It’s officially a “depressed” day.  In the 11+ hours that I have been conscious, I have been listless, self-pitying, unmotivated, unproductive, I spent an hour or more in my car — I decided I didn’t want to drive anywhere after getting in with the intention of “driving around.”  The neighbor’s car pulled up and I thought, “please don’t see me, or if you do please ignore me,” but he said “You OK?” in the casualest, friendliest tone that after I assured him I was fine and he went away I burst into tears.

It is impossible to be anything but depressed on days like this.

I know, some part of me knows, that when I wake up tomorrow I will probably feel fine.  I will get ready for work following my usual routine and I will have a normal day at work and it will be like this day never happened.  I feel psychotic sometimes because of this.  What am I supposed to believe??  The feelings of today are absolutely real and intense and yet, once the alarm goes off tomorrow morning I will be “normal me” or “other me” or whatever I want to call it.  The me that believes that I can work myself out of these moods.  The me that experiences days like this has a lot of trouble believing that.

I suppose it’s something like Tara Brach describes where, instead of tensing up and fighting the feelings you just let them flow through you.  Where when I’m depressed my inclination is to curl up into as tight a ball as possible, like I’m trying to hold myself together.  So maybe what I should actually do is relax.  Uncurl myself, lie flat, or stand and throw my arms out in a movement completely opposite from the slow tense curling I do by nature.  How the hell am I supposed to even remember to consider such a thing when my emotions are having some kind of seizure??  Like an emotional Charlie Horse.  Ha!

While I realize the day isn’t over and I still have the opportunity to try this out, it’s easy to use the fact that it’s late in the day as an excuse not to bother with it.  What would I do, anyway.  I don’t even want to leave this room.  If I wanted to go outside I would have to walk past where BF is watching the Sunday night cartoons, probably trying desperately to pretend his girlfriend is not having another one of her depressive breakdowns in the bedroom.  The lack of support from him is another matter, and one I would rather explore when I’m more “normal me” and less “Olivia De Havilland in Snake Pit.”

Sometimes I wish we didn’t have a TV in the house.  But then, I wish a lot of things.