... that i am barely through without you.
... and i need the next 25 weekends to fly
... February please come soon.
Image courtesy of flavita.v on Flickr.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
the truth is...
... that i am barely through without you.
... and i need the next 25 weekends to fly
... February please come soon.
Image courtesy of flavita.v on Flickr.
a view from the dumps
She tries very hard to look at things on the bright side. To find the silver lining in everything. She is conscious of how much a positive mental attitude helps. She's generally quite good at this.
But the truth is she is prone to bouts of depression. As is much of her family. Perhaps more than the asthma or the eczema, it's the hereditary depression that bothers her.
She wasn't always quite so susceptible or at least no more so than the average Joe. But three summers ago she started to feel the tremors that would lead to a full blown life earthquake that lasted about a year. Two summers ago was when it was at its worst.
That summer, what most people don't know and didn't see, were the hours upon hours she spent in her bed. Unable to get up. Unable to eat. Unable to really do much. Watching hours and hours of Charmed and Poirot, Friends and Family Guy, just to get through the day. She managed to get out of bed about once a week to attend a Lindy class because that was the only thing she could deal with that involved being around people. She spent a small fortune on phone calls to friends in far flung corners of the world because they gave her the light she couldn't see for herself. She cried. Every single day. For hours.
But she got better with time. She is proud that she never resorted to the drugs to make it better. Thankful that she had angels in her life to help lift her up. Grateful that she found it within herself to make it through.
She went from crying everyday. To once a week. To once a month. And now it's once every so often.
But she hates that it happens even once every so often. That once in a while she visits the dumps without even meaning to or even knowing how she got there.
She needs to start with the crazy exercise routine again she thinks. She could do with losing the weight and the endorphins are always welcome.
Bring on the treadmill.
But the truth is she is prone to bouts of depression. As is much of her family. Perhaps more than the asthma or the eczema, it's the hereditary depression that bothers her.
She wasn't always quite so susceptible or at least no more so than the average Joe. But three summers ago she started to feel the tremors that would lead to a full blown life earthquake that lasted about a year. Two summers ago was when it was at its worst.
That summer, what most people don't know and didn't see, were the hours upon hours she spent in her bed. Unable to get up. Unable to eat. Unable to really do much. Watching hours and hours of Charmed and Poirot, Friends and Family Guy, just to get through the day. She managed to get out of bed about once a week to attend a Lindy class because that was the only thing she could deal with that involved being around people. She spent a small fortune on phone calls to friends in far flung corners of the world because they gave her the light she couldn't see for herself. She cried. Every single day. For hours.
But she got better with time. She is proud that she never resorted to the drugs to make it better. Thankful that she had angels in her life to help lift her up. Grateful that she found it within herself to make it through.
She went from crying everyday. To once a week. To once a month. And now it's once every so often.
But she hates that it happens even once every so often. That once in a while she visits the dumps without even meaning to or even knowing how she got there.
She needs to start with the crazy exercise routine again she thinks. She could do with losing the weight and the endorphins are always welcome.
Bring on the treadmill.
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