Speaking From the Pit

They say that one of the symptoms of depression is a loss of interest in hobbies or a person’s other usual enjoyments. If that is true, then I am in the thick of it right now.

I’ve been fairly apathetic toward politics for the past two months—maybe a little less—but that is nothing very new or worrisome. I go through phases where I just want to go “Ugh, f*** it,” no matter how much I still love Ron Paul and hate the TSA, and then something will happen to flip the switch in my brain and I’ll go back to posting controversial links on Facebook for days on end. I’m still waiting for that switch to be flipped, because I like the feeling of righteous anger. I don’t like feeling bored and numb; I like feeling happy and melodramatic.

Unfortunately, this is also happening with my writing. I’m trying to revise my current manuscript, or kick start the sequel, but I have absolutely no motivation right now. I have taken to putting books on my coffee table, instead of on the shelves, so that I will see them more easily and therefore might be guilted into reading them.

A lack of sleep has not helped, either. I was having quite a good week last week, but for reasons unknown, I came down with insomnia, where I could not get to sleep, and when I finally did, I would wake up a few hours later, at 4 or 5am, and not be able to get back to sleep. Supposedly depression can mess with your sleep cycle, but I wasn’t depressed or anxious until after my sleeping got screwed up. Sunday night saw the beginnings of improvements, but it’s still sporadic. This morning I woke up shortly after 5 for no reason. I still went to my Zumba class, because I’m not a complete idiot (just a partial one), but now it’s 6:30pm and I am so exhausted. Perhaps this is a good sign—maybe by 8 or 9 I will be able to sleep. At least I have nothing going on in the morning so I can sleep in … maybe.

(I really think the screwed-up sleep is the biggest culprit in this latest bout of depression, since my emotions always get extra-effed-up when I’m sleep deprived.)

Then on Wednesday night, my stepdad texted me to say he had to take my mom to the hospital: she has bilateral pneumonia again. She’s admitted until at least Saturday, but unlike last time (a mere 10 months ago), she has Dr. House right on the case, and her X-rays are showing improvement already. The doctor said (surprise! [not really!]) that she needs to get more rest and take better care of herself. In fact, the first thing I thought when Bob texted me (Besides, “Please God, don’t let my mom die yet”) was, “G**d****t, woman, eat a f***ing orange!” But she’s on the mend, so thank God for that. I offered to drive up to help with … stuff, but she said she wants alone time, which is fair enough.

Unfortunately, alone time is my other problem—coupled with lack of sleep, I’ve been spending too much time alone. But at least I have some things to look forward to: time with my dad (and possibly my friend Joy) on Sunday, and time with my favorite adopted family on Monday. And next week, time with some of my extended biological family, and one non-biological friend. So that will be good—I’m genuinely excited about that. (If I can just make it through tomorrow…)

You know what I really want to do? I want to go to a shooting range. Adrenaline + guns = happy Emily. I’ve had firearms on the brain lately because I’ve been watching too much “Sherlock” (no, I won’t shoot my apartment walls), and heck, they went to a shooting range on the latest episode of “The Big Bang Theory”! (I actually caught myself thinking, “Wait, they have shooting ranges in California?” before remembering that I’ve actually been to one. Silly me.) Hmmm, must see about arranging this…except I really hate to go alone. Well, still … I’ll see.

Oh … nice!