The past several days, I’ve come to realize my case of the “winter blues” is something more serious — requiring medical attention. Usually, I’m able to snap out of it within a few days, but there’s something difficult this year preventing me from the seeing the light. I haven’t felt right all month and that’s reason to worry. I’ve spoken to two doctors and both conclude I’m diagnosed with depression.
I’ve been asked how my life is going and in all honesty, it’s going great — at least on paper. This job pays well and it’s afforded me the ability to laser my eyes, fix my car, get those tattoos I’ve always wanted, basically buy anything to my hearts content and even pay for my best friend’s plane ticket. I’ve met all my goals and then some — there’s no reason I should feel like this. I’ve spoken to Julian, Garza, and Anthony about this and I’m thankful they support my decision to see a psychiatrist. The stigma with mental health is still there, but I have no reason to hide it from them or even my co-workers. They notice something is off and I’m not terribly good at hiding my feelings from the outside world. I look sad(er), but that’s fine and I’ll admit I’ve felt better days.
At least with everyone knowing what’s wrong, I can make a few jokes about seeing a therapist. There’s always an upside to everything — even if the days feel grey and cold. My thoughts tell me I need to be alone and keep away from everyone who cares about me, but I know I shouldn’t. Truthfully, the first step to getting help is admitting you have a problem.
Well, I do. I’ll be seeing a psychiatrist and be on medication or at least temporarily. I can’t imagine taking an antidepressant long term without a few reservations about being forever dependent on them. Everything gets better with time.
What separates the current me with my former self is I’m more mindful of how I really feel. Rather than ignore the issue and resort to drinking or smoking, I don’t fucking have that luxury anymore. Old habits die hard, but really — this kinda fucking blows. I would advise anyone who binge drinks to 1) stop before it’s a habit 2) ask yourself why you do it. I’ve personally let this get the better of me and my 1 year no alcohol pact is really putting up a challenge. Would I rather fall back to how I was a few years ago than feel overwhelming depression? Hell no. I put this on myself and it’s finally caught up to me. Life comes back around to bite you.
I’ll answer one difficult question I’m sure lingers in everyone’s thoughts, “Do you want to hurt yourself?”
Hell. No. Not then and definitely not now.
October has been my most “productive” month if that somehow downplays the severity of my work life / social life imbalance. Putting in ten hour work days this entire month and even weekends has taken it’s toll on my body and mind. Motherfucker, you need to chill. Yeah, I know. I’m a workaholic with self-destructive tendencies that raises eyebrows. My thoughts sometimes teeter between obsessive compulsive and neurotic. It makes for error-free office work and high-level productivity. Ha. Considering I originally had a month and a half to complete this project and I essentially squeezed it all into one week and a half sounds like a miracle. The owner of the company is flying in suddenly and wants it done now — I’ll happily oblige with a few consequences thrown in. My hands shake and only stop with a few cups of tea and cappuccinos. I’m tired. Fucking hate everything. But only one of those statements is true. Take your pick.
The cloud looms over me, but sunshine is just on the horizon.
“The past few years I was a grape,
But now I’m a raisin,
Not yet aged like fine wine”
If you’re one of the dozen or so people I’ve told about my online diary of sorts and have a few comments or reservations about having me prescribed medication, please reach out.
I’ve personally told everyone who needs to know right now and with that, I have a feeling of security and safety at hand. Later world. Danny, out.