Depression Rears Its Ugly Head
It would appear that my depression is making a comeback.
I’ve been doing really well for the last few weeks. I wrote on here about going on my anti-depressants back in mid-January. This was when they were just about settled into my system. I'd started them before Christmas. My GP had warned me it could take up to four weeks for my body to settle into them, and that was just about how long it took.
I didn't have some great awakening. There was part of me that thought, or maybe hoped, that going on the medication would be like dunking my head in cold water. That all the fog would be washed away from my brain, leaving me alert and awake once more.
But it was more subtle than that. There was no single day where I suddenly felt my old self again. Instead, I realised I was doing all those things I’d been missing. I was able to concentrate on reading. I wasn’t needing a nap every single day. I found myself able to write creatively again.
I wasn’t fixed. It’ll take more work to deal with everything, and my therapy will continue indefinitely. But I was better than I had been. I was able to enjoy life again.
But this last couple of weeks, everything feels like it’s sliding backward.
In the New Year, I revamped how I was living. After six months of spending the majority of my time job hunting, with absolutely no success, I decided instead I’d start using this time to focus on what I loved.
What I had was an opportunity to try and make something of my writing.
I haven't stopped job hunting. But I shifted my search to look for part-time roles, and hopefully by the time I found one I’d be in enough of a grove with my writing to keep that up as well.
So I resolved to do this properly. Until I found a new job, writing would be my full-time occupation. I revamped my website. I researched ways to make money writing. I joined Medium. I also started applying for writing roles and signing up for freelance writing platforms.
And I set up a writing schedule. Fed up with how rarely I posted anything on my blog, I decided to be firmer with myself. Each week I would publish an article on Medium, a blog post, and a book review (assuming I’d finished a book that week). This would have the dual purpose of forcing me to keep up regular writing, building my skills, and also keeping my social media engagement up.
And it worked. Throughout January and the beginning of February, I kept up with this new routine. I got up each morning and "went to work". I planned ahead, working out what I wanted to write and ensuring I was always a week ahead of myself.
The fact we were in lockdown and had nowhere else to go helped. I hoped it would give me the time to settle into a habit, and so once the world opened up again I'd have the momentum to keep going.
But it’s only been a month I’m finding myself drifting back into the fog.
These last couple of weeks I've felt myself sliding back to where I was before.
I’ve been finding it harder and harder to motivate myself. I find it harder and harder to switch off at night, and my revenge bedtime procrastination is back. Which in turn makes it harder to get up in the mornings. And that time awake is spent watching TV, rather than reading, because I can't engage my brain. I'm tired most of the time and find it harder to think.
In general, I’m feeling flat again. Uninteresting. Dull.
I know that a lot of this is down to lockdown. It’s been a year now since this all kicked off, and two months since I’ve seen anyone not living in my house. Zoom is great, and I've welcomed chatting with friends online, but it’s not the same.
And I’m still processing all the things I was going through last year. I know it's not over yet. It's a process, and I'm aware that I've been trying to work through my marriage ending in a time when everything is harder than normal.
I think there is also an element of come-down from the last couple of weeks. Before this drop, I was on a bit of a high. With Polyamory Week I had seven days on posts, and have been having a wonderful time coming up with those. I also had some wonderful feedback from people. At the same time, I was reading a book that I was absolutely in love with. I couldn't put it down. And, as all good book readers know, there is a very real sadness when you finish a book like that. Whichever book follows it will always seem lesser in comparison.
But knowing all this doesn’t help. Nor does knowing that everyone else is going through hard times as well. If anything, that makes me feel worse. Compared to so many others I’m in such a privileged position. My own mental health feels inconsequential compared to what other people are going through.
But I’m not as bad as I was before Christmas. I still have the medication, and I still have therapy every two weeks.
I'm still able to get stuff done. If I sit myself down in front of the computer I can settle into a nice writing groove. If I pick up a book and make myself open the page I can read and take it in.
It’s mustering the motivation to do these things, and the passion to enjoy them, that’s the problem.
