I’ve been working extra intensively these past six months because I had a huge deadline at work on June 30. I pushed myself to keep going despite my depression and exhaustion, because there was no possibility of extending the deadline, and because it was work I cared about. Some days I thought I couldn’t keep going, but I would tell myself, It’s all right–you are going to take off a week in early July, and it will be all about restoring yourself.
(I do realize that powering through a depression and exhaustion probably made the situation worse, but whether that was the right approach or not, I felt that is what I had to do.)
I have built myself a little schedule–not too restrictive–with yoga classes and gardening and a day at the beach, along with a consultation with my doctor and a few self-care appointments. I’ve left time for writing in my journal, maybe painting a little. I plan to give the girl some time and space to express herself, if she wants to. I have been reading more about medication and vitamins and foods that may help protect against depression. I’ve been thinking of it as my little self-restoration project.
When I write that now though, it doesn’t make all that much sense. I’m not really trying to restore myself because I don’t have a sense of a healthy self that I’ve just allowed to run down a little. A fresh coat of paint to cover up the dings in the wall won’t take care of it. It’s the wrong metaphor. Maybe it’s more like hitting a reset button, getting myself in a position to start again with my attempt to build a healthy self. Perhaps it’s a shedding of a skin that doesn’t fit me any longer. Or maybe it’s–I don’t know what it is. I’m tired and somewhat depressed, and I don’t want to feel that way anymore. I don’t want it to be so much work to slog through my life.