DIML as an invalid in South Florida

I am sad all of the time! I wrote about it.

Over the past several weeks, I have grown increasingly and alarmingly depressed. I dislike writing about my depression because I think it is boring and I understand that I am not an entirely sympathetic character. That poor sad woman in bed in South Florida. Who cares? But the reality is that my mental state has been in steady decline for the past year and I do not know what to do. I am strongly considering Wellbutrin and other non-SSRI psychopharmaceuticals. But I am terrified of taking psychopharmaceuticals because of my own bad experience with Celexa. My mental state began to wane around this time last year– after my concussion– and recently the decline has accelerated. It feels impossible to me that I will feel this way forever and impossible that I will not. 

Recently, a friend was at my house. I was delighted to see her. (Though I am sure I did not seem particularly enthused!) I bought sparkling water from Publix for her visit and the effort it took to drive two blocks to the grocery store was gargantuan. So gargantuan that I could not will myself to do it before she came over, instead I slipped out as she was arriving and bought the water, served it over ice instead of cold from the fridge. Remember when you used to walk seven or nine miles a day? I thought. It seemed impossible that I used to be capable. We sat at my dining table 

I am very authentically grateful to the people who watched my TikTok live because I absolutely had to make it to this dinner and I simply would not have done it without an audience to talk to while I dressed myself. It’s stupid but you all very sincerely helped me.

“Most nights [my partner] asks about you. He says, ‘How is Hannah, how is her depression?’” She said. I cried, heavy crocodile tears at the disbelief that the partner of my friend, a man I know but who I do not speak to regularly, cared even passively about my mental state. Because who should care? Why should anyone care that a woman had a lot and burned it to the ground? Why should it matter to anyone except for me that I cannot fall asleep before three in the morning or wake up before ten or get out of bed before noon? There is nothing to functioning except to function. How is it that I both believe myself capable of having a career as a novelist and cannot find the will to open my laptop most days? Every day I feel like I am floating as the minutes and hours pass, simply existing with no real awareness of time. I stare at the ceiling and an hour has gone by. I turn on the shower and get in forty-seven minutes later. I cry between three and eleven times per day. I think of things to write and do not write them. I think of things to clean and do not clean them. I consider meals I could eat and do not order or prepare them. I drink one bottle of water and try to do simple exercises to loosen my pelvis. We hold trauma in the pelvis, did you know that? Sometimes the exercise almost works.  

“That’s so nice, that’s the nicest thing I’ve ever heard.” I said to her, “Do you tell him I am deeply unwell? I’m sorry I’m crying, I do not know what is wrong with me.” Later, after she left I texted her. “Thank you for coming! It was so fun sorry I cried” 

She said, “It’s ok you just felt loved 💕💕

You are very loved 

Good night” 

I cried again. I love her so much.

I am sad because I am lonely. I am sad because I am scared that I cannot accomplish anything. I am sad because my marriage was bad and so I left it. I am sad because I miss my ex-husband every single day. I am sad because it does not feel normal to be sad about a divorce two years later.