Taking that trip down to Florida to spread the ashes of my late ex-husband along various southern Atlantic beaches had a much larger and longer impact than I had anticipated.
I didn’t expect to cry when I did it. I cried. I didn’t expect to feel sad. I felt really sad. I thought I would enjoy being in Florida, I couldn’t wait to get home. I thought I would feel better when I did get home. I felt worse.
I can normally stave off depression and I keep the majority of the negative emotions and grief tightly walled off so that I can function from day to day. If I do get overwhelmed with low feelings I acknowledge them, allow them some time (usually no more than 2 days) and then I work on bringing my mood back up by focusing on all the positive things that happen and spending time with my amazing support network. This time the effort needed was more than I had. I couldn’t pull myself up and I watched the days tick by feeling trapped down in that awful pit that I hate.
I didn’t want to hang out with people (even though I forced myself to) and I didn’t want to clean, run errands, update WP, read, eat or generally anything other than sleep. I was quiet and withdrawn and it was frustrating to not be able to counter it so anxiety got added to depression and soon 3 days had passed, then 4 and 5 and before I knew it the weekend had come round again with beautiful weather and I could barely bring myself to get out of bed and attend a massage therapy appointment I had scheduled. My friend came over and I couldn’t think of things to talk about, could barely make dinner and all the time a part of me was screaming “snap out of this!!!!! you know why you’re sad, you don’t need to feel like this” all to no avail. It’s the first time in a long time that I couldn’t turn things around within a couple days and I didn’t like it one bit.
The stress of grief and certain setbacks, coupled with one too many people in my life casually making references to killing themselves, knocked me down and it took until last night before I could rally. I’m grateful I could rally though, even if it took longer than I anticipated. Depression sucks. I’m lucky that I can deal with it without needing medications. I try not to think about a day where I can’t rally, where I lose the ability to override those voices that try to tell me I don’t matter. I’d like to think that day will never come. This past week makes it harder to believe that though.
I hope you’ve all had a much better week than I did.