I've suffered from depression since I was a pre-teen. In 2012 I got very sick, becoming suicidal. In 2013 I decided to try ElectroConvulsive Therapy. The "Depression" series of blog posts chronicles that process.

To start the Depression series at the beginning, click here: http://ittybittycrazy.squarespace.com/imported-data/2013/12/29/depression-1.html
#depression
#ECT

I have to admit that I am starting to feel better. I'm tearful (the slightest thing makes me cry) but I.m not hopeless, or numb.

Today a friend called me while I was on the bus, just to check in, and the fact that she did that made me burst into tears. She's dealt with depression too, and it was so kind of her to think of me and wonder how I'm doing.

I know I'm feeling better because I don't have to force myself to get through the day nor do I have to stop myself from looking at the clock, so that I don't feel devastated when no time has passed. I have been oblivious to the passing of time, simply getting on with my work. In fact, I am possibly a little hyper and over-ebullient. There were a few times today when I had to make myself keep quiet in meetings.

I saw the shrink yesterday and asked him if he had amped up the juice on Monday, but he said he hadn't changed anything. I'm almost petrified to even think like this, but I feel like something has shifted. Apart from the tearfulness, I'm feeling almost normal.

There is one thing that's a fly in the ointment. For a few days now I've felt like there's a presence in the spare room. It makes no sense, and I'm not a huge believer in spirits, but this has been making me feel uncomfortable. Yesterday I went in there and went up to where I thought it was and waved my arms and hands around frantically to disperse the energy. And it felt like it retreated under the bed.

And then I think to myself that this shit is proof that I AM crazy. Crazy in the real sense of the word.

But that thing is under the bed. Even now I feel it. It's not killer dangerous as such, but it's not a positive energy. And it's there.

BECAUSE WHEREVER I SAT -- ON THE DECK OF A SHIP OR AT A STREET CAFE IN PARIS OR BANGKOK -- I WOULD BE SITTING UNDER THE SAME GLASS BELL JAR, STEWING IN MY OWN SOUR AIR.
SYLVIA PLATH

To start the Depression series at the beginning, click here: http://ittybittycrazy.squarespace.com/imported-data/2013/12/29/depression-1.html