Listening to the Voices in my Head

Back, I say, back!

I have beaten the black beast of depression back a bit.  The hellidays being over had helped immensely.  I still have depression, and seeing the appropriate people regarding it, but it doesn't feel like it's on a runaway, downhill rollercoaster ride to hell. 

I've been taking a little time for myself. When I do my 10 minute rehab walk, I listen to an audio book. I continue to listen to it until it's time to do something else (lunch, or dinner). 

Still tired, as sleep is touch and go, but when I do sleep well, it's either 5 hours or 10. IF it's 10 hours I do wake up refreshed.  This means I have to go to bed fairly early so Alan and Wing can get their "let's play with the cats on the bed, and talk to mom.".  At least they get the message when I get ready to put on my sleep mask.

55 minutes and one day later

It was a very deep, gut punch session with D.  She did say that it's very common for people who are depressed to get worse. The challenge for me is how much worse.

I told her this Helliday season was the worst since the year I became an only child, because at least I had my family around me, and did feel as if I was alone in a crowd, as I felt this year.  Wing apologized for me not being happy. It's not his job to do that, and it's what's going on in me, not him. 

I talked with Alan over lunch, and it felt good to talk to member of the family, without judgment.  No one saying "Oh, you just got the blues."

Was getting ready for the day

Which includes session with my counselor, and had included session with Simon the Sadist. His session has been rescheduled at Wing 's convenience.

But as I was getting ready, I heard a slight scrabbling in the back of the closet. I irrationally looked at the Keito cuddle clone, looked back at where the noise was coming from, said his name and the clothing started to part. I have to admit for the briefest of moments, my illogical brain thought Keito was coming out from beneath the hanging clothes.  It wasn't of course, it was Groo-bear. I looked back at the cuddle clone, and burst into quiet tears. Quiet because if I make so much as a peep, I get helicoptered.

Stayed in room for about 15 minutes. It's been not even 4 years since an arrogant vet gave me the wrong instructions, even though I had asked him more than twice "Are you sure?"

Façade of sanity re-establish, but the shell is thin. Very thin

Every time I think about calling it quits

Something small, probably insignificant to everyone else in the world, happens.  Maybe it's seeing a bird singing his heart out at the start of the day.  The smell of something in bloom. My cat Loki climbing up for a cuddle

I made it through the hell that's called "The Holidays". It's so hard to keep a happy smiling demeanor plastered on my face, or the look of interest in what someone is talking about.

It's fucking hard. But at least the stress of November through December social shit is over. I need to decompress. I need to sleep. I need to talk to someone who won't dismiss my feelings and mental state as 'just the blues'.  If I have the blues, their fucking indigo.