Acceptance (inspired by Nate Fisher)

Cindy the therapist asked me last week if I was coming to a place of acceptance. She meant acceptance of the fact that I suffer from depression. The answer, quite frankly, is no.

I’m mad about this burden, this waste of my time, this sucking the life out of me. I have things to do, that I want to be doing, and I am not doing them. I want to work and make money. I want to play with my kids. I want to enjoy the world with them. I want to continue working on our house, getting it ready to sell. I want to look at new houses and see the fun of possibilities. I want to enjoy time with my husband. I want him to make me laugh, and I want to watch his face change when I say something that delights him. I want to play, and see my friends and have some red wine and go to a movie. I want to feel like the world is safe and good and a place that I’m lucky to be in. Right now, I get none of that, and no I don’t accept it. Fuck it.

Instead I’m sitting here at 1 a.m. wondering how long I’m going to be like this. Is it permanent this time? Or did my drugs just quit working, which they do for some people. The only thing to do in that case would be to keep trying them and see if they work. If after several weeks they don’t work, then I get to try another drug for 6+ weeks and see if it will work.

How is it acceptable that I am giving up my precious time to this bullshit?

What I need right now is hope, and that’s not something I can pull out of thin air. I’m doing every goddamn thing in my power to feel better, and here I still am sitting in this basement thinking about turning the TV on and watching “I Spy” or “All in the Family”.
That’s not hopeful.