When you’re clinically depressed, no amount of medication can totally prevent “the slide.” After it happens countless times, you can sense yourself falling into a dark corner of your consciousness like a slow decent into an underground cave, but you can’t turn around. You might grab at the cold, wet walls, but you eventually find yourself at the bottom, alone.
During that time, you don’t laugh, you don’t cry, you barely feel. You’re eating changes, your sleep changes, and you can’t focus on your daily tasks. You also don’t write blog posts.
I haven’t yet figured out how to prevent the slide, but I know that there is always an end to it. Mine ended on Sunday night.
I’ve lamented Sunday night before. Sunday night is when all the freedom of the weekend ceases and my mind compiles all the tasks ahead. It’s a quiet time when Brad is otherwise engaged and I am alone with my thoughts. But this past Sunday was different. This past Sunday, instead of mourning my losses and wondering why the world is so cruel, I was singing my sweet baby to sleep. I was holding onto the one thing that saved me through the past eight months – true love.
I will miss Spyder every day. My heart will ache when I see happy twins growing up together. I’ll probably always be jealous of those who don’t know pain, and I’ll continue to wonder what things would be like if I could hold both of my babies. But, I’m going to be okay. Me and Brad and Poppy – together, we’re going to be okay.