I have been baking and cooking. I bake whole wheat bread. I roast pumpkins and turn them into pies. I make vegetable soup for the Boss (the partner) with my own vegetable broth as base. I preserve to enjoy later.
When I spoke to my psychiatrist last week she asked me what I had been doing with my time since I left the outpatient treatment program. I told her I've been baking bread. Embarassed, I quickly added that it's kind of weird.
She interrupted me, "That's not weird at all."
Yesterday when I served up a slice of pie to a dear friend of mine she asked, "Why the baking? Why now?"
In the past I never had food on hand. I never filled my refrigerator. I never made more than one serving. I never had left overs and I definitely never made pies. It was lonely and I was lonely. I was always afraid of opening a new package, of making more than I needed. What if I ate it all? Isn't it a waste if I make it, only eat a portion and leave the rest to spoil in the back of the fridge?
Now I am sharing my food. Enjoying food. I am not so lonely, and definitely not alone.
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Saturday, October 20, 2012
On Depression
The first time I ever talked to a medical professional about my Depression was sophomore year of college. It was spring and I was so exhausted, unhappy, emotional and worse- I didn't know why. I was trying to explain how little I was sleeping and eating and the Dr. interrupted me with a question: "Do you get weepy like this often?"
Of course. So i got out of there with a prescription, and some hope. It didn't stay long and it was another four years before I tried medication again.
Here I am a medicated full year after an insurmountable episode and I'm feeling sad. SAD. Sad. I can't even begin to express the frustration of trying different medications, tweaking one or two, calling my psychiatrist for worsening symptoms and having to tell my boyfriend that my medication was changing again. It could be for the worse or the better, but it's in the hope of Better.
Everything I do is in the hope that someday I will feel whole, that this new sad feeling isn't a set back, isn't foreshadowing another difficult year and it's because I wake up when it's dark outside and it's dark when I leave work. I haven't adjusted well to the equinox.
Now I have a light therapy lamp, a bump in my meds and another small piece of hope.
Of course. So i got out of there with a prescription, and some hope. It didn't stay long and it was another four years before I tried medication again.
Here I am a medicated full year after an insurmountable episode and I'm feeling sad. SAD. Sad. I can't even begin to express the frustration of trying different medications, tweaking one or two, calling my psychiatrist for worsening symptoms and having to tell my boyfriend that my medication was changing again. It could be for the worse or the better, but it's in the hope of Better.
Everything I do is in the hope that someday I will feel whole, that this new sad feeling isn't a set back, isn't foreshadowing another difficult year and it's because I wake up when it's dark outside and it's dark when I leave work. I haven't adjusted well to the equinox.
Now I have a light therapy lamp, a bump in my meds and another small piece of hope.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)