Letter to the Future

The kids in my daughter's 2nd grade class are writing letters to themselves to be mailed to them in 10 years. We received an envelope with instructions to provide a stamp and an address to mail the letter to in 2018. In case we're not still in the same location, we were also asked to provide an index card with alternate addresses of friends and family.

Ten Years! Who knows where we'll be? I sat in the car looking at the envelope trying to imagine whose address I should put on the envelope. I can say with pretty near certainty that we will not be living in the same location. We're currently getting our house ready to sell so putting our current address on the envelope will be useless.

So I started thinking about who's important in our lives and where these people will be in 10 years. I sat in my car reading this benign letter from my daughter's teacher and burst into tears. The most logical people would be my daughter's grandparents. But in ten years will they still be able to live independently in their current homes? I couldn't allow my mind to take their future health considerations to the next unthinkable step.

I think I have identified the addresses I'll include. One makes me smile. I have a friend I met when I was 8, on the first day of school in 3rd grade. This fall marks our 30-year anniversary. He lives about 2 miles from us and his wife is my dearest friend. She was with me at the birth of my daughter. I was with her when her son was born. I smile when I think of them and us 10 years from now with no concerns about whether or not we will still be friends.

Plans for Thursday

Tomorrow is Thursday. Here are my big plans for celebrating Thursday:

• Drive my daughter to school
• 6 hours of watching brainless TV or surfing the internet
  
• Pick up my daughter from school
• Drive my daughter to the end-of-the-year concert
• Be amused at the antics of the elementary-age kids while simultaneously rolling my eyes at the self-congratulatory remarks of the PTA leadership

I can't really do anything to avoid the Spring Concert (though somehow my husband has figured out a way to get an excused absence every year). And usually the kids' amusing antics outweigh the annoying PTA stuff.

It's the 6 hours in the middle of the day that I must do something about. I'll report back tomorrow and hopefully be able to tell you I did more than watch TV and surf the 'net.

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.