Despite my low dose anti-depressant, despite the celebration of Christ's birth, despite the arrival of a new year, and despite the great many good things/people/places I'm grateful for daily ... I am depressed.

I don't want to do anything. At least nothing hard. Or uncomfortable. I feel guilty about that. And the guilt, the proof of failure, of melancholy, exhausts. And it cycles. 'Round, 'round it goes.

I sleep in late. Watch crap on television for hours. I go days without wearing makeup or doing my hair.

I think about the importance of community, think about texting a friend, and then I play another round of Ruzzle instead. Except family, I haven't seen a close friend in weeks.

I'll have a day where I'm not hungry and all food sounds unappealing, so I skip meals. A few days later, I could eat the house and I do - oranges, pistacios, lara bars, old chocolate, pickles, stale pirate's booty - whatever I can find.

I think about praying. I try. The farthest I get is "Help?!"

I hate the idea of work. Of making a commitment. Of having to try, again, over and over. Having to be somewhere, at some time, for some reason. I start to begrudge my chosen career, sensing that the work is ultimately futile. And the idea of having to pick clothing to wear? Of showing up and being seen and judged? It angers, annoys, exhausts.

I know I need to network, read, write. I have a list of things that need doing. But it all seems so ridiculous. Such a crock. False. A lie. Me? Help anyone, when I'm this confused and unsure and broken myself? I'm a fraud. They'll know it. They probably already do. And, with that, the fear of not measuring up kicks in. My mind races, plotting ... planning the next striving. Ever awake on a pillow, anxiety-ridden until the Lorazapam kicks in and I force myself to count sheep, each bouncing to the rhythm of the Mr.'s snores.

And the people that stick with me in the dark? My parents. My husband. I'm bat-shit scared of losing them. I'm rendered immobile and unmotivated when he leaves for work. Sad when my parents go to visit the grandkids. But I can't even cry. I numb out. I sit in the dark — literal and metaphorical. Asleep. Afraid to feel.

I just wish the pressure would go away. That the "have to's" didn't exist. Or, rather, that maybe I enjoyed the journey more. Or that I was just better at it. Or it felt easy for a time. And if it did, that I wasn't so busy bracing for the hard part.

I'm exhausted and I haven't done anything. Tomorrow, my vacation ends, and I hate it. The idea of being presentable ... capable ... happy, or even just "okay"? Ugh.


I've struggled with depression for a long time. It always shows up around the holidays. Sometimes it's situationally triggered by new fears and unanticipated expectations and personal uncertainty. This January is a perfect storm of those triggers for me. That said, this moment of depression is a 6 on a scale of 1 to 10 - so, it's mild. I'm fine. No freaking out, okay? K.