a student's experience designing life.

So this morning I woke up and still felt weepy.  I never got to the point where I cried at all last night, but I still felt like I was grieving over something.  Perhaps this is just pent up emotions, or maybe residual grief finally coming to the surface.  Maybe it’s grief over coming to terms with the fact that I won’t be able to have my fantasy life for quite some time.  Maybe its grief over a deteriorating friendship.  Maybe its grief over my recent failures…  but whatever the case, it was definitely grief.

Today, I’m still trying to act with compassion toward myself in dealing with this wave of depression I’m feeling.  None of my feelings have healed; I am still quite depressed–however, I had a burning desire to reach out for help today.

I guess not squashing my feelings with a notion that they are not valid and that I should not be having them really helps.  Usually at this point I’m no longer really depressed, because I have moved on to anxiety which prevents me from dealing with the fallout of my depression.  But this morning I wanted to talk to someone.  I wanted to share my feelings, as if they might be worth someone’s time.

Everyone in my life that I turn to for support is always telling me I can call them when I’m feeling down, or if I’m having trouble.  I usually dismiss this as politeness and tend to stick it on my own through the tough times and tell them about it afterward.  But this time, I called my mom.

Its an interesting choice calling her first.  Lately I’ve been reaching out to my Grandma first; she’s been my life-line for the last three years living away from home.  She can’t support me with any of my financial needs, but she gives the best hugs and pretty rock solid advice.  My mom and I have always had a slightly distant relationship–its hard to get close to her.  But today I thought I’d take her up on her offer to call when I’m feeling down.

I think I may have surprised her with my sobby call.  After-all, yesterday I had happily chattered her ear off for a good twenty minutes.  But I figured I would show her exactly how quickly I can be taken by depression, and how deep it goes.

But the best part about reaching out to my mother, was that it helped me acknowledge the validity of my feelings.  Sure there were a lot of suggestions on the line from Ma about eating the right things, drinking some water, maybe it’s my wacky hormones, etc.; but I think the mere act of calling someone and reaching out DURING THE MOMENT depression had gripped me the hardest was the best thing I could have done to nip this thing in the bud.

I was feeling pretty bummed last night and acted with compassion toward myself to let the feelings happen.  Then, this morning, I still felt pretty lousy and acted with more compassion.  This is probably one of the darker depressed states I’ve been in in quite a while–but also the shortest.  I’m sure I’ll not fully come out of it for a few days, but I feel functional again, and without anxiety.  That’s the best part.  Most of the time its the anxiety that follows depression that cripples me.  Writing this blog seems to be helping too…

Feeling a little stronger,

Lindsay

ps, the first picture was from an assignment in photography class two years ago.  The frame holds a picture of the dog I had as a kid, who was put to sleep in the fall of ’07.  This picture reminds me of the good things in life, including a healthy dose of grief for a loved one.  The second picture is a random one of my mom I snapped as we were walking to the car one day.  I only got two before she covered her face and told me to put away the camera.  😉