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Posts Tagged ‘blanket’

The past few weeks have been horrible.  I’ve felt pulled in too many directions, unable to speak of my exhaustion and find the word “no”.  It’s all come crashing down, with overwhelming fatigue, loss of joy and the inability to find joy in anything.

Recognizing that something was wrong, I started examining my life.  My diet has been horrible as of late.  I’ve not been drinking as much water as I should.  I’ve not been doing yoga.  I’ve not even been breathing properly…it’s only recently that I’ve learned there’s a right and wrong way to breathe.  I’ve been filling myself with artificial sweeteners, processed convenience food and empty calories.  And it needs to stop.

I’ve stopped expressing myself, writing in a journal.

I’ve stopped doing things for me.

I’ve stopped living…and now it’s time to start again.

I’ve found a lovely water bottle that is fun, funky and functional.  I carry it with me most all of the time and I drink 8 cups of water a day.

I’m going to buy a new journal and write in it, most every day.

I’m going to slow down and prioritize and put myself back on the damn list…towards the top.

I’m going to spend time every day outside, whether walking, breathing or simply being.

I’m going to be healthy again.

I’m going to be me again.

I’m excited.

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For me, depression is a blanket.  Not a freshly-washed, clean and cozy blanket, but a threadbare, smelly, can’t bear to part with it long enough to wash it blanket.  A large security blanket.  It can wrap around me, keep me warm and once I’m snuggled under I don’t really want to take it off.

I’m embarrassed to show anyone the blanket because it looks disgusting, but it is my sanctuary, so I keep it all to myself.  My blanket is never too far away.  Sometimes I sit with it on my lap, or stroke it while being near it.  Sometimes I wrap it around my shoulders, and then take it off when I get too warm.  Other times I cocoon myself inside of it, and don’t come out for days, despite the smell.

I love my blanket, it’s been with me for years.  I know I should, at the very least, wash it, but I’m afraid to.  Eventually I work up the courage to wash it and while it smells much better, and feels softer, there’s something missing from it.  As though when I washed it, some of the agony washed away and I’m left with a kind of hollow feeling.

Depression is many things, and for someone suffering, it can be comforting.  The place is familiar.  The feelings hurt, but are recognisable.  It’s dark in my cocoon, but I know where I am and that’s worth something, right?  Well-meaning friends try to “snap me out” of it.  If only it were that easy.  If only it were a matter of saying “alright, enough of this”.  But it’s not.  There are days when I have to talk myself into having a shower, of getting dressed, of cutting my toenails.  Some days I am successful in those things, and other days, not so much.  So I cancel appointments, push off what’s on my already overflowing plate and hide.

Sleep can help.  And usually does.  But when the body hits that point where it doesn’t need sleep anymore and I wake up feeling exhausted but not rested, that’s when panic sets in.  What if I never sleep again?  What if I never feel better? What will get me out of this horrible, scary place?  Are you there God?  How about a sign?

And so I get up, get dressed, come downstairs, make some tea.  I feel unsteady and frightened, but I make it through.  In moments of depression time moves very slowly.  Sleeping through it can make it more bearable, but eventually you have to get up.  People are depending on me, I have a homily to write.

And then the sun rises inside and its going to be alright.  Folks comment on how good you look, how flattering that dress fits, and you feel good.  The blanket is still there, but it’s tucked out of sight.  It’s not going anywhere and that gives comfort.

The blanket may be threadbare and faded.  But it holds years full of secrets.  It holds the place securely where the darkness comes and to where the darkness can return.  We carry those blankets with us and sometimes we set them down and leave them be.  Never far from thoughts, never far from touch.  Standing, as a sentry, ready to cover and comfort us when the world feels too much.

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