Candy Jar

Really bad day yesterday. I went to a psychiatrist to determine what type of medication I should take. Fun. Let's see, Mr. Boccia, seeing as you are incapable of controlling your own mind, let's see what we have in this sad little candy jar, the one shaped like a badly rendered clown head, the Jar of Weakness. I know it is likely to help me, and that it is not my fault that I feel this way, but there you are. It feels like an admission of lack of control.

I blew up on a loved one last night. That was great. I spoke truthfully, got some things off my chest, but I was bitter and angry, and it was wholly unproductive. I should have been more tactful, less emotional, in what I said. But I suppose anger is a real emotion and beats empty resignation hands down. The defeatist acceptance of fate has gone on long enough.

The really sad part is that I beat myself up this morning for not saying these things a long time ago, granted with less vitriol. And there is that Demon, the self-doubt, easing out from behind a shadow, prodding, stabbing, just when I am a little weakened, subtle, manipulative, skillful.

Before I went to bed, I just sat there reading the warnings, side effects, and counter-indications on the brochure that accompanies the medication, a disgusted grimace, I am sure, set on my face. The medication itself is contained in a complex container, I suppose designed to foil children's attempts to get it out. It is a rectangular piece of plastic, about 3" x 6", and approximately 3/8" thick. It is open on one end where the bubble card the medicine is on is exposed, a small button on the other end which "unlocks" the card, allowing it to be pulled out and exposes the pill bubbles.  It is blue and purple, doubtless the work of some designer who selected the colors for the calming tones (I have always thought "meanings" for colors to be such bullshit. What, this red shirt is going to make me angry if I stare at it too long?).

The psychiatrist also did some tests on me, I assume to determine what other effects the depression was having on me. Most disturbing was the little memory test he gave me. He asked me to listen while he listed three words, then repeat them to him. I did so. He then proceeded to ask me a number of cognitive thinking questions, what is 6 x 9, or how are a banana and an orange alike. After a dozen or so of these questions, he asked that I repeat the words he gave me at the beginning. I could not, not even when he gave me hints.That really bothered me. What else I am I forgetting, what things am I overlooking that might be important, vital to my job or important to the kids? He told me that depression can have a profound and detrimental effect on memory and that it sometimes is the most difficult symptom to relieve.

So, yesterday sucked. It was a bad 24 hours, though, nothing more. I am trying to digest that, to comprehend that I will have good days and bad ones. But I am doing something, taking steps toward the doorway, preparing for the sunlight and the air, I have to stay focused on the goal and not get bogged down by a tiny defeat.