I'm Not As Funny When I'm Depressed.

I also tend to get depressed when I can't think of anything funny to write.  It's a vicious cycle.
Like right now: all I can think about are things that suck.  Like the war on women's health and the fact that my stomach hurts and how I'm not making any money today because I got cut because it's so weirdly slow at the restaurant this week, and how that sucks extra because I got the weekend off and I was only scheduled for 3 days anyway.  So now I'll only get 2.  And it's gray and dreary outside.  And even though my depression is getting better and I'm seeing a counselor and taking vitamins and drinking anxiety-reducing herbal teas and writing letters I don't mean to send and working through shit and eating healthy and being productive and reaching out to people I love and doing nice things for people and singing and ALL of this shit that's supposed to help...sometimes I just have days still where the world feels heavy.
That's what depression is.  And my counselor told me this is all really normal, that there's nothing wrong with me, that once you get to a safe place it's normal for all your bottled or suppressed emotions and issues to come out and that I'm doing great at handling it so far.  But I can't shake this feeling, this shitty, heavy feeling that makes me sympathize with Atlas.  Normal, everyday things are insanely hard for me to do right now.  Getting out of bed takes a serious effort of will.  Moving around, doing housework, putting on jewelry, calling my sister, making coffee, even blogging...I'm moving at a snail's pace.  I'm exhausted all the time.  I stare into space.  I struggle to see beauty in the mundane, a thing which always used to come so easily to me.  I sort of just want to curl up and cry, but even that sounds like too much work.  The very practice of living is exhausting today.
And I'm lonely.  Tyler works a lot, and he's so amazing about being there for me when he's home, even though he's exhausted from working so much.  And it's not easy dealing with a partner who's depressed, especially since I took it out on him for so long.  I was so unsure of myself and afraid of him thinking less of me that I put up defenses and batted him away, and constantly thought he was judging me negatively.  But he still works his 14 hours and then comes home and talks to me and hugs me and has a good time with me.  He's great.  But there's still 14 hours a day that I sit in this big empty apartment alone, and I don't have any friends here in Schenectady.  And I'm depressed so on top of already being shy, it's extra hard to make any.  I don't know where to go or what to do to make friends with people.  There's a couple of cool people at work but their lifestyles are so different from mine that it's really hard to spend time with them outside of work, and that's pretty much the only social situation I ever end up in.  I feel like one of those lonely old ladies who'll end up going to the hairdresser every week just to have someone to talk to.
I'm coming out of my wild, desperate post-breakup phase and now I'm trying to figure out who I really am and I'm also trying to deal with all this shit I went through that I was never safe or whole enough to figure out before.  In so many ways, I'm lost.  I went through this before in college, when I was coming out of the religion, starting a relationship, dealing with my parents' divorce, and trying to figure out what the fuck I thought about literally the entire universe all at once.  That was the first time I dealt with depression, and being caught off guard and not knowing what the hell was going on with me made it way worse that time.  This time isn't so bad.  This time I'm at least sure that sex is perfectly natural with or without marriage and that I'm not ugly and that morality is more or less relative and that the earth is beautiful and that I'm not going to hell after I die.  This time I know better than to pull a blanket over my head and sob til I make myself sick.  But it's the same kind of situation.  I feel lost, and I feel confused, and I feel hurt, and I feel tired.  And I don't know what to do.  I just want the feeling to go away.  I've been fighting so hard, I just want to take a rest.  I want a break from all the weight, just for a little while.  And you know what else I want?  I really, really want a hug.  A big, tight, squeezy long one that tells me it's okay to be weak for a bit.
I feel badly dumping all this on you, my readers, but I think you deserve to know what's going on with me, good or bad, and I also think that just being able to complain to someone will help me feel less alone in all this.  And don't worry too much--you'll have your Jill back to tell you funny things.  I'm fighting hard overall and I don't always feel this down.  Today is a particularly heavy day.  Thank you for listening, really.
You guys are the best, and I love you all.
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