Depressed, then and now.

Then
I was depressed in my tiny studio apartment at some point in my first year of graduate study, curled up on a smaller love seat, though in beige and white stripes like the one where I currently sit. Interesting. I withdrew pretty completely a couple of times. Sent just the most critical emails to explain that I wasn't feeling well and wouldn't be coming to class or work. Grad school was a bad place to be depressed because I didn't have to go anywhere. I could stay in my little apartment for days on end and blame stress or colds or flus or family problems. So I'd probably been there for a couple days - certainly not longer than 3. I'd also been ignoring email - sometimes reading it, sometimes just blankly noting its arrival. And I used dial-up internet access so all my calls would go to voice mail when I was online. So I didn't even have to ignore them - I just clicked the button and sent everyone away.

M was worried though, and she came over. Rang the buzzer in front, and I ignored that too. So she kept ringing, and ringing and ringing. I finally answered, told her I was fine, and requested she leave me alone. She refused. So I sighed, frowned at the little intercom, knowing that someone would let her in at some point, and pushed the button to unlock the door. So she came in, quite concerned, and we talked for maybe 2 minutes. I didn't let her in more than a few steps - not offering her a seat or drink, though the guilt at not doing so tugged at me. I was fine - just wanted to be alone so I could think and gather myself and try again at my miserable excuse for a life. So she gave me a hug, a worried look, and left. I think it was the next day that I got a little better and emerged from my apartment.

This is why, by the way, I feel so ... proud of? pleased for? (I'm not sure how to put it.) those of you who blog while still in grad school. It would have been so much more healthy for me than feeling so desperately isolated. I needed the space, but it would have been amazing to have a community of people who expected nothing of me, yet offered support, compassion and stories of their own.

Now
I’m doing fine, mostly. I walked the dog this morning. We waited until 8AM and it was so incredibly hot. I decided to take the long route, feeling guilty over slacking all week and wanted to put in some time on Son of a Witch. (By the way, for people smarter than me – all of you – do you have an opinion on whether the title for Wicked was ironic?)

Anyway the dog, iPod and I endured the heat to wander the neighborhood. I don’t particularly enjoy sweating, so I was getting quite irritable. Apparently I have raised little Chienne to share my distaste of the hot. She, panting and looking annoyed, found some shade right at the halfway point, and sat down. I gave her a moment to rest, then urged her to continue. She glared at me.

I got hysterical. Bent over and giggled until my sides hurt. She reminded me of Mom in New Orleans several years ago - I was still in undergrad. I decided I wanted to visit some of the cemeteries in the Garden District, so we took the trolley from the French Quarter. Eager to get started and walk through the gracious neighborhood, I exited the trolley several stops too early. It was miserably hot – right about this time of year, I think – and we had been walking for many blocks. I remember my mother – hot, tired and angry – snapping my name. I turned from my wide-eyed perusal of the homes around us to glance back and found her standing still.

“Do you even know where we’re going?” She asked with a glare much like the one my dog wore this morning.

“Um…Not really.”

“I’m not going any farther.” I raised my eyebrow and looked around.

“You’re going to stay here.” I clarified.

“Yes.”

“In the middle of this neighborhood.”

“Yes! It’s hot. I’m tired, and you have no idea where the hell you’re trying to take me!”

“So… Are you going to live on the street? Or ask one of these people if you can move in?” And I started to giggle – hot and tired myself, but now vastly amused.

She huffed out a mild curse at me and continued to walk. “One more block, Katie Marie.” She threatened over my continued laughter as I walked along beside her. But she ruined it by smiling with me.

I didn’t make the dog happy this morning, but I did tug her along to get home. But when I asked her to retrieve the mail with me this afternoon – my mailbox is on the street rather than at the house – she refused to budge from her sprawl on the couch in the air conditioned living room. She’s never declined an invitation to go outside, so I was surprised. But I found myself laughing all the way to and from my errand. She too has bad days, and today, she'd had enough.

I threw a minor tantrum in my head over revising some consent forms for the IRB people who I’m sure are just trying to be helpful, but instead are kind of getting on my nerves. Some of this stuff is so minor! I whined and made faces at my computer screen. But details are everything when handling human subjects, I told myself in an attempt for calm. And I finished the revisions – minor as they were – and took the copies to the appropriate office. Then I finished a draft for an institutional grant that’s been sitting on my desk for months. I worked a bit more on the freaking histograms that I believe have been sent straight from Hell and are therefore inherently evil. I can’t get anything significant out of the suckers. So that’s on my list of weekend projects with the ever-growing lawn.

But basically? I’m hanging in. Laughing enough to know I’m getting better. Getting irritated at speeds that tell me I’m not quite right yet. Still a little withdrawn, but not so much that I can’t tell you about the time Mom almost moved to New Orleans because she was too hot to find the next sight I wanted to see.