The Devil you know.

Met with Lucia (my therapist) on Friday afternoon after a long hiatus.

You, dear reader, know of my general malaise as of late. When I described my frustrations and sadness, she asked me general medical questions, which, I'm sure, she is required to do by law.

She asked, first, what was going on. I immediately burst into tears. I told her of my frustrations at the fact that I was not yet pregnant, and that my old friend Lesley was. Here, a woman with menstrual problems her entire adolescent and adult life, now expecting. I try to so hard to understand, yet it is so random. Why can a person weighing nearly 400 pounds, chain-smoke Lucky's, and practically shoot heroin through their eyes get pregnant, and I can't? I often feel that the universe is just laughing at me. Les is pregnant, my massage therapist is pregnant, lots of Facebook friends are pregnant, and to top it all off, 6 out of 8 mothers in my Kindermusik class: pregnant. Maybe I'm just more susceptible to it all.

Anyway, I said that I was so very happy for Les, for Mel (massage therapist). But the sadness outweighs the happiness for them. Because I'm sad for myself. I want it to be me. How can I lie and not say that?

Lucia asked me pointed questions about how I was sleeping (shitty), concentrating (worse), and motivation (in the bowels of Hell). She looked at me with hooded eyes and said "You know where I'm going with this, don't you?".

"Of course," I say. "I'm depressed".

And of course, I knew I was. Am. But it's different this time. When I was diagnosed in 2001 with depression, I could barely get out of bed. I would lay in bed for hours, just weeping at the misery I felt. This time, it's more like just a bad mood. Like I've had PMS since October. Flustered, exhausted, anxious, pissed, low self-esteem, unmotivated. She calls what I have dysthimia, which is a "low-grade depression". And that is exactly what it feels like. Just sort-of...off.

She asked of my anxiety. I said it was more energy. That I felt without a purpose. (Of course what sucks is that I'm so ready with the purpose of being a mom, but that will change) She said "it sounds like you're missing out on something. You need purpose to thrive. You need your creativity to live". But without motivation, I sit at home and do nothing. I long for Spring, when I can get out to take photos without fear of hypothermia. To garden. To walk my dogs. Lucia says I need an outlet for my creativity, which I knew, but it always somehow means more coming from her.

She gave me four assignments to do before I see her again next week. I won't share them with you. For my eyes only.

The weekend felt different, after seeing her. Because now I knew what I was dealing with. For months, I read these books. Self-help books. Which, in my opinion, are just trash. I tried reading Power of Now (sorry Petra, I couldn't understand it). I tried the Law of Attraction (sorry Dana, when you're in a foul mood to begin with, it just doesn't cut it). And I kept saying to myself "why in Sam Hell can't I pull myself out of this?". Well, it turns out there is a little chemical imbalance going on up top. Which may be why there isn't any action going on in the underbelly. However, Lucia feels if I continue to work on the things I'm doing, I won't need anti-depressants. I think she is right. It doesn't feel like that anyways.

And now I know. I've dealt with twice before. And I beat it. And I will do it again.