Exhale

I have dep.ression.

It's in my family. My Dad lives with it and members of his family live with it. I have brushed against it in the past and became thoroughly entangled in it after the loss of our beautiful little George.

I wrote, "I have depr.ession" at the top and it doesn't sound right. You might hear about my "bad days" occasionally but I rarely write about the "d" word as I don't like labels. I'm not embarrassed by it but it's not the whole story. It is not my definition. At the moment it's a big part of me but in a few months (or tomorrow) it will be a small part of me. It is what it is.

For me, I believe that it's a natural reaction to losing George. For me, I don't believe it is forever. I believe I am recovering. Slowly. Perhaps that makes me lucky. Some people cope and some don't and some really don't. Some people recover quicker than others, some never recover fully and most of us are changed forever. It is what it is.

It's like counting the days since George died (563). He wasn't any more absent from yesterday than he will be absent from tomorrow but today his absence is almost palpable. George's whole life has gone. I am sad. It is what it is. When it is. How it is.

I'm not sure I am explaining it very well.

I don't take an.ti depre.ssants. I don't want to take any risk, however small, while we are trying to conceive. Sometimes I think I should. Sometimes I think perhaps it's better to recover naturally. I don't know which "sometimes" is right.

Sometimes the world is bleak.

Sometimes I feel closed shut like a rusty hinge.

Sometimes it is an achievement to get out of bed.

Sometimes it's like being encased in cement.

Sometimes I am overwhelmed by the enormity of making a cup of tea.

Sometimes I have to search so very hard for beauty.

Sometimes I find it in abundance (quite often right here).

Some times are joyous.

Sometimes I am filled with hope.

Sometimes I am full of creative energy.

Those are great times.

I'd like more of those times please (oh universe).


Today, finally, it was recognised.

Not by Doctor Compassion; he knows.

But by the State.

I attended a trib.unal today to decide whether I am actually entitled to the ben.efit I receive. To award me points for sadness.

It was in a county court room *gulp* and terrifying.

One doctor and one lawyer and one clerk and one crying mother with no son.

Outcome: Yes, you are entitled.
In other words:  That old codger who assessed you in October had his head stuck up his... umm... assessment.

I'm not sure this is a win or a victory but it certainly takes away some of the stress as we have been living with this uncertainty since October.

Inhale.

Exhale.

One foot in front of the other, sidestep, step back, leap forward (all with a bit of a limp).