I’m mostly writing this to document how wild the ride with my affective state is. Yesterday was a down day as in down, down, down. I had good enough sleep the night before, woke up in a decent mood (which is easier on the days I know I’ll be working out), but struggled through my work-out with lackluster energy and, as I was driving home, felt my mood really souring. I had an endless loop of bad thoughts, mostly directed at my husband and, when I arrived home, the state of things reinforced how I was feeling. That the house was in disarray, even though the baby had been napping the entire time I was gone, set me off. I was on a downward spiral of piss and vinegar.
The crux of the issue yesterday was my deepening anger at having to pick up after a grown man. I totally get that men are wired differently and that they don’t see things through the lens of someone used to tidying up. With that in mind, I try to set the bar appropriately and mostly just don’t want to be living with Pig Pen. We have been together 14 years and my message to and requests of him have been consistent: survey the room as you are leaving it and put things back where they belong. And, when you see something that needs doing (for example the kitchen trash is overflowing or the diaper dekor is at the brim with diapers), do it.
As the day wore on I could barely talk to him, let alone nicely. I felt like I might explode in anger at him, which is just not how I usually behave. We do not have volatile arguments or yell at each other. Instead, I was snappish and clipped and behaving more like an insolent teen-ager, also, not my style. To his credit, he did NOT take the bait which both surprised and relieved me. By the end of the day, I had to get out of the house and took myself to Kohls at near 8 PM. I was in an “I am done” mood and was conjuring separate living arrangements.
I felt marginally better when I returned home, albeit it was late for me and I was tired. I bought my husband new underwear and ‘happy’ pants (you know, cotton sleepwear he could be seen getting the paper in) and I thought that the gesture alone must count for something which brought me some solace. I got another good night sleep last night and awoke in a completely different head space. The way I feel today is the me I know. I am happy and grateful and earnest and hopeful and optimistic and productive. I love my husband and my sons and our home and my life, and the natural beauty of where I live fills me with joy. I mean, how could it not when this was the view on my drive home from working out:
This is one of a handful of days over the last 9 months where I have felt like myself. I’m invigorated without being manic, I’m at ease even though my husband has to work all day (something that might otherwise set me off on a Sunday), I’m looking forward (instead of feeling stuck), and I mostly feel like everything is as it should be and damn am I grateful.
This mindset should be the rule and not the exception and it is with this stark contrast between yesterday and today that I’ll reach out to my PCP tomorrow and request to start medication. Is this what depression is really like?