Today I am writing. Winter has knocked the wind out of me
this year, and over the last couple of weeks I have been (with the help of a
higher dose of medication) digging myself out of my burrow. I have been
reminding myself to be gentle and forgiving of myself. I find it very easy to judge myself harshly
when I am huddled on the sofa, wrapped in a cocoon of blanket, trying to summon
the desire to put my feet on the floor and get on with my day. I tell myself,
"You are so lazy! No one wants to get up and do the laundry! Everyone
feels this way. You are not special. Nothing is wrong with you. You are failing
at life. Just get up, and snap out of it!"
I do not say these things out loud, and I do not even say
them with real words, but I know that this is how I feel about myself.
Wonderful friends tell me, "You are fabulous. It's okay to crawl back into
bed some days," but I defend my judgmental self. My judgmental self knows how completely useless I am.
Christmas came and went, and I dug deeper into my burrow.
Finally when my husband commented, "You don't seem good," I
re-visited my doctor. I actually wondered, "How am I supposed to act? I'm
sure he is simply going to tell me to get off my ass and get over myself.
Everyone wants to stay huddled up in bed on these cold mornings." I was
sure he would side with my inner-judge. As I waited, I solemnly hummed,
"Nobody knows the trouble I see..." and then I laughed. And then I stopped myself from laughing.
People who are seeking counseling and drugs for depression are not supposed to
be laughing in the doctor's office. I am pretty sure I was going crazy.
When the doctor entered the exam room, he handed me a
clipboard with a "Symptoms of Depression" self-diagnosis checklist. My
inner-judge rolled her eyes, but the good patient in me honestly filled out
the questionnaire. I couldn’t help but
notice that I kept checking “everyday”
and “most days” beside the majority of
the statements. A strange calm
came over me. My doctor raised his
eyebrows as he calculated my impressive misery score and immediately suggested
I try a higher dose of anti-depressants.
He consulted my chart and remarked that I had been taking a very low
dose and that doubling it might offer some relief.
I felt triumphant on the drive home. Maybe my inner judge wasn’t right.
Over the course of the last three weeks, I have changed my
diet, upped my meds, and been consciously gentler with myself. When that inner voice tells me that my only
problem is sloth, I tell her to, “hush up!”
And then I get up and do something horrible like the dishes.
I am feeling a bit better, and of course I know that winter
will not last forever.
