Depression is a funny thing. Not funny, ha-ha, of course. It’s odd, a mystery. Even after all these years, I don’t always recognize that I am depressed. Not feeling well, lack of energy and lack of interest, anxiety. These are my signs of depression. A lot of the times I interpret it as not feeling well. But sometimes, the depression is what makes me feel like crap.
What I hate most about when depression takes over my llife is that I am not interested in anything and I can’t focus. Of course, I am missing my Snickers boy. But it isn’t always something devastating that will set off the dark mood.
Depression in all its forms and manifestations saps me of my energy and my desire to create. I can’t write when I am depressed. And when I do it feels so flat.
I admire people who can write through the dullness. I can’t. I can write through anger or life-shattering moments. But depression keeps me from focusing to even form sentences.
And when I can’t create I get more depressed and I miss the feeling of being inspired.
It has reared its ugly head most of my life and I still don’t always know how to cope with it. Except to nuture it and be good to myself. Seems selfish but I’m not good for anyone if I can’t function.
I know my sister misses Snickers a lot too. She said she’s also been extra tired the past few days. The only solace we have is that we both know what the other is going through and we both loved that sweet old boy.