Tag: depression

  • “you are safe”

    I love my husband.

    Jared says I have been less afraid of him this year; that I am making progress.

    He says for years in the 2010s to the early 2020s I flinched, as in actually jumped, whenever Jared reached out to touch me.

    Jared says it hurt, but he knew it was not him I was reacting to: it was ghosts of the past.

    The body keeps score.

    And even now, my nervous system is highly wired and worn out.

    But I do love my husband, and I am learning to trust the love that he has shown me consistently for 22 years now.

    Trust is hard.

    Trusting men is harder.

    The body keeps score and even with 22 years of careful and tender care, there are confusing outbursts occasionally. It’s hard to remember that my husband is not the enemy sometimes.

    And when my nervous system feels short-circuited due to high alert, the best thing I can do is bury my head in Jared’s chest and let him tell me, without me saying a word, “You are safe.”

    In fact, when I am at my most distressed, Jared takes off his shirt to hold me, telling me I need the contact of his warm skin.

    Jared says, “You are safe,” at the most unexpected times.

    The situation is delicate enough that Jared’s incredible employer lets me hang out with him at work whenever it’s practical.

    Right now, I am drafting this post from the hallway of the press box while Jared is working with the broadcast kids for the Halloween football game tonight.

    Lots of afternoons, when I have been unable to drag myself out of the bed due to despondency, Jared will say, “Come see me,” and when I manage to get cleaned up and out of the house, I just go hang out at his office.

    Jared is truly my safe place.

    How I got so lucky when that man with the online profile “Maxtheape” sent me a message in early July 2003, I will never know.

    I remain convinced that Jared Price saved my life.

  • identity crisis

    I’m grasping for an identity.

    Because you see, it’s always been about work.

    For years, my identity was in my status in my non-profit work.

    Then, I struggled when I became dependent on SSDI.

    Then, I took up photography.

    Then, I opened a photography business.

    And, for eight full years, I basked in my status as a very part-time wedding and portrait photographer. I may have been very part-time, the business may not have been profitable, but by golly, I was an official photographer.

    And then, earlier this year, for a variety of reasons I won’t go into both heath-wise and money-wise, it became the prudent thing to close the business.

    And at the time, I told myself I would still be a hobbyist photographer.

    And then money got tighter– or more to the point, I got more serious about managing our finances more responsibly, and it became the wise thing to part with some of my camera gear.

    And I didn’t take more pictures for myself, my own personal art, like I said I was going to do.

    And life happened, and interpersonal drama happened, and my hormones are still settling from the hysterectomy, and….

    Well, depressed.

    And worse: struggling with a major identity crisis.

    And of late, I’ve felt like the answer was to move us all into Atlanta, away from Carrollton.

    The truth is, I know I can’t run from my depression. It will follow me.

    And, this house that I am sitting in, when we bought it in 2021, was my dream house. It was the house I wanted to grow old in just like the elderly people who lived here (twice) before us did. The primary bathroom is already outfitted for disability access, even.

    *sigh* I don’t know what I am doing.

    I do know that my psych professional says that seasonal affective disorder is on the rise earlier this year, and so I am sitting here just before bed (the wrong time of day, but I give myself points for doing it at all) with my light therapy lamp as she recommended I start now instead of waiting until late October like normal.

    And, it’s time to write more. I let myself get so caught up in analytics, and audiences, and I forget that the most productive, happiest years of my blogging was when I was using my blog primarily as my journal. And yes, I wanted readers, but the readers came because the content was raw. And real.

    So, here I am, telling you I am still depressed. And I don’t know where it’s going.

    And true to form in typical fashion, in an effort to bat away the true identity crisis and deal with it, a crap ton of job applications went out yesterday.

    Because I keep running from what I need to do: process my traumas, figure out who I am apart from being a wife, mother, and any vocation, and remember that I have been a writer since I was eight years old and that is how I deal with my feelings best.

    Stay tuned. I’m going to try to post more regularly.

  • depressed

    Jared and Oliver at the Marina earlier tonight. Schneide-Kreuznach Cinelux-Ultra 85mm f2 on GFX 50sII

    I’m not sorry I sold the second GFX body.

    I’m not sorry I sold 4 of my GFX lenses.

    I’m not sorry I quit the part-time job I’d gotten in July.

    I’m thrilled that Porter is off at UGA and has a beautiful brand new apartment in a brand new apartment building.

    I’m thrilled that Liam has a vibrant social life, and that Oliver is running cross country.

    I’m not even all that sad that school starts tomorrow.

    And yet, I sit here, depressed.

    I tried today. But we were up late last night, so I knew I wasn’t making it to church. When I did wake up to get up close to 11 am today, I really thought I would be able to do the cleaning I want to do today.

    But my body feels so heavy.

    So, when Jared got home from church, it was Jared that did laundry. It was Jared who did dishes. It is Jared who is getting the boys ready for the first day of school tomorrow.

    It was Jared who managed to get me and Oliver out of the house and down to the Marina earlier this late afternoon.

    I have managed to feed myself today and take the photo above and that is about it.

    I guess I am just struggling with where I fit into the world anymore.

    We got Porter moved in on Friday and were back in time to go to the football game Friday night.

    I didn’t feel much like being social. I should have known then where things were headed.

    Poor Abby has to deal with me shutting her out when I am like this too, when all she wants to do is be my therapy dog.

    It’s 8:09 PM, so I will go to bed soon. I will sleep through the night so I can be up tomorrow morning to get Liam and Oliver to school since it will be raining and Jared won’t be able to ride his scooter.

    And I will do what I can to stay out of the bed tomorrow.