Depression Hurts

In the ubiquitous Cymbalta (not my drug of choice) commericals, the narrator asks "where does depression hurt?" And when I saw those ads for the first time, I knew the answer--"everywhere."

As if life isn't hard enough, as if the economy isn't coming crashing down around us, as I juggle ten clients and volunteer responsibilities and try to forge ahead into a new life, depression likes to smack me around every few weeks, rendering me nearly incapacitated, unable to focus, unable to breathe, unable to get out of bed. Which of course, results in more self-loathing and more listlessness, all while the emails and phone calls and papers pile on top of me, into I collapse into a heap of helplessness.

Thankfully, this doesn't happy every day or even every week. But it's so frustrating to want to accomplish so much, to do most of the right things, to wake up in the morning excited about life, only to be sidelined--yet again--by whatever wicked combination of chemicals have decided to wreak havoc in my brain. And while I know these moments don't last forever, that I am blessed with supportive friends and family, good medication, a great therapist and the ability--on most days--to cope with this illness, on my bad days, all of these good things vanish into nothingness, leaving only sadness and hopelessness in their stead.