Introversion

This is new to me. I’ve been becoming slightly more introverted as I get older but then, bam! There was a pandemic. And I live alone. I have never spent so much time alone, ever. For months I didn’t see anyone closer than six feet. Then I saw family and a few friends outside but very few people and very infrequently.

I started watching TV which I’ve never done much and now I do way too much of. I started reading obsessively again. But I’m only reading mysteries, romance, and young adult novels because for me, those are the ones that take the least amount of energy.

I started hiking alone. I had never done that before. I listen to audiobooks (again, only in the genres that don’t require much thinking.

I go to bed early (not that I sleep well).

I am just ALONE a lot.

So now when I’m WITH people, it is weird. I am uncomfortable. A little time is fine and then I start craving alone time. This is not who I’ve ever been and I’m not super comfortable with it.

Staying Put

Well, two weeks ago I broke my leg. I was hiking, a trail I’ve hiked many times before, and just had the bad luck of some gravel slipping out from under me. I heard it break as I landed, felt a searing pain, and realized I had to hike back out (with the help of a couple other people).

I was in a cast for a week and they decided I needed to have surgery. I will be in a cast completely nonweightbearing for six weeks and then a walking cast for six weeks. It is amazing that I managed to become even more isolated during the pandemic but here I am!

I’m trying really hard to take one day at a time, I have two weeks off for the holiday and probably wouldn’t go anywhere even without the broken ankle but now I can’t even take solo walks or hikes.

It’s really easy for me to look at the calendar and see all this empty time stretching out for what feels like forever. I can work myself up into depression and major loneliness and a really bad place. Instead I’m trying to take it one day at a time. Seems to be working.

I Slept All Day

I didn’t totally realize how exhausting the last four years have been for me and, well, everyone. The constant stress and worry wore so many of us down, as well as the angry from seeing hypocrisy on full display.

So in the last week, I’ve been excited and also just flat-out exhausted. I haven’t been sleeping well, which doesn’t help anything but is consistent with having dealt with trauma, including trauma from a global pandemic and a scary administration.

So today, I just let myself sleep in. I woke up and checked my messages and took the dog out, and went back to bed. I woke up again, ate, and went back to bed. I finally got up for good around 2:30 pm.

I have really mixed feeling about this. Partly I feel like a failure, and it reminds me too much of the depression days. I should have woken up. I have no reason to be this tired. I’m lazy. Other people don’t do this. On and on.

But then I also realized… that doesn’t help. It just makes me spiral. And obviously I DID need this. So, I’m trying to just be OK with it and not judge myself. WOW is it hard!

It’s Been a While…

Anyone still here?

You’d think that I’d have had much more to say about depression during a global pandemic but… I haven’t been depressed.

I’ve been angry, lonely, scared, sad, and many other things, but not depressed. That in itself is a complete miracle.

Today started following a pattern I’m far too familiar with: couldn’t sleep so stayed up too late. Slept far too late and felt off all day. I couldn’t focus on anything and spent the entire day feeling lethargic, lonely, isolated, unproductive, and bored. But one thing was missing.

I didn’t want to die.

Yes, I totally understand how dramatic that sounds but I still have MANY more years in my life where I would have chosen death over life. Not actively, and I never tried to end my life, but as early as kindergarten, I remember wishing that I just didn’t have to wake up, ever again. That lasted, very consistently, until I was about 35.

I ended the evening by walking the dog on a dark road I like that I’d never go on at night without a big dog, down to a little cove and listening to the shorebirds. I still felt isolated, unproductive, unfulfilled, and lonely. But I wasn’t robbed of seeing the beauty of nature. I wasn’t hopeless.

That is an absolute miracle.

A Christmas Miracle

I had a wonderful Christmas and it was a minor miracle.

 

I was alone and not lonely. In fact, most of the week I’ve been alone, and I haven’t been lonely once.

I’ve had tons of unscheduled time and I didn’t get depressed.

I’ve enjoyed time by myself.

This is all pretty new for me, but better late than never. I’m super grateful.

Depression as Time Waster

I’m still struggling this week. I’m not crying in bed wishing I wasn’t alive, so that’s something. But I’m feeling really flat, uninterested in things I usually enjoy, wanting to sleep all the time… you know. All those fun things.

If I had the energy to be angry, I would be furious that this disease is wasting so much of my time. For the last week, I’ve been sleeping far too much. I remember a time when I wanted to do things like go on hikes, read the books on my shelf, write, and more. But they don’t sound good at all now. Neither does yoga, going out to lunch, or, really, anything else. And that sucks.

I know that it’ll pass. I know that I’ll feel good again and I’ll want to do all these things. But *right now* I have the time and I just can’t. It’s like getting pneumonia during Christmas vacation. What a waste.

Trying to Stay Ahead

I’ve got a little touch of depression now. I think there are a bunch of reasons: the time change, too much free time with a lull in work, not having enough social interaction, not seeing my nieces and nephew as often as I’d like, and who knows what else. It’s not unexpected — the time change alone always gets me — but it’s always extremely unwanted. And very discouraging.

I haven’t totally succumbed. I haven’t been crying all the time, and I’ve only been staying in bed a little more than I should, not all the time. Nobody has noticed anything. I haven’t had a full breakdown. I’m able to keep up an appearance, but I’m not feeling good.

