vaneramos | We are water

Yesterday afternoon was the monthly meeting of Rainbow Knitters, the first one well-attended since last spring. We had seven knitters plus two patrons who stayed to hang out with us after regular library hours ended.

At 3:30 I had locked up and was walking to my car. It had just started to snow hard, and a heavy wave of depression hit.

Low-pressure systems frequently effect my mood, but it is normally a morning thing. I get up and go about my usual slow routine, then realize I'm out of sorts. More often than not, it is snowing or raining heavily. Season is also a factor, but a rainy summer morning often hits me the same way. I get a few migraines every year; they always happen on rainy or snowy days. The best thing to do is find some quiet activity and wait for the day to end.

I seem to remember (but memory-loss is part of the life-long problem) that the new psychiatrist's diagnosis was dysthymia—chronic, low-grade depression—accompanied by anxiety disorder and panic disorder. I started taking vitamin D several weeks ago, and it seems to have alleviated the anxiety. Lately I've felt as optimistic as ever.

Yesterday afternoon the depression felt like a curtain falling. Danny and I were supposed to go to a Mardi Gras party last night at Jon and Bill's. By the time I got home I wanted to stay there, but he would already be in transit, and I had to pick him up from the bus station in Mississauga. So I was committed.

Jon, Sylvie, Moe, Les and Dave were all there with some other fine company, the first time in a while I've had an opportunity to spend time with that group of good friends, and I couldn't enjoy it. My mind kept wrapping in the curtain, tying itself in knots. It sucked.

Such days have become increasingly, fortunately rare. Only two things brought any relief last night: Danny's touch, and listening to my favourite song in the car, Patty Griffin's lyrics as performed by Shaye (excerpt):

I'm a river, baby, I've got plenty of time
I don't know where I'm going, I'm just following the lines
There's just no telling where this river will flow
But I got no choice in the matter, baby, I just go where it goes
I'm making my bed tonight right under this cloud
Sometimes the lightning's so frightening, sometimes the thunder's so loud
But still I know this tide is always kissing my heels
Sometimes I think I'll drown in all these things that I feel

Cause we are water, we flow and flow
I feel you pouring through every inch of my soul
I really must tell you this, baby, before you go
We are water, we are water, we are water, we flow and flow

Today is better: just that wasted, aftermath feeling. I'm considering beginning a daily log, because the bad days feel so huge, and yet they are probably much rarer than they seem. A simple log, chart or graph, might help put them in perspective.

I am ambivalent about the prospect of tweaking the medication. The level of Remeron I'm taking seems to have given me enough of an edge to affect positive change. But I wonder how much of the creative impulse is integrated with the effort of transcending my own moods. What will happen if I turn more of the mountains into hills, hills into plains? "I am a river, baby." Don't wanna lose my flow. I'll mention it to my g.p. in our appointment tomorrow.