Lost Week

lost sign Last week was a “lost week” … lost in depression and apathy and bipolar cycling. The worst thing about these weeks is how guilty and anxious you feel, even if you know you’re doing everything you can, even if it’s taking all your energy each day just to drag yourself from bed and get dressed, much less keep yourself fed and (maybe!) even leave the house. Chores fall by the wayside. Work devolves into a confusing black hole. A doorbell or ringing phone makes you flinch, and want to hide. You’re like a kid afraid of the bogey-man: if I hold really, really still, it won’t get me.

Those are the games my miswired brain plays with me. One day I’m soaring with creative ideas and energy, and likely to skip breaks, meals, sleep and time with family. The next, crash. I look up and it’s been days since I washed my hair, and the face staring back from the mirror looks haggard, and yet I’ve gotten nothing significant done. The threads of ideas I jotted down earlier all look thin and flat, unlikely or stupid. What was I thinking? Start a series of paintings based on these others that haven’t even sold, that may never sell? Why bother? My brain has jumped ahead to where I fail, never sell another painting, go broke and have to find a soul-crushing corporate job with a long, busy freeway commute. Then at some point, I guess I’ll just … die. (Yup, sounds about right, Depression nods agreeably.)

It’s such a brutal vicious cycle. It’s exactly like I described in “Stuck” – my depression has answers for every arguement, and they’re all bad.

purple flowersSometimes I can bluff my way through. This past weekend, I got outside, bought and planted flowers, got things done, spent time with family and my hubby. I though Monday started well, with lots of good intentions… but my only current painting commission may have fallen through, and a strained shoulder and knots in my neck leftover from before the Art Crawl have returned with a vengeance, and I lost my wedding ring, of all the stupid things, and my hand feels strange all the time reminding me of my carelessness, and my brain feels tattered like rotted cloth, the thoughts sloughing away at the slightest touch… I’m tired, and I hurt, and I feel stupid, and I feel useless…

Yeah, you’ve probably been there, too. I should probably shut up now.

That’s the depression talking, too: saying I’m so worthless, I don’t even deserve the right to complain.

But. Depression lies.

And misery loves company, right?

So today I’ll write a bit about it, then hopefully I can move on.

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2 Comments

  1. Okay, do you think lost weeks can mesh just like a female’s cycle for women who are around each other a lot? I’m fighting my way back from one too and we just saw each other! But we’ve both had different stressors these last few weeks but the stress was there. Here’s wishing you luck, one step at a time, which is what I’m trying to do.

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    • When I said “misery loves company,” I didn’t exactly mean it like that… I’m sorry you’ve been going through another dip. It sucks, flat-out. Hang in there BH — I’m thinking of you!

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