The last few days have felt surreal, to say the least. I’ve been hesitant to write this post, for fear of willing the idea that this truly is all a dream into existence: a viable fear for someone who, post-traumatic brain injury, was told that “maybe all this is just a figment of your comatose imagination”. I like to believe the concept was well-intentioned, in response to my ceaseless fretting of how “wrong” everything felt. But I digress…
As a long-time sufferer of depression (11 years and running, WHOO!) I’m doing my best to enjoy the good. But I know how fleeting these moods are. I’m just waiting for that giant anvil called life to fall from the sky and fuck me completely. I could be the poster child for prison-bitch-jumpy-syndrome, I swear.
On Thursday I went in to see my new therapist, Dr. Hui-Wee. It was only our second appointment, so when I found out there’d been a scheduling snafu, it took a lot to control the angry tears and reschedule for the following day. Not like I have any plans… When I got home I ripped the reminder card off the fridge, only to see it did in fact have next week’s date on it. Had I not even bothered to check it, or did I completely overlook it? Classic poo-brain. Classic setup for yet another meltdown.
And melt down I did. An hour or so later, I was done being angry about the appointment, and was now brooding over the fact that I was so upset over something so fucking frivolous. I opted out of taking the Xena for a walk through the Fort in lieu of having a panic attack on the dock. Perhaps it was the lake that I was incapable of appreciating the beauty of in front of me, or maybe that my ever-patient boyfriend came to soothe me. Either way my panic gave way to a full blown mental break down.
Generally my post-attack regime involves shutting myself in the house for days on end, doing absolutely nothing and then absolutely resenting myself for it. It’s a vicious cycle. So I decided, somewhere deep in my subconscious, to break it. I’m still not sure where I pulled the fortitude from, but when I got home, I printed off some resumes. I recalled the local chain hardware store was hiring, and went in to apply. I filled my application out at the counter, and got a call the following day asking me to come in for an interview that afternoon. I was hired on the spot. I went to take my drug test. Even standing next to the easily 7 foot tall pole of a man with a booming voice, handing me a cup to force myself to pee in, I felt 10 feet tall. Here I was, adulting. Look at me go!
Saturday we took Xena to the vet, and then made our way to my parents’. We stopped at the Subway that I used to work at* and ate outside the High School I said goodbye to 6 years ago. A girlfriend I recently reconnected with came over to surprise my Dad and catch up, and I got to meet her adorable daughter. We took the scenic route home, and for once the nostalgia I felt was more pleasant than heart-wrenching. (Seriously, someone pinch me).
Yesterday I woke up after nearly 9 hours of sleep, but I didn’t let it deter me. I got around, mixed up my preworkout, and hauled myself to the gym after a week’s hiatus. No sooner than I got home and made myself a protein shake, we were off to Brandon’s Mother’s to help tear up last year’s garden for relocation. We made a sandbox out of the 2 by 4’s that previously comprised the garden boxes. Then it was back home for a quick shower, and we were off again to go kayaking down at the Fort. For about 2 hours we paddled down the river, basking in the sun’s rays, watching the turtles plop into the river when we got too close. I smiled at the baby turtles resting atop their grown ups. I joked about wanting to pick one up, how it would make a sick ass hood ornament for the kayak.
I made it through the day, sunburned but content. I ate pizza for dinner, despite growing complaint of the pudge roll I’ve been sporting since winter, my “hibernation fluff”, if you will. But I earned that pizza, dammit, so the calories don’t count, anyway. Yes, it really works that way.
The past few days have been good. I know the high can’t last, and eventually some little thing will get under my skin and I’ll be in a sour mood, or the sun will be shrouded and I’ll begin feeling blue again. But in the meantime, I’m going to do my best at making the best out of this new-found ability to function like a human being, even if it’s temporary, chalked up to good luck. Even if it’s a merely a good dream I’ll eventually wake up from. Or even, dare I say, if I’m actually, finally, getting better.
Maybe life works that way, too…
*I could run circles around the kid who made our sandwiches. Maybe it’s just in my lady parts, but I made a damned mean sammich. And people wonder why they say a woman’s place is in the kitchen!