Friday, the message was, "We're on your side, and we'll help you get the help you need." The message from the most recent call was, "You need to take that job in Rantoul regardless of how you feel." He told me to make a list of all the advantages, and all the disadvantages.
I told him that I'm pretty sure this is clinical depression, and that you can't just gut it up and power through that; his response was that he thinks it's a grief reaction, he's a doctor and has studied this kind of thing, and that when someone is depressed they can still hatstand fishtank coffee machine. (Yes, I stopped listening.)
Not when it's like this.
I am no stranger to depression. I was not happily skipping along with a flower in my hair when WHAM suddenly I found myself unable to cope. My entire life has been trending in a downward direction for ten years and I've had to deal with the emotional fallout of losing jobs, losing careers, losing friends, losing fiancees, losing parents--multiple times. I know what it's like to be sad, and I know the difference between an ordinary depression and something that's crippling.
This is certainly not ordinary.
I know it's not ordinary because I have had to deal with ordinary depression for such a long time. If this were ordinary depression I could gut it up and do what needs doing and remain employed down in Rantoul. I could shove it aside and say, "Bah, this is just me being a big vagina; I need to get to work." I've done it before. Countless times.
I'm starting to think that I haven't heard from my oldest sister because they all talked it over and decided that my brother--who is indeed a doctor--should handle the situation. Well, he's blowing it, because he's doing what he always does (albeit with different methods) and trying to make me do what he thinks is best for me. I can't fault his motivation; but his methods stink, and it's a good thing he's not involved in psychology.
I don't need cajolery. I need support. I need help. I don't need "convincing" that I can somehow magically overcome this in a couple of days just by looking at the pros and cons and realizing that my best interests are served by moving to Rantoul and doing that job.
DOES HE THINK THAT I DON'T ALREADY FUCKING KNOW THAT?
Fuck, I know it's a good job! I know it's a good path to the future! I know that I wowed them down there! I KNOW ALL THIS!
IT DOES NOT HELP!
I've been reminding myself of all this continuously for four days.
Seeing it on paper doesn't make a lick of difference to how I feel. It doesn't make these feelings any easier to deal with. It doesn't lessen the way they crush all the life out of me. It doesn't make me wish any less that God would end my life right the fuck now, just drop a meteorite or tree or something on my sorry ass and call me home, because I just cannot do this any longer.
That's why I've made the decisions I've made. That's why I'm going to the doctor tomorrow rather than work. That's why I've decided to work on fixing this problem before I worry about the rest of it.
I haven't had a shower since Wednesday night. I haven't shaved in a similar time. I've eaten whatever was handiest, and frequently didn't finish it. I'm running out of bread and am considering firing up the bread machine rather than go anywhere to buy bread. I spend most of my day in bed, either asleep or crying or trying to sleep, and unless I dope myself up on Xanax I can't sleep (unless I'm totally exhausted) and all I can do is sit and feel rotten and cry.
Does that sound like someone who can just push past his depression?
My brother might know this if he had asked me any questions about my feelings, rather than just trying to establish a point and pushing towards it, the way he always does. I love the man, but he's terrible at this stuff, so terrible that he doesn't know just how bad at it he is. But just try telling him that.
* * *
I say "all I can do" but in fact I'm slightly more functional than that. I've been able to write about my feelings--but come on, I've been writing since I was 12. 30 years later writing is like breathing; I have to do it.
In between taking the Xanax and finally succumbing to sleep, I've been playing Solitaire and WoW, though in the latter case all I've been doing is running Ormus around and working on his archaeology. I don't have the energy or interest in doing anything else. Arch is simple: go to a dig site, click a button, go where it points, click a button, go where it points, repeat until you find the artifacts; then loot the node. Find another site and do it again. No thought, no speed, no reflexes are involved; you just point and click, over and over again.
Like solitaire, really.
It keeps me from sitting and stewing, doing nothing but being miserable, but it's not really playing. "Enjoyable"? Most of the players I've chatted with agree that Arch is pretty stupid and boring, and my normal opinion is not far from agreeing with them. It's kind of pointless--but the way I've been feeling, it's better than doing nothing but crying.
One bonus of taking the Xanax is that it numbs me to the pain sufficiently that I'm not crying at random. That helps. I've had two tablets of it in the last 24 hours, and it doesn't feel as if I need a third because I'm still pretty sleepy...or maybe I'm just exhausted again.
I should probably go get some food, but I doubt I'd eat it all, and I'm not sure I can trust myself to operate a motor vehicle right now. Two Xanax in 24 hours is a lot for me.
* * *
I wish Mom had been able to remember the name of the pill she took that made her feel wonderful.
She told the story about being depressed, and how her doctor prescribed these pills to help her mood; she took one, and felt wonderful the entire day...and when it wore off, she flushed the rest down the toilet rather than risk getting addicted to them.
I could use one of those right about now.