I’ve been sick for about two weeks now, give or take a couple days of thinking I’d recovered. The worst of it is not being well enough to carry out the self-care routines that keep my mental health on the up and up. I’ve been doing so well. And yesterday I plummeted as from a sheer cliff near the top of a mountain I’d fought so hard to scale. It sounds dramatic because it feels dramatic. It’s going from calm confidence to swirling chaos all inside your own head. It’s suddenly wishing away your existence. It’s appreciating everything you have – the family, friends, coworkers, the space and the things – and suddenly longing to be elsewhere, nowhere.
Depression is a bitch.
I’m clearly in a pretty dark place at the moment. But I’m regaining sight of what I have and of what I have to look forward to. Tomorrow Jack is throwing a farewell party for a friend who’s moving back up north. This means I’ll get out and mingle with those very lovely humans I like to hang around. Maybe I’ll stay afterward. He and I have both been pretty sick. We agreed just yesterday that whatever we have feels “like death”. When I’m in this state I become ten times more unsure of myself so I will likely wait and see if he invites me to stay. More than that though I want to give us each the time and space our bodies need to heal. It’s not unlikely that we’re handing this flu right back to each other every time one of us starts to feel better. Not sure if I’m making any sense.
Today I saw my psychiatrist and had all good news aside from feeling under the weather [and consequently more vulnerable to my depression]. He booked my next appointment three months out. It feels like getting an A+ on a paper. Probably not a great model to follow though, since my mental health is not some project that I turn in to the doctor every once in a while; I don’t get applauded for feeling good, and I don’t get shamed for feeling down.
A few nights ago I went out with Jack and we ran into someone he used to sleep with. I was a disaster internally but I kept my composure like a real grown-up. I was so jealous of her; she’s beautiful, intelligent, driven, kind, and thin. On our way out he told me that she asked him if I was going home with him, and he said yes. She looked jealous, he said. I would have been equally giddy regardless of her reaction. It was so satisfying to me that he’d told her he was taking me home with him. He expected me to react more victorious than diplomatic. Of course my heart was doing somersaults. Last night though, this all reminded me of the last time I told Jack that I have serious feelings for him. He told me that he still had feelings for his ex. I knew that at the time they spoke daily. Sometimes notifications would pop up while we watched Netflix on his laptop and I would just catch her name. Now I can’t help but wonder if I still have reason to feel jealous. My feelings for him have not changed. If anything they’ve grown stronger. I want so badly to just ride the wave and let the pieces fall, but I’m terrified that they’re bound to fall out of my favor and I will have done nothing to save myself. Do I tell him again? Do I ask him about her? Or do I keep going with the flow and see what happens. My shrink wants me to do the latter and I’m inclined to follow her advice. My mom told me the other day that I have a tendency to act rashly. She said I need to slow down. So, for now, that’s what I’ll do.
Take care and TTFN,