7 Tons of Bricks

Yesterday was a rough day.  I carried around my 7 tons of bricks – what I imagine to be the weight of my depression on a difficult day.  It weighs on me as heavily as if I were literally holding up all those bricks.  It takes so much effort to do anything, and I want nothing more than for someone to take the weight and carry it for a while.  It wears me down.  It makes me irritated – at everyone and everything.  Especially happy people.  How can they frolic about in their lives while I’m standing here holding these 7 tons of bricks?  Why aren’t they offering to hold some of this damn weight?  Sometimes people don’t realize that I’m so weighed down.  Sometimes they do realize, but there’s not much they can do to alleviate the strain for me.

Some mornings I wake up and can feel the 7 tons upon me already.  They literally press me into the bed so that I can only roll over and pull the covers tighter.  Yesterday wasn’t like that; it kind of crept up on me until suddenly I felt that familiar weight.  I wanted to be able to politely decline – “No, thanks, I’d rather not carry that today.”  Kind of like how you might turn down an extra shift during a summer job in high school.  “I already have plans for that day, Bob, but keep me in mind next time something opens up.”  But my Bob is more like a Hugo, and I can’t turn him down.  “Sorry, Hugo, today’s not a good day – it’s my daughter’s birthday.”  Or “Please, please, please give me a break today – we have such great plans and I don’t want anything to ruin it.”  Hugo doesn’t give a shit about my plans and just tells me to pick up the damn bricks. 

So I waded through my day, with help from my husband, and held up my weight without having it ruin everyone else’s day.  I wish that over time I would build muscles like you do when you work out.  You take the boot camp class and notice after a few weeks that the 30 lb weights don’t feel as heavy as they used to feel – you can hold them for longer without having your muscles quiver.  But it doesn’t really seem like I’m getting any better at holding my bricks.  I’ve learned to cope with them better, so that life isn’t miserable for those around me.  But does the weight feel any lighter over time?  It doesn’t seem to.  Meds have helped, but when those 7 tons hit…it still feels like 7 tons.

One of the worst parts of all of this is that I never know when Hugo is going to show up with my weight to carry.  I feel like I’m constantly looking over my shoulder, wondering whether Hugo is lurking there.  I wish that I didn’t have to be afraid every day.  I wish, I wish.

 

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3 thoughts on “7 Tons of Bricks

  1. Pingback: Objects in mirror are closer than they appear | One Depressed Mama

  2. Pingback: Teetering | One Depressed Mama

  3. Pingback: Sticking with my first impression | One Depressed Mama

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