Lately I’ve written a bit about my own mental wellness challenges. Depression is likely the accurate way to describe the overwhelming funk. In fact, funk is usually what I call it when I slip into my somewhat annual funk around July 4. This usually happens sometime within 2-weeks of the 4th and might last for 2-4 weeks. Some years are better than others and some years hit me like a ton of bricks. I am not, nor have I ever, considered myself depressed. I have moments like anyone else. These funks don’t normally take me all the way out and I recover fairly quick – I mean, it takes a little bit to crawl out from under the funk but I have tried and true ways to pull myself out: read good books, bury myself in TV series, do some crafting projects, love up on dogs, talk with a few (very few) friends, and keep it moving.

This episode was much longer, several months. Didn’t begin in or around July. And I’m having a bear of a time climbing out of this spiraling pit of despair that took me to the bowels of hell. Much of this depression evolved around my lack of a full-time job that pays a living wage and capitalizes upon my expertise, in my field. It centered on money. And really there are two things that will throw me into a downward spiral right quick: money issues or my kids having big troubles. Thankfully, it mostly wasn’t my kids this round (although, that isn’t fully true, their problems were just not prominent and I didn’t have the bandwidth to support them).

I landed that full-time job, in my field, using my expertise, that pays a living wage in July. I knew I wouldn’t get my first paycheck until August – my light at the end of a long dark tunnel. My depression started lifting and I have been feeling a ton better. However, there are still things I’ve noticed I’m still struggling with and I don’t really see an end in sight.

First, I think I’ve fully given up on whatever upward mobility I had imagined or hoped I’d achieve for myself. I’ve always been a shopper and always had my eye on the new thing I wanted – clothing, make-up, a bag, a house, a car. Now, I don’t think I want any of that anymore. Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Consumerism and capitalism is literally killing us (financially and emotionally) and the planet. Sure, it would be nice to own some property and have my forever home. It’s a dream I’ve long had for myself in some small weird way – like, isn’t this what an adult should want and strive for? I’ve owned a house with my ex-husband (shoulda just kept that perhaps). I owned a mobile in a mobile home park for about a decade and let me tell you how that fucked with my mentals – another story for another day – but it was our home for a time. Now, I mostly believe that we don’t ever actually own anything – our cars, even if paid off have to be licensed and insured and where I live, if you don’t get it inspected and it sits in a parking lot (even at your apartment complex) or on a public street, it gets impounded. We don’t own our homes, even when paid off – annual taxes on something you bought once? Or as we age, it is highly likely we’ll need Medicaid to cover nursing home or medical expense and if that is the case, the state (at least in Washington State) will take the house when you die (or a portion of the proceeds, depending on the worth of the house). And all of that has me thinking about who gets to keep things throughout their lives, moves, and generations. But that is thinking for another day. So, I think I’ve given up wanting to strive for more, better, greater whatever. I don’t think I care anymore.

Secondly, my brain is absolute mush. My short term memory for certain things has never been great. If I care about it, I remember – isn’t this the story of everyone? Now, it is non-existent. I can’t remember from one second to the next the little thing I was going to grab from the kitchen, or the person I was planning to call, or the task I was going to get started on. It’s like I’m wading through some sort of sludge in my own brain. And I wonder how much of this might be related to my first COVID infection, how much is related to this recent deep depression, how much is related to this moment in time where everything is being thrown at us in the U.S. at once, or if my brain was always like this and I just didn’t notice because I had no time ever to slow down. I also wonder if I’m ADHD or on the autism spectrum. When I look at some of the hallmarks of each of these, I fit them pretty well. Then I think I should seek a diagnosis, but what would that matter now? I’m 56, whatever I’ve been doing has been working. I’ve been doing things like putting my car keys in the same spot for decades now. I’ve been out-thinking myself for a long time knowing how my brain and motivation for things work – do the hard things that I’m least looking forward to first; if I’ve got a hard time starting, complete a few smaller tasks that take little time to motivate myself, have stern talks with myself.

