Moaning and Groaning with Sheebie!

Friends & Kitties!

As you may (or may not) know, I have suffered from depression my entire life.  Actually, "suffered" isn't the correct word--let's say I've been "afflicted" with depression.  I like that better you see, because for long stretches of time there isn't any suffering involved.  The dark cloud is always there--it never goes away entirely--but with meds and positive health choices I keep it at bay.  I'm an incredibly independent person, and I like to deal with my problems by myself; I'm not the "oh poor me" teary, wallowing in bed, needy attention type; I actually have very little patience or empathy for that sort of behavior.  When I feel bad I pull a turtle, and disappear inside my shell.  You know something is wrong with me when I finally shut up.  And there's one other significant indicator that all is not happy in the Head Of Trish: I clean.

Obsessively.  Thoroughly.  Relentlessly, to the point of exhaustion.  Get the hell out of my way or I'll clean you, too.

I'm sure it has to do with flow, when a task is so totally absorbing that each moment is Zen; I become the activity, and the commentary in my head quiets.  It's not necessarily negative commentary either, just every day life, for the most part. I think very linearly and I have a difficult time processing a lot of unrelated input.  As a result I procrastinate, stuff builds up--more inputs--and the cycle continues until I give myself a fine case of anxiety.  I feel paralyzed by so many things to do which, for the most part, aren't terribly important.  Oddly enough, at work my job is to keep track of myriad projects all over and run the treatment plant, and I don't miss a beat.  Just another dichotomous day...

For the most part I try to live a routine-filled life, with a minimum of unscheduled surprises that could bog down my head, and it works.  I'm content, and I have truly happy moments every day which I recognize and treasure.  I laugh.  I socialize and give my friends and co-workers all kinds of grief.  I natter with my hubby.  I look forward to getting up and seeing what the day holds.  I make tons of lists.  I blog with all of you.

Inevitably though crap piles up in my mind, or something unpleasant looms large that I have to deal with, and I start feeling overwhelmed.  My thoughts scurry around like cockroaches on speed.  My creativity suffers.  Joi de vivre disappears.  I ruminate about the past, and anxietize over things that might happen.  And the cleaning begins.  The tidying urge is a primal undeniable thing; it's not a conscious decision.  I simply have to do it, and I do, because I know that empirically, if I start organizing, things will start to look up.  The best I can figure is that tidying my physical space helps  sort my mental landscape, too, because after a few days' worth of titivating in closets and drawers, I feel better.  

Those of you who look past my silly kitties in the blog's photos may be thinking "But your house always looks so clean!", and it is, really.  Scott does a great job.  He knows that I'm much happier in an organized space (he is too, although he's terribly untidy with his things) and he works hard to accommodate my mental kink.  But my need for mindlessness has nothing to do with hygiene, so it's no slur on his housekeeping skills.

  So, I've felt the low clouds coming on for a few weeks now, and last week a switch got flipped in my brain and voila! there I was, inexplicably unhappy.  I called in sick to work on my  Friday (Tuesday) intending to just be nice to myself, sleep late, and wallow in a new book.  It didn't turn out like I planned--I ended up spending three days going through the house on an organizational orgy.  It was like lancing a boil; as each area was straightened my mind was emptied a little more of purulent black thoughts.  I have some residual anxiety (always more to do!) which I recognize as unrealistic so it'll sit on the back burner, simmering, until enough cares and worries get dumped into the pot and it'll be time to neaten up again.  In the meanwhile we have a clean Catio, uncluttered drawers and closets, and a bunch of stuff for the Katnip Lounge Garage Sale--more on that in the coming weeks.  The depression isn't gone completely; I can tell this little go-round was merely an opening salvo, but I have fought and won before and I intend to win again.  (Mom, I know you are reading this so don't freak out.  I'll be FINE.)  Furthermore, I definitively know what sparked this round, and I won't allow it to happen again.  Mea Culpa, this time.

It's all part of my life's journey, and although I detest feeling like I'm running at less than full capacity, I wouldn't trade it, I don't think.  I like my mind, warts and all.

I've never done group therapy (which involves other people) so it is a strange and wonderful thing to be able to "talk" to all of you.  In fact, putting this into words has been quite therapeutic.  You guys are a Depression Poultice for my ugly black brain boil.  Nice, huh?

Thanks for listening.  

All of this just to say that if the Kats and I aren't around as much commenting in the next little while and our posts seem brief, don't panic.  I'm probably just doing a little therapy in the closet.  

Happy Sunday, and have a Good Week, dammit!

XX  Trish  XX