punkwalrus (punkwalrus) wrote,
punkwalrus
punkwalrus

Bleah, depressed.

I have nothing to be depressed about. In fact, several good things have happened. The Martian Rover Spirit has communicated back to NASA, the new rover Opportunity landed with no faults, I got my Ohana Hawaiian coffee about a week earlier than expected, I ate great sushi, and I got a new toy, the Jabberwok figure from "American McGee's Alice," I cleaned part of my den so it doesn't look like a trash heap (but it's still cluttered), and Rogue came over to stay the weekend. On top of this, last week has been a bonus week for my son, who got "promoted" (of sorts) out of some supplemental LD classes to a more normal schedule, his grades are holding steady, and his teachers all love him very much. But I got wicked depressed anyway.

The depression that hit me was far greater than any I have felt in a while. See, when I was younger, I was "sorta depressed" all the time. So when a wave of depression hit me, it was just like a big wave hitting a beach on a stormy sea that gets waves all the time, anyway. Now it's like a flash flood in a dry riverbed: rare, but when it comes, you better get out of the way! Of course, I can't, so I get swept up and bashed around the rocks until the water runs out, and I am left spent on a drying shore. This leads me to belive there's a chemical problem, because since I have gotten older, I have noticed more and more I get depressed with no trigger. I mean, I'd get depressed if someone I loved died, because that makes sense. But I got depressed on the way to eat sushi with Christine and Rogue, and it got so bad, I couldn't see movies with them. I ate leftover Chinese food in my bedroom, bawling my eyes out for no reason. I could feel my brain searching for a trigger, something to blame. But this blog has been removing one story out of my head after another, and it's like if I wrote it down in my blog, I can forget about it. So childhood traumas are like, "No, I wrote that down, I can't use it now, it no longer has any power," so I attach to stupid crap. For a while, I thought my pal Mark Mandolia hated me. No reason. He was sitting next to me at the Katsu meeting, and did seem pre-occupied, but I doubt he hated me. It was just something stupid that just came to me, and as far as I know, totally made up from my own head. Then I got upset I had gained 3 lbs, but I know my weight fluctuates, and my diet hasn't been that good recently (they gave us free food at the training seminar last week, which while yummy, was all greasy and bad for me as hell). I am back on the better eating path, and part of me wonders if I am depressed because of something I ate. Now I feel foolish and stupid I was crying for several hours, and my sinuses hurt. I am still in a post-funk malaise, sensitive to EVERYTHING, and man, that's so melodramatic, and I am sick of it. "Boo hoo, I spilled trash while emptying it, and now my hands have rotten banana gunk on them, waaaaauuugghh!!!" Feh.

Of course, as bad as this sounds, this year I have been depressed a LOT less than I used to be. Like I think until age 18, I was depressed about 90-99% of the time. Then that dropped to about 75% when I was until age 22, then about 50% until I turned 30, and now I think I am depressed about 20-25% of the time, with a majority of these periods happening around wintertime. This winter has been REALLY low, like 10% or less, so while I am hopeful for a continuing trend, I don't want to jinx it. But the side effect of this is, when you get depressed less, by the time you get depressed again, it seems so much worse than normal, because you get addicted to feeling okay.

Bleah.

This entry was originally posted at http://www.punkwalrus.com/blog/archives/00000364.html
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