A very small window

Today was to start my triumphant return to the YMCA, knowing as I do that few things put a dent in depression like some good old-fashioned exercise. Well, that, and the baby-sitting room. 1 hour of alone-time is heaven, even if I have to spend it doing squats & lunges.

In typical Jeanine-fashion, I probably attached a little too much importance, emotionally, to the beginning of a new Y session. I'm about a week into trying Lexapro again (kick in any time now...really...) so my mind is full of "fresh start" hopes and "this time will be different" dreams. I have my own personal New Year's on a quarterly basis, at least.

Life had other plans. Infant daughter is fussy and fighting infection - only available doctor's appointment is during my new exercise class. Grr. Son, age 5 and starting Kindergarten in 3 months, announces that he hates (pre) school and will no longer love me if I make him go. Grrrrrrr. Husband texting with questions re: credit card bill. Grrrrrrrrrrrr. PUPPY HAS DIAREA.

Its too much. This is the part, for me, that comes off as weakness. The part I really can't stand. Its 8:30am, and the day has beaten me. The day I'd been looking forward to for the better half of a week as a 'tabula rasa' of sorts.

I ensure my children are safely gated in the baby-proof living room with some Yo Gabba Gabba, I lock my crap-spewing puppy in the bathroom, and I head to the garage with my coffee. Its the only place I can think of that's far enough away to approximate escape, yet close enough to avoid child abandonment charges.

As soon as I sit down I realize my mistake. The garage is not an appropriate place to escape. Its full of unfinished projects, given-up hobbies, and clutter. It virtually screams "lack of follow-through!" It is the physical manifestation of a to-do list I've been avoiding my entire adult life. If I thought about it, there are few places in the world I could go to feel more like a failure than my garage, really. And here I sit, coffee in hand, trying to cheer myself up.

There is a very small window in my garage. Through it, this morning, I can see part of my cherry tree, pink buds ready to burst. I can also see some of my Maple tree, whose light green leaves have just begun unfurling the last day or two. And, though its raining, the sky is still kinda bright this morning.

This is what "moderate depression" is like. I feel constantly weighed down by failure - those things I can't do but feel I should, or can do but don't do well enough, or can do really well but lack the discipline to see through to fruition. And by guilt - for losing my temper and yelling at my five-year-old, for forgetting my Dad's birthday, for crawling into a bottle of wine. I carry these feelings around with me everywhere, drag them behind me or throw them on my back, and its exhausting. And if I can muster the energy to look up or glance around, I can usually find a very small window with a happy view.

I imagine "severe depression" is similar, but without the window, and for that - I count myself lucky.