have procrastinated about doing that; work, you know.
Stable can get shaky in a moment's notice. Fortunately, I was better prepared this time. Six weeks after my hospitalization, my boss left
me a note on the refrigerator (no less), telling me I needed to move out.
It was another blow I could have lived without, especially the way she
went about it. Here I was, about to be homeless, again. I'd paid down some of the debt, but was sure it wasn't enough. It took awhile, but I finally found a small apartment I could afford. I was living alone for
the first time in my life. Well, me and the puppy my boss had given me when I moved out. I think that was another factor in my improvement,
the unconditional love of that puppy. Having someone to take care of, someone who needed me, again. Someone I loved.
I soon found myself feeling well enough to slowly start doing things. I
took my dog for walks when I got home from work, that got me out of the house. It took a couple of months before I could force myself to do things with other people, and I still wasn't comfortable with strangers. I'm painfully shy. Sometime later, as I improved, my mother and I joined a women's bowling league. I was bowling weekly. I was finally beginning
to get my life back.
I continued going to work during the worst of my depression because I had no choice. I had to pay the bills. Lesli would say, that "teaspoon full of ob-stinance" gave me a foothold, up to the life I have now. I would say, I did
it "walking on broken legs and flying with tattered wings; forging ahead even when I'd lost the will to live". So can you.
Until next time, remember that you matter, you have something to contribute and I hope you'll share it.
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