I've been composing this entry for just over three weeks now.
Unfortunately, I did most of that composition in the minutes before I went to sleep, so it didn't get written down. But that's okay, because it's changed so many times over those three weeks that any entry I wrote wouldn't have been as complete as it is today.
I've mentioned my anxiety issues before. I figured I was just a naturally anxious person, and I just needed to deal with it. You know, suck it up, put on your Big Girl panties, get over yourself. I thought it was a character flaw.
But almost four weeks ago, I had a dark, dark night. I was a wreck.
I often feel overwhelmed by isolation here. I know I have wonderful friends (I love you, Kara!), but I'm still up here on my own. I deal with a lot of stress at work, and at the end of the day I come home to the cats who, while they're great at purring and demanding meals, are not really effective at listening to my problems. Sometimes it feels like everywhere I go, people want to talk to me about Town stuff. It feels like I can't even run into the store to buy bananas without someone coming up to me to complain about something.
I realize my perception is skewed - it's probably less than 25% of the time, but those times outweigh the 75% of the time people just want to talk about the weather. (Don't stop talking to me, people! Just maybe not about work ^_^)
So, there was the dark night. There was a lot of crying and shaking and wondering how my life had gone so wrong. I make a good wage, I have a decent life, why can't I find the energy to get out of bed in the morning? Why couldn't I even pinpoint why I was unhappy?
Then, a few days later, I lost an old friend to a heart attack.
34 years old, full of life and love, and suddenly gone. As I learned more about her life in the years since we had last been together, how she had truly become her own person, comfortable in her skin, I grieved for her loss...and for the loss of who I had been when I knew her.
The me of 15 years ago had self-confidence and bravado galore. She wasn't always pleased with her appearance and she couldn't keep a penny in her pocket (both traits I still struggle with today), but she woke every morning determined to kick life's ass and drink deeply from the cup of experience.
Yes, the me of 15 years ago was a drama student - does it show?
At any rate, to return to the dark days - I decided it was time to seek some medical assistance. I booked an appointment at the Nursing Station to see the visiting doctor, and I explained that I was depressed. We had a good talk (when I wasn't about to break down in tears), and he prescribed a mild anti-depressant. He also agreed with me that I might benefit from seeing one of the counsellors who travel to the communities. I think that talking to someone who is completely separate from the community will offer a distance (and discretion) that I couldn't find in town.
Even before I started on the medication, I felt as though an enormous weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I've probably overshared with half the town because I'm so relieved. I don't see this as a weakness - I see acknowledging it and seeking help for it as a strength.
It helped that my family has been so supportive, it must be said.
So, I've been on the medication for two weeks now, and I lack the vocabulary to adequately express how much better I feel. I'm not saying I walk around delirious with joy every minute, but it's like I've stepped out of the fog. I feel like things are more clear than they have been in a very long time.
Some of the changes are small (I can do laundry again! I can make a proper meal!) and some are much bigger (I'm planning ahead! I went to a baby shower and stayed for longer than half an hour! I'm getting my financial house in order!).
Probably the biggest decision I've come to over the past two weeks is that home ownership is not in the cards for me at the moment. Maybe six months or a year down the line, that picture will be different, but right now, it is not the best choice for me. Removing that stressor has had a very positive impact.
There's a small part of me that still drives by the house on Douglass and gives a little sigh, but every time I come back to my little brown rental house, I am content. I look at the rising balance in my savings account, and I feel pride. I feel like an adult.
So, here's my 200th entry. It's taken a while to write, but I think it was worth the noodling I did over it. Here's to 200 more.
