Yesterday was great. Really great. I woke up happy to be alive. Note that amazing sentence. Happy to be alive. Then I cleaned my kitchen, part of my room, and did laundry - all the way to putting my clothes away. It's amazing how much one can do when the depression takes a vacation. I did discover that being actively excited to finally be happy to be alive was still emotionally draining. I also found that I tired more easily than that phantom time when I lived a "normal" life.
I went to the NAMI picnic. I ended up playing the guitarist's guitar when he wanted a break. Spontaneity. I like it. Oh, and there was just one person I particularly knew still there then. That helps. And people mostly ignored me. That helped, too.
Then I crashed for 30 minutes at home. Then exercised at the gym with a friend. Then went to my dad's b-day party. Stuck my foot in or near my mouth a few times, talked alot (I do, sometimes), ate food, petted the stinky goats - oh, wait, I didn't pet the really stinky one, I just petted the nicer ones, petted "my" cat and dog. Then dreamed about my dog that night, I think getting ready to die in my dreams. Alas.
I knew the happiness might or might not last. I'm going through a med change, so maybe it would last this time, I told myself. I was not going to "plan for my relapse" or however my counselor put it (negatively). I was going to keep high hopes. I did remember that it's rotten to have the depression say hello after a really good day or few days. But I was going to hope.
I HATE ocd. Or whatever it is that messes with my brain. I can't figure it out. I can't understand like I want to understand. Christianity, chronic illness, sin, grace, etc. I visited a different church today. It was nice, but nothing seems to shut up the hole in my understanding. I guess I've got to just let it be there. I HATE ocd.
When the depresion goes down, then I can notice the anxiety. Then the depression comes back. That is my lovely pattern. I hate that, too.
Anyway, today I was feeling like a stranger on earth. One of those people who should be locked up. Great morale to be gained by a stay in a psych ward.
But I was hoping my meds were working better. I keep hoping, keep thinking that this time, we've got it licked. That in the next few weeks, this mental illness thing will recede enough that I can live a normal life - i.e. work full time without going crazy, or taking lots of college classes also without loosing it. See a counselor only every other week. See the Psych Dr. every 6 months. Be able to plan to go over seas again. Not need to keep getting training and help to deal with this monster. But so far, I'm not all the way out of the woods. Well, maybe this afternoon will be better. Or tomorrow. Or the day after. Come on, optimism, don't leave me now!