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Sunday, June 12, 2011

Battling Depression

I could use some nice pink boxing gloves to win this fight.
Here's how it feels. Like you can't get out of bed after a nap. The list looming before you scares and immobilizes you.

You're overwhelmed with anxiety. Things are spinning out of control and you will never be able to gracefully, happily handle them all. You can't keep up with your life. You might forget one of many appointments scrawled in your cramped, crowded datebook, the one that was fresh, clean and pristine when the year began.

You won't possibly be able to get your work done between all of those other appointments.

You're mean. You snap. You're exhausted, even though you sleep a lot. Why can't H. understand that when you pick Punch up for a Sunday afternoon at 1 P.M. you want to have a firm end time, so you can rest and clean your office and get ready for the week? Not a fuzzy end time. Lunch and fresh red berry sorbet at an Italian restaurant, running at the Iris Gardens and chasing butterflies with Auntie, making necklaces and crowns with Figgy, learning to spell your name with H. when he sets up "school" at the kitchen table, having a hot pancake with syrup and seeing the neighborhood kids should be enough for one afternoon. But since you're the one policing the end time--you're also worried about Figgy, who's been coughing and sick for a few days, and besides, everyone could use some calm time--you feel like the bully. Why can't your husband just read your mind and be done with it?

It feels like no one understands you. Like you're going to drown under piles of housework, or laundry, or dust bunnies. Like you can't pick up a book and read, because your favorite place to read is in bed, and lately, if you're in bed, you're too tired to hold a book up and concentrate on the words.

Worst of all, you look at other families and dolefully compare your life to theirs. That is the kiss of death, because their lives will always look pinker, rosier. Still, you can't help gazing, in the pews in front of you at church--the young mothers so pretty, the young dads so handsome. The little children so well-behaved, leaning quietly against mom's arm, or coloring Ariel inside the lines. Mom and Dad leaning on each other, literally and figuratively.

You mourn. Your life was never like that, was it? Could it have been? Did you have support, help, love? Did you see it? Was it there? Was it ever calm? Is it like that now? Possibly?

You know for sure that you're on a dark road when you feel bitter, angry and jealous, when you measure yourself against perfect strangers--and worse yet, friends, the friends you love--and come up short. You even created an acronym for that years ago. BAJ, for bitter angry jealous. BAJ [pronounced BAG] lady.

It's a rough road, but you will somehow plow ahead.

Thank you for being here, clean page, and thank you--those who read this--for listening. And Dad, can you hear me?

TCOY
  1. Mass.
  2. Iris Gardens with Sis--a few stunning beauties hadn't crinkled up and died yet.
  3. Walked Sug around block once.
  4. Cleaning office now. Every little bit should help.





2 comments:

  1. Dear Alice,
    As someone who has sailed the BAJ boat on occasion I know that it is an uncomfortable place to be. Remembering an example that the middle Garbarini brother used to tell my sister and me as we were growing up has helped me jump that ship many times. It’s simple:

    "Everyone you know is sitting at a table. They all put their problems on the table and you get to choose someone else’s if you want to. Chances are, you’ll pick your own right back up and walk away."

    My own derivation of that is, well, you know, EHTC. Those perfect families, Alice, they are not. If they seem so at the moment, they are in a temporary reprieve – God help them when a s____storm rains upon them next year, or in twenty years.

    I know things can be difficult and overwhelming. In spite of everything, you are still doing good things and recognizing them in your daily TCOY list. Private Benjamin will help, too.

    And you said it yourself…”It's a rough road, but you will somehow plow ahead.” Many people care very much about you and your family. Call anytime.

    Love, Linny

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  2. Dear Lin, thank you for caring, and for the thoughtful note. It must have been hard to be the middle brother with those two strong personalities above and below, and Rosie, too. I love what Aldo said. When did he say that? When you were young girls or young adults or moms? Yes, EHTC. You really crack me up with that, and now we have an acronym for it, too! I feel better today after boot camp and a little party we had for Nicky, one of my boot camp friends who just completed her chef training. Patsy brought fruit, yogurt, granola and coffee. I have to get to work now. Love you. thank you. love al

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