Today, I got up. I bummed around the net while my husband stayed in bed with our daughter; if those two had a choice, they would never leave bed. He eventually moved them out, got her milk and banana, and our morning Dr. Peppers. I continued to bum around until he got breakfast, and then I joined them… and then resumed bumming around. They left, I stayed home bumming around, played a bit of LotRO. Of course, this is Monday, so that’s entirely normal for me — I stay home and savour having some time that is all for me, because it makes me a better mother, spouse, and employee.
But knowing that I’ve been, and am, depressed, I’ve made myself go that step beyond to try and reassert ‘real’ normalcy. I bathed — I’m a bit like a 10 year old boy in that regard, and more so when depressed. I know that having clean hair and skin is always a nice thing, but it always feels like a huge, overwhelming burden of a project. But I managed it and am reaping the benefits of feeling fresh, and made myself go that step further — I left the house. I don’t talk about how disinclined I am to do that, but it’s been a fact of life. I’m happy in my own little murky corner, and as introverted as I am, my social needs are very minimal. So boldly striding out the door to go around the corner to pick up a prescription feels like a tiny victory — nobody out there knows that I am discomfited by being in ‘their’ world. I’ve blended in or something.
That isn’t to say I’m incapable of going out and doing things… just that the last time I regularly had to, I lived alone and was drunk more often than not. Perhaps the fact that I have a situation that enables me to cocoon off and take care of myself has caused me to swing too far the other way. This will change soonish, in that my work situation will move me from the comfort of my mother-in-law’s dining room table to an actual office. I’m pleased that we will be restoring her home to a house, but also very nervous about having to work in close quarters to people again. The noise, the smells, the lack of privacy… these definitely contributed to my drunk-as-a-coping-mechanism way of living before I moved here. I am pretty sure that the situation won’t magically ‘toughen me up’; scratching at open wounds isn’t exactly a way to heal and cope.
Anyways, that’s for the future. For today, I can celebrate clean hair, painted nails, and laundry in progress. Counting the little victories – that’s the best way for me to keep myself afloat.