There is this thing that seems to happen with my experience with depression. I don’t know if it’s universal. I don’t know if it’s just my experience. I don’t know if it’s because I’m an introvert. I don’t know.
It was January. I was working at a community newspaper in Smiths Falls, my hometown. It was my weekend to cover assignments. I was living in Ottawa with my partner in a tiny 600-square-foot apartment in downtown Ottawa.
It was a stressful time. We were struggling to make ends meet and, as I’d learned in late October, we had a child on the way.
The phone won’t ring.
I had just picked them up from gymnastics.
We were talking about the new things they’d learned.
I am not and have not been sad all of the time…not by any stretch of the imagination.
What I have not anywhere near adequately done, though, is acknowledge any of my feelings about a great many things for a very long time. I have, in the face of all that’s been handed to me by the universe, focused on all of the other things that needed to be done. School work, volunteer work, work work, raising kids, helping friends, whatever.
I’ve been wanting to write a blog entry for a little while, but I just haven’t had it in me. Yes, this blog has become a cathartic tool – among many other things – for me, but each time I’ve sat down to blog, I haven’t been able to find the words.
On the night of October 4th, 2013 a few dozen Brock University students, Alumni and community members sat in on a talk given by anti-choice extremist Stephanie Gray. Some had the aim of disrupting the event to provide a counter and expose the staged/canned "debate and dialogue" angle that Gray's far right Canadian Centre for Bio-Ethical Reform (CCBR) attempts to hide behind.
For those of you who don’t know, Cipralex is an anti-depressant and anti-anxiety med.
Last Tuesday, I started on 5mg, which is considered to be a “sub-therapeutic” dose, just to get my body used to it. You see, I tend to react badly to all kind of medications, so the doctor wanted to be on the safe side with this before bumping me into a higher dose.
A few days ago, I wrote an entry questioning if I did, in fact, love the man that I ended a relationship with last week. I had told him on two different occasions (in writing) that I loved him, but I’m not sure, now, that was accurate. Or at least not in the way I thought and he likely interpreted.