It’s Damn Difficult!

When the sun is just coming up, it’s when the worst of the emotions are felt.  That dreamless sleep has ended for me and I’m trying to find the things to look forward to in the day.  For years I would jump out of bed and get into the office, meet up with the ex for coffee around 9:30 before she headed to her office and I would be in a great mood.  Most of the time.  The silence of the office allowed me to get a few things done without people asking questions, the phone quiet for the most part.  Everyone knew I was there, but let me be.

I still have that anxious feeling to go racing from the bed.  Years of habit still dictate part of my schedule.  Only this time I am left with the combination of knowing me day begins with a selection of drugs and possibly diverting myself for some other medical treatment that I just can’t do on my own.  The process requiring someone with a level of skill I don’t possess and don’t want to.

There are lots of great things about the morning, more than just the sun rising and setting colors aflame.  The world smells different, lawns covered in dew, flowers getting their first taste of nourishment, my dog doing her thing while I pace back and forth wondering if this is a quick trip or if we’ll be here awhile.  On the weekends it was an opportunity to sneak out of bed and go for a run, then come back and make breakfast for someone else.  I get to do that now, but it’s more about filling my time.  Trying to occupy myself in the spaces where I used to do other things.

I read a few emails with subject lines like “Still on this side of the dirt?”  This coming from a former mentor who just doesn’t know what the right things to say are, but it’s great that he is attempting to anyway.  I still enjoy that cup of tea every morning.  Something about feeling it pressed in my hands is comforting, a sense of normalcy?  My friend’s granddaughter making her way around the kitchen before she heads off to drama camp for the day.  Not that she needs any more theatrics in her life, but it’s nice to hear sounds again.

For me and my companion, depression, the mornings are just the hardest part.  We know something different is out there but finding it is at times too damn difficult.  I can’t help if the thoughts of “Hey the world is good this morning”  become “Hey, are we going to end our day back in the hospital because you fell down again?”  It’s not that I want to obsess about those things, but there are days when it just can’t be helped.  I force the covers off and start moving from fear of a time when I won’t be able to again, for whatever reason.

Three newspapers, multiple articles aggregated on my tablet, and I end up reading the article about a young lady who goes to The University of Missouri and how she has been detailing her life with depression.  It’s a wonderful read, she should be proud of herself, but I know she’s not.  Like many things in life, it’s another one of the cries for help and understanding that people with depression need to make out loud.

I know that reading my own blog for people can be depressing at times in it’s own way.  My jumping between cancer and my missing my daughter, it’s hard to read.  It’s hard to write and it’s hard to feel.

Hopefully there will come a time when the mornings aren’t tough.  When they are back to being about getting work done and that cup of tea.  My dog is my mother’s problem at the moment, but she secretly enjoys it.  Her “Grand-Doggie” curling up at her feet.  But believe me, I’m grateful for the smile across the table I see most mornings.  She may grumble about it being early, but it’s nice to have that company even for a few minutes.

Let’s wrap this up with a quote from a movie, one I consider to be worthy of repeating –

These things are good: ice cream and cake, a ride on a Harley, seeing monkeys in the trees, the rain on my tongue, and the sun shining on my face. These things are a drag: dust in my hair, holes in my shoes, no money in my pocket, and the sun shining on my face.  Rocky Dennis from the movie Mask.

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “The Golden Hour.”


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