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My black dog
So, I have clinical depression. Quite severe depression as it turns out, but I've always struggled with the idea because my black dog is not the hulking heavy beast of nightmare: weighing my steps and casting its shadow over my soul. My black dog is a frisky labrador puppy with a vigorously waving tail, who manages to trip me up and make me fall flat on my face. Over and over until I can't get up. It then licks me on the face until I giggle, but I still can't get up.
My mental illness is a very physical thing. Clearly it's a mental illness too, or I would have been able to concentrate, remember and problem solve. I'm reminded of how often my shrink tells me I'm "interesting".
My mental illness is not my only illness, so that complicates matters. I have come to trust my own assessments of what's going on at different times, and mostly I think I've got it right. But the critical question "Are you fit for work?" is one I'm starting to doubt. The answer lies somewhere in the transition between physical illness (which may or may not be caused by depression) and pure mental illness, which should respond to treatment.
Gah, I gabble pointlessly, apart from a desire to capture my black puppy words. Also, waiting for the sleeping pill to kick in.
My mental illness is a very physical thing. Clearly it's a mental illness too, or I would have been able to concentrate, remember and problem solve. I'm reminded of how often my shrink tells me I'm "interesting".
My mental illness is not my only illness, so that complicates matters. I have come to trust my own assessments of what's going on at different times, and mostly I think I've got it right. But the critical question "Are you fit for work?" is one I'm starting to doubt. The answer lies somewhere in the transition between physical illness (which may or may not be caused by depression) and pure mental illness, which should respond to treatment.
Gah, I gabble pointlessly, apart from a desire to capture my black puppy words. Also, waiting for the sleeping pill to kick in.
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Mine's more of the sort that sits on your feet when you stop moving. And then your feet are all warm and cosy and it's much nicer to stay still than to do anything. For months.
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:-(
*hugs*
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*loves*
I'm here for you.
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I'm not sure I understand how someone with such a gift for entertaining writing can have such a problem with depression. When you brighten the world around you, it should reflect back and brighten you as well.
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Depression in intelligent people often gets hidden by frantic busy-ness and keeping occupied and distracted - nervous energy rather than inertia. Doesn't mean it ain't real though.
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My dog is big and fluffy with a long plush tail that wraps me up in warm coziness. It's then far too much effort to do anything else but snuggle, also for months.
:/