I'm a person who has high expectations for herself. I'm driven. I'm motivated. I'm passionate. I believe that life should be lived, not wished away.
Depression has stripped away all of that. The high expectations are still there, naturally, because there's all the self-blame for being depressed in the first place. But I've put everything aside in favor of just surviving. All my dreams and goals have been put on hold as I row my way through this river of darkness.
My computer desktop is a mess of folders full of pictures that need to be sorted and edited. I come across interesting articles and bookmark them for later instead of reading them right then. My thesis materials sit, gathering dust. The laundry remains unfolded. I don't have much energy to comment on blogs. I don't even really have much to say on Facebook or Twitter.
And I don't care. Because getting through this moment, with myself and my family intact, is all that matters.
I feel free. My psyche is chained up tight, but yet. That freedom. To just exist, to not expect greatness, to let my son watch Ugly Betty with me, to give him a bottle instead of solid food sometimes, to go out for lunch everyday, to spend hours in bed, to spend an entire day with my hair unbrushed, to clean when I feel like it and let the dishes pile up when I don't.
I sound completely self-indulgent, and I don't care. What is depression if not the complete turning inward of a person? I can't care too much about the rest of the world right now. I need to take care of me and mine.
Someday the pain will lessen, and my psyche will be set free. For now, I'm counting on the sadness to bring me to my knees, so I can admit that it's okay to be ordinary.
(Thanks for all the love you've shown me through this, everyone. I'm not really all that good at responding to comments. But I read and appreciate every one. Your words have helped me so much.)