Thursday, October 29, 2009

Ooh La La Depression.

I’m not sure whether I should be blogging about this kind of thing. But if you’ve been reading this blog for a while, you’ve probably been reading between the lines and you’ve probably already guessed that there’s something amiss in the contents of my brain. This is me admitting it, I suppose…
And yet I can’t actually spell it out. I feel pretentious enough with this blog post. But, you know, I sort of need to say it. Even if in a roundabout way. Judge if you want. You’re going to anyway.
Yesterday things came to a head. You know when they’re going to and then they do? It’s a sort of relief.
I actually can’t say it. I’m rarely lost for words so what is this new lack of eloquence?
I have had this ‘illness’ for two and a half years and it’s not getting any easier. But there are days when it’s not even an issue. It doesn’t cross my mind at all. Things are hilarious and life is good and this is just something I have to deal with. And God bless Prozac because it certainly makes dealing with it a lot easier most days.

But there are still terrible days. Terrible port-fuelled nights of melancholy and feeling ambivalent towards the whole life thing. I cry too much. Far too much. I am my own worst enemy. I’m supposed to be giving myself some sort of fighting chance at winning at life, but I’m quick to criticise myself, and quick to give up. But I wouldn’t let my best friend do the same things I do.
Are the quick and bad decisions I make a result of the depression? Is my self-sabotaging nature a by-product of the chemical imbalance? I don’t know much about it at all. I’m not sure if some of it is depression and other bits are just Emma Norris. I don’t know. It’s all very strange.

Last night was lovely. Last night was the perfect end to an exhausting day. Aisling made me beans on toast and the most perfect cup of tea while I showered and washed my silly arm. When Kate came, I made hot chocolate and we ate Roses and listened to Dean Martin. It was perfect. It might not sound amazing but it meant the world to me. I love my friends and I know they love me and they’re what I’m most grateful for in the whole wide world.
I’m also extremely grateful for JG and his oh-so-quotable words of wisdom and his confidence in me.

You read people’s blogs and you forget that they have real, ordinary lives outside of what they choose for people to read. You forget they have real life friends. Mine mean everything to me. More and more, I’m realising just how much I adore them, how much I need them, and the extent I’d go to to make them happy. I wish there were the words. I wish you knew my friends. You’d love them too.

I’m not sure what the point of this post was, exactly. Hmm.

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