Saturday, May 11, 2013

Defining moments

I still remember the first time I noticed that I didn't enjoy eating anymore. It was 2001, after an open house at my school, at a mexican restaurant with my sister. I had always loved eating, especially in restaurants, but that night the food arrived and it wasn't exciting for me anymore. I remember knowing at the time that this wasn't just a one time thing. This was it. Something else I had lost enjoyment in. Thirteen years later nothing has changed. It is not that I don't get hungry. I do. And the low blood sugar that ensues is not pretty for those who live close to me. But, nothing appeals to me. When asked what I want to eat, or what restaurant I want to go to it is difficult to come up with an answer. Nothing appeals to me anymore. It is not that food doesn't taste good. Those first few bites when I am really hungry are wonderful. My husband often jokes that the secret to getting me to say something tastes really good is just to serve dinner late so I am really hungry. But, still, the pleasure is gone.

It may well be linked to the anti-depressants I have been taking for the past 15 years. My husband says he notices that my moods are flatter. I suppose it is no stretch to think it flattens out my appetite too. Still, I used to really enjoy food.

Recently I commented to him that I wished I could get all my nutrients from a pill - like in those sci-fi movies. Shopping/Cooking/Eating seems like so much trouble for so little reward.

This is what depression is like. Going to bed, getting up, calling a friend, picking up the phone just seems like too much trouble. It is a hopelessness. It is a what-is-the-pointedness. It is a sadness that leaks from your eyes. It is not really crying when the tears just flow on their own. I just notice them, and wipe them away, and sometimes they continue, and sometimes they don't. And when I am asked why I am crying there is no reason. There is just tears.

Even knitting (gasp) is not so much fun anymore as it is just something I do.

I have been reading alot these days. Mostly fiction, but not all. Stories by Ivan E. Coyote. They seem to help.

I am worried about the future and how my vote won't matter because I don't want any of the parties running our government. And I am tired and sad of the behaviour and actions of politicians that speak as though they have my best interests at heart. They don't. Their only interest is their own wish for power and the selling out of their ideals, to make deals, with other people they don't respect.

It is overwhelming that in every area of my life there are too many possibilities, too many choices, too many minute decisions, so that I know whatever one I make I will have regrets and feel like I have made the wrong choice.

It is like Hyperbole and a half wrote in her latest blog. She wrote that it is like your fish are dead, and every one is trying to save you from this reality.

"We will go find your fish."
"Maybe your fish aren't dead, maybe you just lost them."
"Maybe if you just eat right, exercise and meditate your fish will come back to life."

I need everyone to know that just because you can't see my dead fish, it doesn't mean they aren't there. And dead.

If you want to understand how I feel, please read Hyperbole and a Half's latest post. Maybe then you will understand.

It helped me understand my depression better. It made me feel less alone. That is a good thing.

I have been writing this post over the past few days.

Since Thursday I have listened to sixteen grade 12 students present their year long research projects on a myriad of topics: literature and education, biotechnology, computers and creativity, intelligence, emotions, consciousness, commitment, art and society, copyright laws, nature and humanity, the birth of planet earth, mathematics and nature, plant-based whole foods, animal ethics, birth order, and sports psychology. I learned so much from these 18 year olds, and their presentations gave me much to think about.

This generation gives me hope. My children's generation gives me hope.

It is not a corn kernal under the refrigerator, but it is a start.

1 comment:

  1. Hey. HB gives the best definition of depression I've ever read. Your posts are so real and you write so clearly, M-A. xo


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