No, I don’t have it. I was one of the lucky ones whose clinical depression was taken care of by the first prescription I ever tried. The doctor said give it six months and I was so scared of being depressed again that I gave it two years. Zoloft and I were best buds, lemme tell you. (A writing friend mentioned the other day that no one said “best buds” anymore, since BFF became the correct term—I’ll bet I’ve said “best buds” 10 times since then.)
Where was I? Oh, yeah, well, yesterday I was blue. Nothing wrong except a little homesickness and a little closed-in-itis because our condo is small and some serious missing-my-grandkids. Nothing, really, in the scheme of things. My family is well, I’m well, most of us are happy, I’m happy. I knew even then that by morning, I’d be myself again. Writing and Facebooking and drinking hot tea during those pre-dawn hours that are my absolute favorites in every day.
But I was still scared. What if it’s come back? What if I have to hook up with my old buddy Zoloft again? What if this is a premonition? What the hell’s wrong with me?
And I was myself again this morning. I am now, when I’m thinking about going to bed. It’s been a fun day. Church, writing, watching football (go Peyton…er…go Broncos!), going to Walmart and laughing at my husband.
“I want some Raisin Bran,” he said, when we were three aisles past cereal. “I could hear it calling my name when I walked by.”
“So why didn’t you answer it?” I huffed, turning back.
“I don’t speak raisin.”
I’m at ease now, comfortable once again in my own skin. It’s not coming back, that sneaky rat bastard that is depression, and even if someday it does, I’ll handle it with the help of the support system I am so blessed to have. So “all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.” (Julian of Norwich) I breathe long and quiet sighs of relief and joy, punctuated with a little frown at the end.
Because yesterday I was blue.