Yeah, I’ve been MIA – TW: Depression

What does one say when one is determined not to drag their friends and readers into the emotional muck called “depression during the pandemic”?

Nothing.

One says nothing.

I mean, duh, everyone is depressed. Especially in Ontario, Canada, where we are in another lock-down because of (insert whomever you blame here. Me? I blame everyone!) politics and poor planning.

I think I have it a little worse than some, because I couldn’t I get to my family after dad died, and I also can’t get to his celebration of life or the spreading of his ashes in May.

For reasons I don’t understand, not only is Ontario struggling but my region and in fact, my darned CITY. So, while friends in cities and towns around me are being vaccinated, my husband and I are scheduled for two weeks from now.

But of course, my depression is not just situational… it’s chemical. To that end, I started taking my anti-deps again about two weeks ago, after a six-month hiatus. So, some side-effects from that, too, though in all honesty, it’s the lowest possible dose. 5mg. Barely anything.

Anyway, Saturday and Sunday came and went. I didn’t want to write. Truth is, I didn’t want to get out of bed. And why should I? We are sheltering at home… as we have for the last year. Where is “there” to go?

Yesterday, I ran across a meme on Facebook that felt very real.

Taken from Facebook – By B. Montero

I shared it and wrote:

I am so depressed. Is it chemically induced or is it situationally induced? Does it matter?

Our vaccines are two weeks away.

I was not only NOT able to see my dad for one last time, I will not be there for his celebration of life or spreading of his ashes.

Why? Because of the mishandling of this f**king pandemic. Who to blame? Trudeau? Ford? The City where I live? Does it matter? No, of course not.

I know I am not alone. Of course, I know this. Still. This. Is. Torture.

Did I feel better after sharing this? Yes and no… but ultimately no… and in fact, I took it down. Why? Because most either didn’t see it or didn’t know what to say (or, dare I say, didn’t care?) and of those who did, a few reached out (which is lovely but at times like this, all I want to do is hide alone) and it made me uncomfortable.

What did I expect? I guess some soothing, “If you want to talk” or “If you need anything…” or even, “that sucks and you’re right: torture”. <<< Actually, I did get one of those. Thanks for knowing me so well, my friend.

The reason I’m writing here is to share – once again – that depression doesn’t just go away. Oh, well… maybe it does… for some folks. But not for me.

Also… still grieving… and this pandemic situation makes it sooooooooo much worse!

And finally, I didn’t fall off the planet or anything… just trying to survive. <<< I know I run the risk of being called “dramatic” and quite frankly, I’ll take that chance. I am not suicidal but I am wondering if what I’m doing here (I mean this in the most sweeping way… here = life) matters to anyone but me.

To be clear: This is not a cry for help. I’m not looking for anyone to save me. I know what it is and I know what needs to be done. I just don’t feel like doing it.

Also, I’m pissed beyond reason that it’s all happening at the precise moment of my dad’s passing. In fact, I’m FURIOUS.

I don’t feel like talking. I hate the phone. I hate zoom. I hate that 99% of my closest relationships are relegated to technology, even under non-pandemic circumstances.

Oh yes, I am reminded (again and again!) that our choices carry consequences. My choice to move to Canada twenty years ago sure did! I just thought – you know, after all these years – that the weight of some of those consequences might have lightened a little. Not so.

So, yep, I have a lot to be depressed about. Another time or place, I might have tried to tease apart the meaning of it all.

Not today.

I just wanted you to know.

7 Comments

  1. I am praying for you right now, Sheryl. Peace. Comfort. Rest. Liberation. Light. Hope. Love.

    Rebecca Smith Sent from my iPhone

    >

    Liked by 1 person

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