Friday, April 26, 2013
Writing Helps
Don't know how I survive this. Depression seems to be getting worse as I age. Maybe it's because I've wound up alone. I don't know why. I'm a beautiful, intelligent, and compassionate person. Not having a family is brutal for me. Everyone around me talks about going here or there with a sister, or going to a family gathering, or how their children are doing. I hate complaining and always try hard to show a positive face. Often I succeed but there are times when it's impossible. Those are the times I just sleep because I can't bear the pain. There is nothing friends can do to help me so they tend to stay away which intensifies the isolation. They don't even read this blog. I think that people are still afraid of mental illness.
There are so many wonderful things I could participate in, but this illness renders me unable to do anything, to start anything. There is a nice gym here near my new home and I want to go. My body is weakening from lack of exercise. But the depression is paralyzing so I can't get there. I live close to a beautiful synagogue that I would like to go to, but I can't get there. There are beautiful walking paths here by my new home but I can't get there. There is also an art studio and a pottery studio - things I would love, but I can't get there. My one saving grace is the dog park - I can get there. Watching the dogs play always lifts me out of my head so I go everyday. The physical pain of my depression is intense. I feel it in my head and in my stomach. The only person I can talk to about this is my doctor. She listens with compassion and always tells me that I'm not alone - that we are in it together and are here to help each other. I'd be lost without her. Everyday I count my blessings - my pets, a beautiful and safe place to live, enough money to get by, a good part-time job, a few friends. But it is hard not to feel broken, because I am. My heart and my life have been broken. Faith Middleton, on NPR, talks about the richness of life. I am an outsider looking in at this richness - craving to taste it.
There are so many wonderful things I could participate in, but this illness renders me unable to do anything, to start anything. There is a nice gym here near my new home and I want to go. My body is weakening from lack of exercise. But the depression is paralyzing so I can't get there. I live close to a beautiful synagogue that I would like to go to, but I can't get there. There are beautiful walking paths here by my new home but I can't get there. There is also an art studio and a pottery studio - things I would love, but I can't get there. My one saving grace is the dog park - I can get there. Watching the dogs play always lifts me out of my head so I go everyday. The physical pain of my depression is intense. I feel it in my head and in my stomach. The only person I can talk to about this is my doctor. She listens with compassion and always tells me that I'm not alone - that we are in it together and are here to help each other. I'd be lost without her. Everyday I count my blessings - my pets, a beautiful and safe place to live, enough money to get by, a good part-time job, a few friends. But it is hard not to feel broken, because I am. My heart and my life have been broken. Faith Middleton, on NPR, talks about the richness of life. I am an outsider looking in at this richness - craving to taste it.
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