It seems I am always digging out of some hole I’ve fallen into or even crawled into. This time I jumped. It was deep and dark and so comfortable that it was only when I realized I was about to sacrifice my marriage and relationship with my son that I found the strength to start digging out.
There’s a lot of guilt for me around this kind of depression. I feel that I could have chosen another path and once I got sick of myself and the wallowing, that’s exactly what I did. Sitting around in my bathrobe, reading and eating and avoiding as much human contact as possible is pretty self-indulgent.
I could be kind to myself and say I needed it. Maybe. But I didn’t need the 10 pounds I gained or losing my volunteer gigs or the resulting embarrassment and need to make amends. I have excuses. My Dad died. I found out someone I trusted was backstabbing me. I’m drowning in debt. And the mother of all excuses, especially this time of year – it’s Fall and I have seasonal affective disorder.
All true. And yet – I know I can do better.
So I will.