You Are My Sunshine

You Are My Sunshine

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine...

It creeps up on you slowly, wrapping its tendrils around your limbs and your mind until it's like swimming through kudzu.

I came to the realization that I am once again depressed (after what I hoped was remission) when I kept having to stop and sit down during my lunchtime walks at work, because my brain needs to rest, because I need to gather up the energy to walk back to work.

But at least I tried.

You make me happy when skies are gray...

I took a couple of depression quizzes, because, you know, it's hard to trust yourself when you grow up entirely invalidated.

The one from PsychCentral I've taken off and on over the years. In fact, it was the one I took multiple times when I was a senior in high school, trying to get up the courage to ask my parents for help. (It didn't go so well.)

Usually it goes like this. I suspect I might be depressed, so I take the test, and the test usually says Moderate to severe depression. So, yeah, my internal calibration is still a bit off.

Then I take backup tests to verify it, because I want PROOF. As if my own perceptions and one quiz isn't enough. The one from Psychology Today is stupid because it requires five bucks to get the full report but it's still useful because it gives you tools and talking points to take to your doctor. I find I sometimes blank out on some significant symptoms until I answer questions like, "Have you lost enjoyment in the things you used to enjoy?"

You'll never know, dear, how much I love you

I felt overwhelmed by the thought of going to pick up my daughter from daycare, today, even after a short nap after a therapy appointment. I just didn't have the energy. I broke it down into steps.

Just make it to the L station, then you can sit down. I did. I made it the two long blocks to the L. Then I sat on a bench. It was good I sat, because the train was crowded.

Look at your phone. Look at Facebook. I know you usually don't, but you need distraction. I leaned against the Plexiglass and read the Oatmeal's latest post. Good, you made it to Fullerton. Time to transfer. Just a few more stops. A few more stops until daycare. Then I can pick up my daughter, go back to the train, transfer, get off, walk home, make dinner, and, if I need to, set her up with the iPad and rest until bath and books and bed.

Step by step. Bird by bird.

Please don't take my sunshine away.

I trudged up the steps to the daycare. Made my way to her classroom.

"Mommy!" she ran toward me despite her teacher reminding her to walk.

"Hi, Sunshine!"

Somehow that hug cut through the kudzu. Dissolved the molasses that enveloped me. Just enough to get home.

I've already let my psychiatrist know that I need help, and I will get help soon enough.

But until then, I've got my Sunshine to help me through each day.


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