It was March 2 when the depression hit. The usual attempts at remedy failed, day after day. And then the old axiom about “just when you think it couldn’t get worse …” cut in as the physical disability flared up. That was a week ago and it hasn’t eased off either.
There are pills for it. So far they’ve had no effect. It’s bad enough having to go out and do things when you don’t feel like doing anything. When you add to that the need to lean against a wall and wait for your strength to catch up every time you get out of the car it’s overwhelming. Especially when the strength doesn’t catch up.
Putting off what you can put off until you feel up to it feeds the depression: “I should be able to do these simple things, but even those I’m mentally up to I’m not physically up to and if I keep draining myself …”
There’s no point going back to the doctor either. They order tests you have to wait six months for and will never see the outcome of. In fact there are two which were supposed to have been ordered which never made the schedule. They prescribe pills which don’t help you function but make you sleep. Well if I could lay around and do nothing there wouldn’t be a problem.
At this point there’s no end in sight. Look at the forecast. Try to grasp some straw of hope for the future. There isn’t one. What keeps you alive is the lack of motivation and ability to alter the state. A Catch 22 of depression and physical incapacitation. And now it’s warmer and wetter so the coughing is worse.
All I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by. – John Masefield