Okay, so not really. Beth Anne (over at Okay, BA!) has dubbed hers "The Big Ugly" but I don't feel right stealing that name. My own is different. It's mine. I feel oddly possessive of it, but possessive in the way that a person might be possessive of any illness. It's *my* disease. Maybe naming it will make it less scary. Har de har fucking har.
It's my old familiar, back again. Of course. Right when I join a study about it.
We had a white elephant gift exchange at work today. I bought a gift, knew I'd be cutting it close because it was at 12 and I'm in meetings every Tuesday from 11-1. I missed it. I got done with my meeting just in time to snag some food (which was yummy) but I missed all the fun. Pity party for one, yes? Someone kindly snagged a gift for me, since I was absent, which was very nice and it's awesome (Grinch boxers and M&Ms. Hee hee.) but I still feel sad and alone and pathetic and it's so stupid that I feel this way.
I think I'm feeling overwhelmed. I'm tired (of course... Because *god forbid* L would sleep through the night again. Or wake up less than twice, for less than 45 minutes...) and I'm feeling unmotivated. I feel restless. I don't want to move. At least it's not the complete Mess, just the depressed part. It's a piece of my mess pie. Fuck. Naming your illness is hard.
Fuck this. It's DEPRESSION. Giving it a cute name won't make it better. It's just depression. Plain and simple. It's ugly and big and horrible, and it's mine.
Breathe. In. Out. Feel the beat of my heart. Live in the moment. This, too, shall pass.