The Murverse

Depression Poop

Depression is a wily thing. When I get depressed, I’m tired all the time and I don’t care. I’m not necessarily sad, depression just saps my will to do anything. That’s why it’s so damn evil for me – sometimes I don’t realize it’s there until I’m out.

I was depressed last week. I just realized this because I have energy this week and it feels so good, so different. I want to get my clothes on and do housework and recording, and writing doesn’t feel like pulling porcupine quills out of a hard to reach spot on my back. I didn’t know if the depression was due to weather (spring fever always hits me weird) or post-vacation blues or just an honest dip in those brain functions where you suddenly think, “if the lion is coming, just lie down. It’s easier that way.”*

I got some things done last week. A bit of laundry. A bit of cooking. A lot of research into future projects. No exercise, no real work, no recording.

I know I don’t have it as bad as others.** I’m not anywhere near suicidal, I’m not in my robe all day (sometimes I’m in pajamas a LOT of the day, but not all day), I’m not giving my family bread and peanut butter for dinner and suggesting they know what to do. I simply feel like moving through life is like walking through molasses. The idea of doing something is so damn tiring I wonder what the point is.

I’ve written about this before, but I’m writing about it now because depression is so damn evil that even when you know it, and you accept it, and you recognize it is something that needs treatment (and I have done all of these things), even then you may not recognize it when it comes calling. It hides like a mouse, but when it leaves there’s, I dunno, depression poop on your floor and you realize you have had an infestation. And you’re thinking, well dammit, now I’ve got depression poop on my floor. Why didn’t anyone tell me I had vermin in my brain?

Depression poop. Sometimes my metaphors get away from me.

Anyway, this is not a cry for help, I’m doing great this week. I’m taking my medication regularly, eating better, and getting more exercise (Just increased my fitbit daily goal again. I think upping it by 500 steps on occasion is a lot better than failing at hitting 10k steps a day.)

No, I’m just posting it here because I’m taking my Big Damn Flashlight and shining it under the couch and telling you, “THERE, that is what depression poop looks like, I didn’t catch it this time with my depression trap (cruelty free), but maybe if you get infested, you will be able to recognize its poop. Or at least, maybe I can recognize it the next time.

  • The thing some people don’t get is that depression is not always a person seeking out the lion (ie suicide). It’s just thinking it’s much more efficient to let nature take its course and not bother with all that running and screaming and finding a tree to climb and OH SHIT CATS CAN CLIMB TREES, etc. Lie down when the lion comes. It’s faster that way.

** I feel this way about my migraines, guilty about complaining because I recognize it’s not as bad as I’ve heard other people talk about it. My migraines don’t affect my hearing or sight, and light doesn’t bother them (on the other side, a dark room doesn’t help at all.) But they’re still migraines and they still suck.

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