Speaking of mushy brains, there are a million and one things happening in this country and the world that I have a ton of thoughts on because 1) I’ve been thinking about them for a long time, 2) I’ve been studying these things academically for a long time, and 3) I have a way of stringing things like historical moments together for clarity – all of which I am unable to do. This is perhaps the most distressing to me because this is how my brain works – I want to know how things work, I like to pull back the curtain for others about these things, I need to be able to think for myself and my job. But my brain is just not able to focus on much of all the crisis happening all over all the time anymore. And this is definitely impacting my ability to do my job the way I always have, enjoy doing, and have been committed to for decades. If I can’t think, I can’t do some of the big things for my job. My cognitive nimbleness has been a huge huge asset all my life. I’m big brained and that has been a huge part of who I am, what I am about, and what I do, what I’ve always done since I was a little girl.

A short time ago, I had confidence in my skills and abilities. The job search really took me out at the knees. I’m still confident in my skills and abilities, although right now it feels like I’m stuck in a bog. My self-confidence did take a hit for sure. And even as I know the current job market and its shortcomings are not about me, specifically, it still impacted my self-confidence and self-efficacy significantly. Maybe that’s really it, my self-efficacy. I’ve never thought I couldn’t do something I set my mind and heart to, not anymore.

Finally, my emotions are all over the place. Looking back, I think I’ve always had a difficult time self-regulating my emotions. Now though, oof. I am definitely not managing my emotions well. One minute I’m joyous and laughing, the next, I’m hit with a giant wave of grief (could be that the anniversary of my dad’s death is in 2-days), transported back to the moment I learned of my loss. I’m constantly angry – I mean, that might just be the state of the world and my over developed sense of justice. I haven’t really flown into a good rage since having a hysterectomy and oophorectomy about 28 years ago. I feel that rage building again – it is the state of this country and the state of the world and the lack of fairness, equality, and the never ending grinding of oppression. It is climate catastrophe, endless war, genocides, expulsions, the needless suffering of people and that too many people prefer human suffering over human flourishing.

It’s like I don’t know myself anymore. And some of that is okay. Seasons come and seasons go, we grow, we change, we metamorphose. And I look forward to seeing who I will be when I’ve finally waded through this bog. But it also feels like something major shifted inside me and I can’t quite put my finger on it right now. It is the not caring about upward mobility and new cars and such. It is the fog that now resides in my brain preventing me from analyzing and thinking how I have done since childhood. It is the fight that’s drained out of me. It’s my tanking self-efficacy I don’t even know myself in a major way right now and that is really disconcerting and discombobulating.

I’ll sort it out. Eventually. I hope. And if not, well whatever I guess. Yeah, I could do some therapy. When I finally have health insurance, perhaps I’ll do that. I’d talk with friends (and I do), but honestly, I also am not always or often in the mood to talk with people beyond my work. I’m not finding people all that interesting right now and I don’t really want to talk. I don’t have much to say, little of interest anyways. And I’m finding people less and less interesting – which is another weird thing/transformation. I’ve always been a people person, could chat anyone anywhere up. Now, I don’t really have the interest or energy to chit chat with most people anymore. I don’t want to make new friends and all that. It’s a weird behavior for me and a weird position for me to be in at this stage of life.

Well, if you’ve read this far, thanks for reading another depressing post. I can’t wait until I can get my brain back online to do some good thinking, analyzing, and theorizing. I miss my trusty companion. And after my first COVID infection, I’ve become more aware of how much I love and rely on my brain for my work, my joy, my mental wellness. And, I’m sure that’s true for all of us. I just know, my COVID infection scared me. I couldn’t physically read for around 6-months without struggling through a text where prior I’d buzz through in a short time frame, then to struggle for hours reading only 4-pages of text and not gleaning any meaning from what I’d read. Getting nauseous and dizzy from reading. That scared the crap out of me and a part of this feels like that and it is scary. I’m scared. Is this the beginning of cognitive decline? Is dementia waiting in the wings for me? Likely yes to that last question as it seems to run in my family, so I’m somewhat prepared for that should it come to pass. I’d just like it to wait a couple of decades before it takes me out. So, there is something going on inside my body that I don’t know how to locate it, identify it, and treat it. And I’m not sure what I need at the moment. I do know I’m tired of wallowing in my own shit.

In the immortal words of MGK, I ain’t taking calls, I’ve been going through shit. I don’t speak at all, I’ve been going through shit. Don’t say nothing to me, I’ve been going through shit. I’ve been through so much that what I took is not enough.