For my birthday, which comes every year just one measly day before the biggest holiday in all of consumer and Christendom, a friend of mine gave me a little desk calender. It is appropriately themed “Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff”, because my friend was tired of me never knowing what the date or day was. I guess my every-day-is-a-holiday-when-you’re-unemployed attitude was wearing terribly thin. Also I think my friend was making a not so subtle allusion to my non-medicated neurotic behavior and the actual copious amounts of sweat I would routinely shed over very little things.
You see, non-medicated Danica lays awake at night for hours worrying about every minute detail in her life and the life of everyone she knows and loves. She spends days (and I mean DAYS) running every conversation she has had in the last month over in her head, analyzing every word she said and all the ways in which she sounded like an idiot. Non-medicated Danica’s eyes well up with tears several times a day because she believes the world is actually crashing in on her. It’s not pretty, and for much of last year I was that person. And for a long time I thought that person was ok, or I was trying really hard to make her O.K. because I didn’t want to talk to anyone about it. I didn’t want people to think that I was just some lonely, bored, unfulfilled housewife who needs an anti-depressant to choke down the bleakness of her world. Because that’s what I use alcohol for, people.
It finally became to much around the anniversary of my brothers death, and in December I got a new doctor. After discussing with her my personal and family history of depression, she suggested I go back on medication. I decided to give it a shot, and I’ve been very happy with the results.
My little desk calender has also helped, in its own small way, by giving me something to look forward to every day. It’s the kind where you rip off a new page every day revealing a different inspiring quote. On most days I find the messages thoughtful and encouraging, but today’s quote gave me pause.
It reads:
“Imagining yourself at your own funeral allows you to look back at your life while you still have the chance to make some important changes.”
And yes I am now medicated, but that? That right there is a visual I don’t really need.
Ok, I just started blogging today and while poking around Blogspot sent me here randomly. Love your page.
Definitely macabre for the medicated and un-medicated alike!
“Don’t sweat the small stuff, but turn up the heat on the big stuff already.” Sheesh.
you’ve become a daily read for me. You freaking cracked me up with the “that’s what I use alcohol for, people” line. I love the rawness of your posts and the fact that you’re proof that maybe I can have children while struggling with the deep dark hole of depression. Oddly I often imagine my own funeral (perhaps an 80′s prom theme with a backdrop behind my casket that people can pose next to me for a photo and some sort of drinking game that involves shots off the casket everytime someone says something cliche like “she’s in a better place”).
I struggled with depression the worst in the early 1990s. I also laid awake at night worrying about every little thing. I was on Celexa for about 4 years, and that started making me “emotionless.” I was on and off of medication for years, but now I have not taken anything for awhile specifically for depression. I am on beta blockers for a heart irregularity, and at the same time it keeps the anxiety in check! Unfortunately I can’t have any booze.
I really get a craving for a Bloody Mary sometimes.
I am going to be 53 this year. I think about my funeral TOO OFTEN. I can’t help thinking “if I live to average lifespan, I have about 22 years left.” How much time do I really have and do I have enough time to do anything really significant? I could have 40 more years, or 4. No one knows. Looking back may be pointless. If we look too far into the future, we miss out on today…the here and now. So, I try to live by this little saying by Grouch Marx –
“”I, not events, have the power to make me happy or unhappy today. I can choose which it shall be. Yesterday is dead, tomorrow hasn’t arrived yet. I have just one day, today, and I’m going to be happy in it.”
A little booze and/or medication makes that a little bit easier to believe.