I feel like I am carrying around a huge bundle of squirming puppies and somehow it is important that the puppies do not escape the bag, but they keep trying.
And now I've managed to make even puppies depressing.
But that's what it's like, I feel so weighted down by some enormous force against my chest and I feel like I am trying to contain something that does not want to be contained.
Mostly I feel like lying around in the dark and maybe crying.
Instead, I get up each day, slog through getting ready and go to work, where I slog some more.
I've taken a different approach this time and gone public immediately with my depression, which brings with it the blessing of friends' support and the curse of people's advice.
Trust me, if I could "feel better" or "do the things I am supposed to do to feel better" I would.
Just tell me you love me and that you're sorry things suck right now. It's a chemical imbalance. It's a disease. I can't think my way out of this one, not really.
I feel like I missed the inauguration. I didn't get the jubilance I felt when Obama got elected. I just felt kinda glad and knew I had a sense of relief that Bush was out of the White House.
I feel like I am missing a lot of my life. The meds do that--flatten me out. It was almost a relief to sob so woefully on Monday. I was getting afraid that I might have forgotten how to cry.
I hate waiting. I have to wait for the medications to kick in so that hopefully I can pull out of this quicksand feeling. In the meantime, those puppies better settle down.