And as your landlord, it seems to me it is not in my best interest to renew.
As I contemplated my current state of mind as I drove to work this morning, my eyes often glazed with a haze of tears, it occurred to me that I have probably been fighting a battle of dreading every day for the last 25 years. For the bulk of that time, it's been sort of a low-grade pain--one that I have pretty much aways chalked up to having a melancholy personality. During certain seasons, that perpetual sanding on my heart spikes to crushing agony, though, and when that happens, my desperation to feel better kicks in. The trouble with depression, however, is its uncanny way of making you too paralyzed to do anything about the very thing you want to nip so you can stop suffering. And my personal struggle is that once I don't feel absolutely horrendous, I don't stay ticked off enough to pursue the help I know I need. I get back into the "I can survive, I just need a better outlook," mode.
And then guess what kicks in? Guilt. Guilt that I am not strong enough to push away the gloom I know isn't reasonable. Guilt that I continually cast a pall over my family they don't deserve. Guilt because I can't seem to manufacture the joy that other people have. Guilt that I secretly narrow my eyes when people gush about the little pleasures in life--pleasures I have never felt stir the dark fog in my soul.
When I do let something sweet or charming penetrate my murk, I can't just smile. I cry. And I hate it. I'm tired of never being able to have a genuine, pleasant reaction to something without coming unhinged.
As I have mentioned in other posts, I have a lot of ideas brewing, and for all I manage to get done in my depression-impaired state, there's so much more I could tackle if I wasn't driven to sleep to escape my pain, or paralyzed by an onset of anxiety, or rendered sluggish and apathetic in all the other times I'm not in the throes of a more blatant breakdown. It occurs to me that the time has come for me to stop pretending "it's not so bad enough of the time to make any radical change." Because the fact of the matter is, the dull ache days are growing fewer and fewer, and the sobbing, panic attack, confused, mean, hopeless days are becoming the majority. I'm sick of being sick. And I'm tired of pretending I'm ok.
How exactly I am going to wage an assault on my situation with a high deductible insurance plan, I'm not entirely sure. But it's becoming clear to me that while monetary cost has been a reason not to do a lot of health-related things in my life, neglect is starting to look much more costly.
My prayer is that I will break through the thigh-deep quicksand I've battled thus far and really go through with a change. It's my hope that the right intervention will help me pick my feet up enough to run the race, rather than merely dragging along behind it.