Depression

A few weeks ago a friend sent me a voice message telling me how well she thought I was doing, and what a healthy place I’ve gotten to this year. I literally laughed out loud as I listened because for weeks the feeling had been creeping in, slowly but surely. It’s a feeling I know well; a feeling I’ve dealt with for as long as I can remember that comes and goes as it pleases. Sometimes it takes me a while to recognize exactly what it is, but over the years I’ve gotten more attuned to it, and almost welcome it as I know it’s inevitable, and the sooner it comes, hopefully the sooner I can get over it.

It starts with small things, like not taking the time to put my plate in the dishwasher or letting Mischa’s piss-soaked bed go another day without washing. Days go by and the plates pile up, and the smell gets worse. By then it’s way too overwhelming, and I’m way too exhausted so the cycle continues, and my mental health declines because “Why can’t you just put your dishes in the dishwasher you lazy piece of shit?” and I just hover above myself, looking down, unable to do anything.

I took myself to Homegrown for breakfast today. I’ve eaten in a restaurant maybe a handful of times this year, a luxury I normally enjoy at least weekly, but have been robbed of by the pandemic. With an insane amount of work staring me down though, and knowing I haven’t properly fed myself in over a week because the whole cycle of figuring out what to cook, grocery shopping, and then actually cooking and then cleaning up is one of the nine levels of hell for me for some reason, I decided to pretend for just an hour that life was normal. I sat by myself at the bar, but my mind couldn’t stop racing and I just stared at the wall in front of me. I slowly and methodically ate my food, but tears started streaming down my face. I don’t really know why I was crying, but I knew it was of no use to try to stop it, so I didn’t. The bartenders stole glances at me, but said nothing. My food wasn’t that great, I felt bad the whole time that I was doing something so irresponsible as eating in public during a pandemic, and returned home to the same amount of work as before I left, but now with less time to do it in. So I cried harder, and looked around my messy house.

I constantly have to remind myself that social media is bullshit. I like to think that I keep things pretty real on my accounts, but in case I don’t, here is your reminder: my life is messy just like yours. I struggle hard, especially with the monotony of daily life. I get overwhelmed easily and then spiral and see no end in sight. Last night I was talking with a teacher friend and we were discussing the teacher-coaster which is a very real thing. My first year teaching my district-assigned mentor showed me a chart that had the months and a roller-coaster looking line and explained to me that it was very normal for teachers to feel extremely low at certain points in the year, especially October and February. This has been true for me every year of teaching, but especially this year, with the added pressures the pandemic has put on us. All that to say, I know this is a contributing factor to my depression right now, and if you have any teacher friends, send them extra love those months.

Sometimes I wish my depression would go away forever, but that also terrifies me a bit because it’s been a part of me for so long, it would be like losing part of my identity. I know eventually I’ll pull myself out of this - I’ve been doing it for over 20 years now. I don’t write this to give any magical advice or encouragement, simply to acknowledge it and normalize it. If you are 1 in about 5 people who deal with this, hi, welcome. If you aren’t, just be aware there are probably more of us in your life than you think.