Les Bleues

I made a realization tonight. I think I am depressed. Fully, deep in the hole depressed. And you know what? It's okay. There is a strong sense of release in saying that I think I very well may be depressed. It isn't the same kind of depression I suffered through back in 2000-2001. This isn't nearly as bad as that. I'm not laying in bed all day long, crying for no good reason. I'm not sleeping 12 hours a day. I don't have anxiety attacks, or trips to the therapist. I'm not taking my Wellbutrin once a day or spending long nights of writing in my journal how much I hated John for breaking my fragile, young heart. No. There is a sort of solace I take from this feeling. I simply have The Blues. I think I like having The Blues. Sure, I'd rather not be feeling them. But I understand now that this feeling is a product of my environment. Many factors lend to the blues. Being so far from everyone I love. The weather. My teeny tiny gray nasty ugly office, where I teach impoverished children the importance of numbers (something I'm not too passionate about). I haven't seen my Nati friends in months, or hardly spoken to them.

It takes a certain kind of strength to admit you have The Blues. To say to yourself, "Baby, it's okay to feel this way". When I had my bout with depression those years back, I tried so hard to push it away. To not deal with it. For those of you who have been diagnosed with clinical depression, you know what I'm talking about. There is a pain within you cannot even begin to think about, and can't understand why. I tried so hard to rationalize, to understand how I could have become so tense, so anxious, in such deep despair. I thought I had done it to myself. Luckily, I was never suicidal. I was just really, really sad. I would have anxiety attacks, two, three, four times a week. When my doc diagnosed me with depression/anxiety disorder, I was devestated. I felt inhuman. The hardest part personally was trying to get my family to understand. I love my mother, but she was the first to deny it. She would flipantly say "Oh you're not depressed! Stop being such a worry-wart". It was heartbreaking. More importantly, it pissed me off. I think my mom is part of that generation that tries to ignore things, thinking they will go away if you push it away long enough. Maybe that is why I pushed the ugly things about myself so far away those past few years- it was ingrained within me. I'm so glad I learned how to listen to myself... otherwise, I would've lost my husband, and so much more. And I'm proud to say I've been depression free for nearly 6 years.

Listening to yourself is cleansing. It may be a whole lot of hokem to some, but to me, it's the most important skill I've acquired in my (nearly) 30 years. You have to tell yourself it's okay to feel, and that means ALL of it. The good, the bad, and the ugly. I've tried very hard to stay positive while here in California. Sure, it's turned out to be just about the biggest mistake we've ever made, but I will say this... California has helped me to know myself, to love all the parts of myself, to love my husband in ways I never knew existed. Being here has made me realize what is really important, and where I need to be to feel whole. Pretty soon, the only blues I'll be feeling is listening to my old friend Shane play that sexy slide guitar on a stage in Bettendorf, Iowa. And that will be just fine with me.