Shortly after my last post, I got very sick. I got a severe ear infection in both ears. They thought I might have mono (Thank God I didn't). That same week I had terrible problems with a student, and terrible problems with John. Two weeks later, I began to actually feel better, and I fell and broke my hand. That, combined with the stress of the end of the semester, and feeling like I could only deal with so much resulted in one of my old anxiety tricks: practicing avoidance.
In the past few months, things have just been... well, I feel like I've been getting slammed by one thing after another. One fight, then one rough therapy session, then student stress (which has been in abundance this semester). I once read a book that describes the way we feel in relationships like a gas tank: when we are happy and feel loved, we are full, we can go far, we can stretch and do things and love others, and take on challenges (go offroad, if you want to stretch the metaphor). When we're empty, it's all we can do to sit on the side of the road and think about pushing the car.
I think life is often like that. I think that our "gas tanks" or love tanks or energy reserves or whatever you want to call them can run out. We can simply be out of gas. We can dread going to work, even to jobs that we love, because we know we don't have the energy stored up to deal with needs.
This is not new, of course. This is depression. For me, it's not uncommon, although not my default state. I have Generalized Anxiety Disorder, and that's characterized not only by lying in bed with your heart pounding so hard in the throws of an anxiety attack (for no discernible reason) that your husband can feel your pulse with his hand lightly on your stomach, but also by carrying around a real burden of concern, sometimes genuine, sometimes more like guilt creating by your crazy brain, for everything. That burden can become depression, real depression, where you have to talk yourself into getting out of bed, or eating, or getting off the couch not because you're lazy, but because you've run out of steam.
It's like being flat, or black and white. There's a world of dimension and color out there, but you have no interest in it. And then you get sad, and your body hurts, partially because you've failed at convincing yourself to get out of bed, but partially because that Cymbalta commercial is true, and all that mental and emotional pain that you're now too empty to really feel is seeping into your muscles.
And I know, first world problems. Oh no! I was super sad! I feel ridiculous even acknowledging this. But things have kind of sucked for me lately. Things have been a struggle. The mere fact that I'm writing this means that they're looking up because this un-updated blog is just one of the many victims of my avoidance (my writing this also means my hand is being rehabbed, thank God).
And I don't really owe anybody an explanation, but I wanted to give one. Just like most things in life, this action says more about me than about anyone who might be interested. But that's the short and undetailed version of where I've been. I hope to be back soon.
