The Monster Inside My Head

Depression. It has a strangle hold on me, and it refuses to let go. It is more gripping than being strapped down in bed. It affects more parts of my life than I ever knew was possible. It hits night or day, and it hits hard.

Lately, this ugly Monster has inflicted me with Sleeping Sickness, or at least that's what I call it. I am so utterly fatigued all the time that I cannot complete simple, everyday tasks. I can sleep for 14 hours or so at a time, and still get up exhausted. I am soooo sick and tired of being sick and tired. The Fibromyalsia doesn't help- and is most likely the cause of this extreme fatigue.

I thought the increase in day length due to the changing of seasons to spring would be helpful in coping with my massive depression problem- along with the medicine cabinet of pills- including anti-depressants, but so far I've been mistaken. Perhaps it is unfair to think day lengthening would help when lately (for past several months) it has been rainy and cold predominantly. I know for sure that sitting in the sun and drenching in it's rays is very beneficial to my mindset. I think it helps everybody that way. Still, I can't shake this dark cloak of depression hanging over me like gloom and doom forever.

Yes, recently I have entertained the thought that everyone around me that's been subjected to my myriad of constant complaints of pain and discomfort would be relieved if I would commit the ultimate act, and just permanently end my own pain and suffering. Hara-kiri, if you will. Destroy my own soul. Put me out of misery.

But here's the kicker to that end: I am so fricking depressed that my next thought was that probably nobody would notice my demise. So despondent that I figured I wasn't worth the trouble- even to kill myself. Why bother? Somebody would just have to clean up the mess.

I did, however, pick a rather enlightened place to have my most severe mental breakdown to date: the doctor's office. Not just any doctor- but my pain specialist doctor- apropos, doncha think?

Dr. Braun is a very competent and affable doctor. He has a rough row to hoe- listening to people complain about pain all day. I wouldn't want his job- even on a good day. I was in his office for the third set of painful (both) knee (into the joint) injections in as many weeks. The nurse was the first to notice the drastic change in my demeanor, and made note of it on my chart. She wrote that I was extremely calm and sad, but determined. She had no way of knowing the total hysterical breakdown that was waiting for Dr. Braun behind the exam room doors. The tears started to flow, and couldn't be stopped.

I babbled a lot of problems that I am currently experiencing, and Dr. Braun was trying to get the injections ready for the procedure. I usually steel myself for the coming painful injections- but this time I just didn't care, and I cried out in pain as the medicine went into the knee joints. This startled Dr. Braun, as I was usually quite quiet during this painful procedure. He immediately apologised for hurting me- which I quickly assured him it was not his fault the darn injections hurt so bad. He tried to comfort me, in the hope I could quickly regain my composure, but when that didn't happen, he sent the nurse back into the room.

The nurse helped me up and out of the room, and directed me to the in-house phone so I could call the crisis line at the psyche ward. She stood by me until she witnessed me make the call to the crisis number that she had provided. By this time, I had regained enough of my dignity and composure to realize that I didn't want the little men in white coats coming out to pick me up and throw me in the padded room with a straight jacket on. Besides, It was Riley's birthday and I didn't want to miss it.

I mustered all the sanity I could, and calmed the tremble in my voice to ask the crisis line to transfer me to the counseling side so I could make an appointment, which they did. I managed to make the appointment and kept it.

This is at least the second week of this horrible, terrible Sleeping Sickness. I am so physically tired that is difficult to get enough strength to write. After waking, it is all I can do to stay awake- even with massive amounts of coffee. I am confined to the will of the body in depression, and that means total submission. Not enough strength to lift an arm or finger, if that is the will of depression. Not strong enough to keep small eyelids open for very long. I have to take breaks during the morning shower. It's worse than being handicapped- for there is nothing virtually wrong with me- physically.

It's all the Monster in my head. Pray for me.

Sheila