the crash

I guess it was bound to happen sooner or later, with everything that's been going on the past six months. Depression hit me hard in April, I got myself back on meds, and managed to get by.

But that's not working anymore. Granted, I rather stupidly ran out of my antidepressants in the middle of last week without refilling them till yesterday, and that caused some nasty side effects -- mild shakiness, poor sleep, nausea, headaches, nervousness -- but today I'm in bad shape. I can barely concentrate on anything, and I feel a breakdown on the rise.

Thank God my new insurance kicks in on Friday. It's time to check myself back into therapy. I feel inadequate to deal with life at the moment, and it makes me tired and blank and helpless. It's like I'm living in this engulfing void of general ill-being.

Depression is hard to explain sometimes. "But what do you have to be depressed about?" I've been asked. "You're beautiful, engaging, intelligent, and you have a good job. You're making it!" Well, I've responded, your circumstances, however positive, don't matter, because this chemical in your brain makes it impossible for you to feel happy, and the bad circumstances seem worse because of it. You don't want to die, but you don't want to live either, because every waking moment is filled, not exactly with pain, but with a black sense of dull horror. Your mind feels dark ("If, then, the light within you is darkness, how great is that darkness!"). The past and present are restlessly upsetting, and the future unendurable. You feel that even the basic aspects of daily living require an atlasian effort beyond your capacity. You doubt your fortitude. You drag through each day just wanting to go home, but are afraid of those moments when you will finally be alone. You want to curl up into a fetal ball and sleep, but sleep comes fitfully and the dreams are awful -- fatalistic fulfillments of all your nagging terrors, or wild fulfillments of your dearest and most impossible wishes.

I'm also wondering if this antidepressant is the best one to be on. My boss's wife has recommended a physician who is excellent with psychiatric drugs, and a psychologist.

It is said that all artists are to some extent tortured, that it comes with the territory, that is it inevitable. I'd like to say I'd rather not be an artist, or be only a mediocre one, and just be okay. But really I want to be an artist AND be okay. Being okay, however, is top priority.

Something's gotta give. God has always been faithful, and always will be. I need to hold to the good with everything I have and have left, and get some qualified help, STAT (as in next week).