On Depression, Procrastination, and the Wonders of Modern Medicine

Have you ever wrapped yourself in a big, thick blanket? Just covered yourself from head to toe so you have only a tiny gap left to allow you to see and breathe a little? The blanket muffles what you hear, interferes with what you feel, and prevents you from moving and acting and relating with the people around you.

It’s stifling and confining, but at the same time, it’s almost comforting. Your blanket is your own little world and if no one can reach you there, no one can trouble you. You get so used to the confines of your blanket that the idea of unwrapping it a little can cause panic or anger. It’s easiest just to stay there in your blanket and let life move on around you.

Of course, you don’t want everyone to know that you’re wrapped in the blanket, so you go about your life as if it’s not there. You pretend that it’s not tangled around your feet every time you want to take a step forward. You smile and laugh and pretend that you don’t feel smothered and restricted.

That’s how it feels to me when I’m stuck in a bout of depression. I’m disconnected from the world and observing it, but unable to really interact with it. I want to do things. I make plans to do things. But I can’t follow through. The blanket wraps around me and all I can do it make excuses for reasons that I’m not going to do things after all.

I’ll start on that work in an hour, after lunch, once the kids are in bed, tomorrow… but not right now. I’m just so tired.

I’ll write a chapter later. I’ll check my email in a little while. I’ll get off the couch and fix the kids some dinner… but not right now. I’m just so tired.

I’ll make that phone call. I’ll pay that bill. I’ll finish that work I postponed earlier… but not right now. I’m just so tired.

When the blanket interferes with every little thing you do, life is exhausting. Everything makes you tired. It’s just so hard to accomplish anything.

Sometimes the blanket falls on you like a crushing weight out of nowhere. Sometimes it creeps up on you, a little bit at a time, so you hardly notice until suddenly you realize that you’re completely smothered. This time around, the blanket snuck up on me. I was doing good… and then I wasn’t quite as good, but still ok. And then I finally realized that there I was again, stuck in the blanket.

For months I struggled every single day to just make it through the things I HAD to do. I could force myself to get work done on my day job – but not until I had a deadline staring me in the face. I could force myself to do the things that HAD to be done around the house, but not a bit more. I managed to do what I HAD to do for church and school and family, but it was such a struggle that the bare minimum was all I could handle. So Facebook and other social interactions had to go. Networking and marketing for my books were gone. Writing a new book just wasn’t happening. All of these things that I actually really enjoy could no longer be part of my life because they happen outside the blanket.

I knew I was wrapped up in the blanket. I knew I needed to find a way out. But it’s so hard to find a way to break loose. Even reaching out enough to say, “I need help” is nearly impossible. But finally, FINALLY, I was able to force myself to contact my doctor and say, “My meds aren’t working.”

It sounds so simple, doesn’t it? Just call the doctor and tell her you need something. But I couldn’t do it. Depression wraps you in the blanket, anxiety makes you afraid to reach out of the blanket, and you just sit there doing nothing instead.

So all of this long and rambling analogy is to say, “Hey, I’ve been gone for a while.”

I spent a few months being strangled by the blanket and procrastinating everything in my life, but I think I’m back on track again. My new meds are keeping the blanket at bay and I think I’m finally caught up from all the backlog I created for myself when I could only manage the bare minimum.

I’m creeping back into social interactions, so I hope you’ll see me on Facebook. I’m trying to participate in life. I’m starting to hear the stories in my head again, so I can start writing them down and finish the three books I have in progress. (And doesn’t it sound strange to say that it’s a GOOD sign when I start hearing stories in my head?)

The blanket isn’t gone. I can still feel it tripping me up sometimes. But it’s better than it was, and I’ll keep hoping that it will get better still.