I find myself even more tongue-tied than usual at the moment.
I tried talking about all this to Kat last night, at least until C shouted that dinner was ready, and I found myself having a hard time describing this place I’ve been at, and the choice I just made.
I managed to fumble out the word to my boss this afternoon, and somehow I’ll do the same with my assistant next week.
I’ve been depressed, really, severely depressed…with the sense of pressure increasing the last few months as my knee injury has lingered. I’ve had thoughts I can’t write or even really put into words.
I’ve started and deleted at least four sentences already, none of which quite express what I want to say. I’m feeling particularly delicate in this venue, knowing that I remain the Elaine Nelson in Google, Yahoo and MSN Search, that my personal site is in my gmail sig, that at least once at least one of my coworkers has read my site.
But this is who I am, and this is where I am in my journey, right now: fighting, sometimes, not to fall into the crevasse of despair, to keep a steady hand on my own too-short sense of irritation at the universe, to maintain some sense of equilibrum. I haven’t been doing very well at it.
What is my plan to stay safe? I was asked yesterday, and it occurs to me now that this is one part of it; to remember that I can always write it down, and that writing it down can be a release, even when I feel all alone.
I went to therapy, last fall, and it helped hold me in place. This time, after considering back and forth, I’m taking an extra step…I’m still a little uneasy about it. But after reading the Midnight Disease (excellent book, btw), and remembering other things I’ve read, and just thinking back on the curvature of my moods, I am choosing to try medication.
Whew…can’t believe I just wrote that. Like stripping naked in a public place.
But I have hope, a thin thread of it.
Also, the more I write, the more I hope I can make sense of it all.