I may be depressed.
Shocking, yes, that I might think this now, considering most of my posts for the last year could be tagged "depression," but when you're in the water, it's hard to see the waves.
I don't have anything to be depressed about. I love my job (haven't starting doing the new job yet, so I can't speak to that). Everybody in the turtle household is healthy. My life has no real problems in it, especially when compared to other people (something I did a lot of while sitting at the DMV). I have no reason to be depressed.
I told My Dear Friend I was considering buying St. John's Wort, something I haven't taken in 15 years, because weekends seem increasingly difficult. "But I don't think it's that bad. Nowhere near what my nervous breakdown was like."
"How bad does it have to be to be depression?" was her innocent question.
I'm always tired. Tears are waiting and ready for any opportunity. I'm snapping at people like an arthritic dog. The smallest problem becomes a huge mountain of horror and incapacitating trauma. Things I used to love doing - working outside, writing, rearranging furniture - are all too "hard" to do anymore. Even if I do them, what's the point? Entropy is Master of the Earth and she will not be conquered.
I may pull out my DSM-IIIR (Diagnositc and Statistical Manual III, Revised) to confirm, but, Doc, I think I'm depressed with depressed and irritable mood.
Guess I'll be stopping by the Health Food Mart.