When I was in college and I was really depressed, I would sit and write in my journal all the time. Frantically writing, like if I wrote fast enough, I could outrun, or outwrite, the feelings. I would write during movies and class, and anywhere I could. I don’t think it even mattered what I was writing, as long as I wrote quickly enough so that the feelings couldn’t catch up with me.

It’s not journaling anymore, although it is blogging sometimes, but I have other ways I’ve been trying to outrun the feelings. This week it’s been reading, sleeping, watching TV, baking cookies, and wishing for work. It’s not working. I’m not in crisis – and I don’t think I will be any time soon – but I’m really sad and I can’t seem to stop it.

It’s so frustrating when this happens just because of the stupid brain chemicals. Everything’s fine. I normally love living alone. I have enough money. I have friends, even if they’re busy, and I usually really like having time alone. When I’m working a lot, I want free time. But my brain is wrong. It hasn’t caught up with things being fine, even though things have been fine for a long time.

If something terrible happened, I have so many people who would be there for me, and I’m incredibly lucky. But nothing terrible has happened. And I can’t ask for help because I’m sad because of God-knows-what in the same way that I could ask for help if someone died or I had another major loss.

So now I’m going to go to sleep. I’m not that tired yet but I don’t know what else to do. One of these days, I’ll be back to feeling better, but today is not that day.

 

Too Much Free Time

I’ve been going kind of non-stop. I’m a freelancer and I’ve been doing lots and lots of work, tutoring plenty of kids, and just generally been busy.

Today it just came to a screeching stop. And I feel so lonely.

Nothing huge happened. I had one tutoring student cancel because of illness and I don’t have many on Fridays anyway. I’ve been doing a lot of copy editing for two clients in particular and one is taking a break to focus on her paid work and one is reviewing the last work I did and will give me more when he’s done. All my friends are busy, which seems to be the norm, especially because I’m the abnormal one, being single and no kids.

So I just have this free time. There was NOTHING on my calendar starting at 5 pm today and absolutely nothing tomorrow. Not. One. Thing.

Sometimes this sounds amazing. Sometimes I’m super tired and I just need a break. But I learn very quickly when that happens that I get lonely and bored and that leads really quickly to depression.

So tonight, I cleaned my apartment, but it was already pretty clean. I listed to some podcasts and am tired of podcasts. I read a book and am tired of reading. I watched some TV and movies and I’m tired of that.

And I can’t stop thinking that tomorrow, I have NOTHING to do. I think I’m going to take the dog hiking but if this depression keeps building and I just stay in bed all day… no one will stop me because I have not one commitment. So it could be wonderful and beautiful and rejuvenating but it could also be depressing and lonely and just go on forever.

It’s hard to believe that yesterday I was loving the fact that I live alone. I told a friend how much I loved it.

Today I just want to be partnered or have a friend over (I’ve tried) or have work to bury myself in. I just don’t want to be stuck here with myself.

Abraham Lincoln

I’ve been incredibly busy lately and haven’t had time to write, but I read this article and thought it was fascinating.

I am amazed that Lincoln accomplished so much with depression that was so severe that his housemate had to hide the shaving razors from him.

I also wonder what his life–and history–would be like if Lincoln had had modern medicine and effective anti-depressants.

“No element of Mr. Lincoln’s character,” declared his colleague Henry Whitney, “was so marked, obvious and ingrained as his mysterious and profound melancholy.” His law partner William Herndon said, “His melancholy dripped from him as he walked.”

I have sometimes felt that way. Anyone else?

Remembering Pain

For about a week, I had intense back pain. I was fortunate that it wasn’t anything serious, but just a muscle spasm that kept on hurting. It took over my life — too painful to drive or to sit straight up, which cut down on my activities and my work. I couldn’t think straight because of the pain, and I was living with a careful schedule of pain pills and muscle relaxants. When I was in the middle of the pain, I promised myself I would be eternally grateful if it would just go away.

Thankfully, it went away and I’m fine. I am having trouble with the gratitude though. I can’t seem to remember what the pain felt like! I have a vague idea that it was awful and that I’m much better and happier now, but I can’t really compare.

I think that emotional pain is similar. When I was in the deepest throes of my depression (I don’t usually use the word “throes” but I looked it up and it means “intense or violent pain and struggle” and that felt accurate), I thought that if I could just move past this, get better, or be healed, I would be grateful forever.

Well, I’m doing better. And I have been for some time. But I’m not feeling incredibly grateful all the time. I’m just feeling… kind of normal. And sometimes frustrated that I have a touch of depression. Sometimes happy, sometimes lonely, sometimes fulfilled, and sometimes wondering what the point of life is.

I think part of it is that I can’t really remember the pain. I think that’s good and bad. I am certainly less grateful than I would be otherwise. But it’s probably a blessing that I can’t remember, because I think it was probably unsustainable.

I remember when my dog had (very expensive) knee surgery. For three nights, it was horrible. She was crying non-stop, even with the pain medication. I slept on the floor next to her one of these nights because it was so terrible. But then, on the fourth morning, she hopped up and was fine. So fine that I had to restrain and eventually sedate her so she wouldn’t hurt herself. But she didn’t seem to remember the pain at all. Nothing remained of the pathetic dog-patient; she was totally happy again.

Maybe that’s what this is. Maybe it’s a gift. And I’ll try to be grateful.