Truth

Okay. I hemmed and hawed about posting this today. But what good is it to hide the truth, to ignore what is inside you? I feel it's important to talk about issues that we suppress, for fear of looking/sounding weak, small, inhuman. In my mind, talking about them makes me stronger. To share, I can commune with what it really is.

I called my doctor last week. I couldn't sleep. Rather, I couldn't fall/stay asleep. I thought it strange, as I was getting plenty of exercise. But I couldn't sleep. And I felt lousy... emotionally. I tried to decide whether or not I wanted to keep the appointment. "Maybe with consistent exercise and eating right in Phase Two, I'll feel better" I thought.

But I went anyway.

My doc is a great guy in his early 40's. He has kind blue eyes and a great smile- his demeanor and personality remind me of my old friend Shane from the QC, and I felt comfortable with him. Doc really listens. He allows me to talk. And so today, Doc was bit of a therapist, as I told him of the whole situation here- how we are leaving in 4 months, my unrest of this place, how I can't be happy. And then something happened I hadn't intended to. I cried. I was embarassed, but Doc handed me the tissues and told me to take my time. What came out of my mouth was, again, not what I had intended, but I'm glad it did. I told him of my "blues". I was sad, hopeless at times, feeling guilt. Doc told me people who can't fall asleep often tend to have anxiety disorders. And people who wake in the night often have depression. But he didn't have to say that... I kind of already knew. I posted about it last week, how could I ignore it? Doc said he could prescribe me sleep medication, but that would just be treating the symptoms and not the cause. And I don't want to be miserable for another second.

I told my dear friend Tracy of this earlier. Yes, I'm scared. It's all too reminescent of early 2001. It's different this time- I have a will to live this time. I have things to occupy my mind (most of the time). I don't cry for hours on end, or lay in bed for 12-14 hours a day (although I could). But the same feelings are just under the surface. I can remember those days, cold winter days, and the heartbreaking feeling that nothing could possibly feel worse. I know it won't get that bad. It's been 6 years, and I'm a much different person now. I won't let it. But I'm also afraid of letting go. Of not being "in control" of this. We all try so hard to pull it together... why are we so afraid of losing control? What will happen if we do?

There is a part of me that is also curious- would I be going through this had we not moved to California? Here, I don't have theatre. I don't have (enough) singing. I don't have teaching. I don't have Les, Ann, Kal, Tracy, Charlie, Chuck, M, B, my mom. The list is endless. And yes, I'm fully aware that I will have all of those things very soon. But you also must remember, I haven't had them for 8 months. 8 long months of feeling dumpy, passionless, ugly, worthless, with no friends and no creative flow whatsoever. You try it, and see how you feel after 8 months.

Depression is a disease so many people suffer from. I thought it the weather (seasonal affective disorder), but I think I know now. I'm pre-disposed to it. Maybe my parents have dealt with it, but never really thought of it as "depression". Maybe my grandparents had it, but it didn't have a name or diagnosis then.

I accept this about myself. I'm truly okay with it, the fact I will be on anti-depressants for the next 3 months. Although this time, it's different. Several years ago, I took them to get back to where I felt human again. I needed to find myself, to get back to a place that was so far behind me I couldn't possibly see it. Now, taking them is just to help me cope. Because why suffer when I can do something pro-active to be happy?