Therapy

Earlier today I found myself sitting on the edge of the couch, staring at the floor, head in my hands, elbows on my knees. I looked like the pathetic woman in the antidepressant ads. All my ad needed was a butterfly to fly out of the shadows, sad music to turn into a salsa, and me to perk up and start dancing to the beat while declaring "God Almighty, I feel like myself again!"

Not going to happen.

No butterfly, no salsa music, no dancing and no "God Almighty!"

I've been depressed before and gratefully embraced the assistance of medication and talk therapy. Heck, usually I'm one of the biggest proponents of treating depression through these researched and effective methods.

Somehow this time it's different. I feel like this depression is more situational and less chemical, like this time I need to figure out a way to pull myself up straight and keep plodding along. Like maybe if I can beat this I'll never have to look at the side effects of SSRIs ever again.

Maybe that's just the crazies talking. Maybe the chemicals are the way to go. (If anyone is reading this, rest assured that I don't want to hurt myself or anyone else. I just want to sleep a lot and spend time sitting in the dark. Pretty harmless.)

It will pass and I'll be myself again. (Though I don't really know who "myself" actually is. I feel like if I can figure that out this cloud might go away.) If it gets worse or goes on too long I'll make yet another appointment and get yet another prescription that will give me headaches and insomnia.