April 16, 2006

 I’m soooo tired and I don’t know why. I want to sleep all of the time but when my head nestles into a pillow, any pillow, sleep turns to laugh at me and flees! I’m numb. I drag myself out of bed in  the morning and my first thought is always, “Can I take a nap today?”

When I lie down to sleep my mind takes that as a cue to start a trip without my body. I don’t want to follow. My mind takes me places I don’t want to return to. It tries to hold me in that hot room in July 2003. It sits me at Steve’s bedside forcing me to look at his still, pale face. It sings Enya’s Orinoco Flow as I try to look away. Sail away, sail away. My mind tries to keep me slogging through the mire, pinning my arms to my sides, trying to convince me they will never again be lifted in joy.

I’m tired of stumbling down that dark path. I want to find the path that’s bathed in sunshine, warming my heart. But instead when I go to bed at night I lie awake in the darkness, in darkness. My days are run on auto-pilot.

And again I’m fighting a cold, making me even more exhausted.

I’m missing Steve more and more. I don’t know which comes first...missing Steve makes me feel down or feeling down makes me miss Steve more.

Oh, well. I’m going to miss him no matter what.

April 15, 2006

All day long I’d been pacing around the house trying to keep myself busy, yet unable to concentrate on anything. All I could think about was escape. I felt a strong pull to just get out of here…but to where…and from what? I feel as though I'm trapped in an alternate reality of my own life.

 Late in the afternoon I couldn’t take it anymore. I grabbed my purse and keys and  lurched toward the van, destinations shooting through my mind…Jane’s house, the beach, Palm Springs. I didn’t know until the main road came into view that there was only one place for me to go. I drove the half mile to Nick’s.

He was surprised to find me at his door but, seeing my distress, he led me to the sofa where uncontrollable sobs wracked me. Suddenly we found our roles reversed. Nick, whom I held and comforted when he was a small child, now held me in his strong arms and let me cry my full.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me!”
 “Mom, you’re depressed.”
 “I’m not depressed!” I cried.

 But I know it’s true. I’ve been lying to myself as I steadily sink into this pit. I’ve believed I could reorient myself, find my own way out through prayer and meditation. But I’m only sinking further every day. I don’t know if this is grief related, or the clinical depression I’ve struggled with in the past, or if it’s a result of our family strife.

“You need to call your doctor, Mom. It’s time to get help and you know it.”
 “They’ll want to put me back on meds. I hate the way they make me feel. Like a zombie.”
 “Even feeling like a zombie for a little while would probably be better than feeling like this all the time. Right?”
 “I suppose. But, am I ever going to feel normal again?”
Nick didn’t have an answer for that.

He’s right. It doesn’t matter what’s causing the depression. I have to get help, even if it means feeling flat for a time.

Tonight I feel spent and still lost, but no longer agitated.
However I'm left wondering… when will I feel normal again?