One small accomplishment

For the past week I’ve had anxiety about leaving the house alone.

I’ve been scared of going out and having another depressive episode and breaking down in public.

I’ve managed to walk the dog just fine and without worry, but anything bigger than that I’ve avoided.

I’ve needed to run an errand all week, but I’ve put it off and put it off, my chest tightening and pulse rising at the thought of it.

Today I made a small accomplishment and convinced myself to leave the house while my husband was at work. I made a trip to the post office and the grocery store. And despite some chest tightness, and tears threatening to well up in my eyes, nothing happened. I didn’t have a break down.

Today, I made it. Hopefully that’s a step forward in making it out successfully again.



It’s been too long since I posted.

For a long time I was feeling pretty well. No major symptoms from any physical condition; I even stopped using my cane.

Just my depression, fluctuating in and out, kept me down.

I stepped down from my PhD to an EdS and graduated. I didn’t even have a breakdown over it. I met with my therapist every two weeks and it kept me even. Even to the point that I considered not needing to see her so often.

Then I moved. And I haven’t seen a therapist in two and a half months.

And I miss it.

My depression has been overpowering lately.

I end up crying every time I leave the house alone. I’ve had breakdowns in Target and Michael’s, and driving down the road.

The first time I was filling my Prozac prescription, waiting on the CVS in Target. I walked around the new store in my new town, with it’s different selection from my familiar University-town store, and everything went sideways. Intrusive, negative thoughts about not deserving new clothes because I don’t have a job yet started it. At least that’s the best I can pin-point it. Then they didn’t have pants I wanted to get for my husband in his size. Then… I don’t know. But it was overwhelming. Sadness, emptiness, self-depreciation. Tears welled up in my eyes and I struggled to hold myself together.

For four days after that I didn’t go out except to walk the dog. I didn’t shower or basically take care of myself at all; I ate because my husband made me dinner. I woke up when I physically couldn’t sleep anymore…and very often napped again shortly after. Things only turned around when my husband was home.

It’s been mild ups, and downs, since then. Sometimes I feel normal again. Mostly I feel empty and uninterested. Tired; Fatigued. Occasionally the nasty intrusive thoughts of not deserving, not being valuable, not competent, and never improving rear their ugly little heads; despite recognizing I don’t deserve these thoughts and distracting myself from them, I haven’t been able to silence them completely.

Then today I managed to convince myself to go out and run some errands. I forgot the post office was closed for President’s Day. And the the glue that held my cracks together began to become undone. Everything I needed from Michael’s, I got, and yet I still left holding back tears.


Depression is like that I guess. It eats at your edges. It sneaks in and crushes everything around it with wave after wave of apathy and negativity. It isolates you.

And to fight that I’m trying to blog again. To reach out and break the silence that depression tries so hard to impose.