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Depression
Nov. 3rd, 2023 09:21 amYes, here we are.
All the usual suspects checked in some time ago. Everythng and nothing is hard. Make a smoothie; clean up the work surface. Drop something; pick it up. Laundry, laundry! Empty the dishwasher; fill the dishwasher. Make those phone calls, go on, make them, do it! But instead my hands drop to my sides, my head isn't even full of disasters, it's just empty.
Remember Malta soon. This will work, sunlight always works for me, but I don't feel it yet so it isn't real. I fret about the cats. Yes I know we have a catsitter, I still fret. Stand back, try to watch my mind, the impulses moving from sad thing to sad thing, try to consciously note the jumping of anxiety and stress, looping, pattern making. Stepping outside of it. Understanding that for a number of rational reasons, my base mood is predictably low. Phone MacMillans for counselling maybe? Easier to write about it than talk about it. Consider talking to the doc re a Sertraline prescription? I don't think so. Got enough rubbish currently floating around my body without adding to the chemical pile and god knows how these drugs interact with each other.
But doing stuff works. If there is no creativity there can at least be productivity, a clean kitchen, fed pot plants, happy hubby, contented cats.
Two difficult phone calls to make today. Maybe not. Maybe just the one, and the other on Monday. Spread it out. Accept that I am unhappy, and that it's OK to be unhappy. Not always, not every minute of every day, but yes, it is OK right now to be unhappy. It will change, it always does.
If I'd like to help it along, best not watch old sweet weepies like The Ghost and Mrs Muir, but at least this kind of film lends itself to questions outside the self. Could Gene Tierney really act? Why didn't Rex Harrison keep that fetching beard and moustache? Who really believes the heroine would fall for such a palpably smooth hobgoblin as George Sanders?
Also enjoyed our little apple tree's gifts yesterday. Next time, I won't knock all the holey ones off the tree; I'll bring them all in and cut out any wormy bits, cos the fruit we ate was delicious, better than anything we can get in the shops. November may take the leaves but it brings the apples. Got to remember that.
All the usual suspects checked in some time ago. Everythng and nothing is hard. Make a smoothie; clean up the work surface. Drop something; pick it up. Laundry, laundry! Empty the dishwasher; fill the dishwasher. Make those phone calls, go on, make them, do it! But instead my hands drop to my sides, my head isn't even full of disasters, it's just empty.
Remember Malta soon. This will work, sunlight always works for me, but I don't feel it yet so it isn't real. I fret about the cats. Yes I know we have a catsitter, I still fret. Stand back, try to watch my mind, the impulses moving from sad thing to sad thing, try to consciously note the jumping of anxiety and stress, looping, pattern making. Stepping outside of it. Understanding that for a number of rational reasons, my base mood is predictably low. Phone MacMillans for counselling maybe? Easier to write about it than talk about it. Consider talking to the doc re a Sertraline prescription? I don't think so. Got enough rubbish currently floating around my body without adding to the chemical pile and god knows how these drugs interact with each other.
But doing stuff works. If there is no creativity there can at least be productivity, a clean kitchen, fed pot plants, happy hubby, contented cats.
Two difficult phone calls to make today. Maybe not. Maybe just the one, and the other on Monday. Spread it out. Accept that I am unhappy, and that it's OK to be unhappy. Not always, not every minute of every day, but yes, it is OK right now to be unhappy. It will change, it always does.
If I'd like to help it along, best not watch old sweet weepies like The Ghost and Mrs Muir, but at least this kind of film lends itself to questions outside the self. Could Gene Tierney really act? Why didn't Rex Harrison keep that fetching beard and moustache? Who really believes the heroine would fall for such a palpably smooth hobgoblin as George Sanders?
Also enjoyed our little apple tree's gifts yesterday. Next time, I won't knock all the holey ones off the tree; I'll bring them all in and cut out any wormy bits, cos the fruit we ate was delicious, better than anything we can get in the shops. November may take the leaves but it brings the apples. Got to remember that.
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