The wartime Prime Minister of England, Winston Churchill, suffered from depression and he called it his black dog that followed him wherever he went. It seems lately darkness falls and I sink into a depression every night as well. I can’t imagine staying up all night like I used to do. I also think my medication levels are steeply dropping from my main dose at noon. I only take a Coreg and two Klonopin at night.
I called dad for a pep talk a moment ago and it did made me feel better somewhat. I told him I wanted to hear his voice. He told me to say “to hell to it all”. Not to worry about my bathroom that needs cleaning or the glass top stove that needs polishing.
“What would your grandmother do?” dad asked me.
“She would fix her a cold glass of sweet iced tea, sit out on the front porch, and listen to the katydids till she grew sleepy,” I replied. “And then she would go to bed.”
“And it served her well,” he said. “Sit out on your porch with your tablet computer and see if it helps.”
“I’ll see you at lunch tomorrow,” I told him and we said our goodnights.
Dad said he believes I’ve been trying too hard or doing too much in his own words. Each day, I shower and dress nice even though I only go to my father’s house once a day. It reminds me of that Reba McIntyre song All Dressed Up with No Where to Go.
“Go two days without a shower and shave and wear a t-shirt and shorts for a change,” he told me trying to lessen the load upon me mentally.
1 comment:
The Black Dog is in! You, me, my dear son....All of us! Feel Better!
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