Lost At Sea

"Why are you depressed," she asked. "Is it because you don't have any friends here?"

"Yes," I said, as the tears started coming, "I definitely think that's part of it. I am also homesick. When I used to imagine my happy place it was Hawaii, and now when I think of my happy place it's my old house in Norfolk. I think that's because that's the last place that felt like home."

"I feel like this is my fault," she said.

Of course it's not her fault. The thing about my depression. I can't will myself out of it. I can't flip a switch in my head and decide to be happy. Everyone says, "Choose happy." If it were that easy, I would fucking choose it.

I used to love reading books. Reading books is really hard for me since having COVID. The words go in, and they don't stay. I know the words, and I can read them. But I can't remember what I just read. It's different than comprehension. I'm missing the retention. So, reading ... this thing I used to love ... now it makes me really sad. It makes me feel stupid.

I hear my friend, the Professor's voice, "Be kind to yourself. Be gentle with yourself."

I know he's right.

I also want to scream at him, "How would you feel if you lost a part of you that made you who you are? How would you feel if you couldn't read?"

Then I remember the year he's had, and I feel guilty. He knows exactly how it feels to lose pieces of an identity. I am swimming in a sea of self pity, and I need to drag myself out.

I used to love listening to audio books. I have the same problem with audio books that I have with reading books. I can't retain what I hear. It just goes in and out. I start the book over and try again. It's frustrating. I feel stupid.

I have managed to listen to some audio books in the past 11 months. Last July, when I was really, really sick. I had to dumb it down. I wanted something to take my mind off my misery and terror and isolation. I listened to Ally Wong's "Dear Girls." It was crass and simple and hilarious. I probably need to dumb it back down.

COVID was like a lobotomy. It took away parts of me. The part of me that liked a certain kind of books. The part of me that was smart. The part of me that was funny and quick of wit. The part of me that could do simple math. The part of me that could problem solve. I do not feel like that person any more. But I remember her. I remember what she liked, so I'm trying to give her those things and they're wrong. I remember what she could do, and when I cannot do those things I feel so sad.

I really try not to feel sad. I go to yoga. I get dressed and drag myself to work. I try to eat healthy, but food is an old friend, so when I feel really sad I eat ice cream (It helps while I'm eating it. Then I'm usually mad at myself). I go to dance classes. I go to the beach. I still try to read books and listen to audiobooks. I let myself cry. I tell myself "enough crying." I go to Al-Anon. I go to counseling. I take anti-depressants. I pray. I meditate. I repeat positive affirmations over and over. I do "self-love" workbooks. I download an app to learn mind management. I text friends. I phone a friend.

Today is a bad day. I exercise hard, because sweat and endorphins usually help me feel better. Today they didn't. I am still sad. I write this, because writing helps me in a way that nothing else can. At least I still have this. At least I can still write.