This is the last day it’s supposed to be in the sixties, and cooler weather is coming back. I’m afraid I got spoiled just from being able to wander around the yard yesterday. Two days ago the cornfields and our property were blanketed in snow. By yesterday afternoon all was gone, leaving behind piles of puppy poo that had been trod down where the dogs had been allowed to go near the house after the weather turned bad and we couldn’t venture too far into the yard or down the road. Yes, Spring is near, but not near enough to suit me.

     I suffer from what my mother used to call “Holiday Blues”. Today they call it SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder). I guess it’s when your body doesn’t get enough sunshine and you lack Vitamin D. I don’t know all the details; just that from December to about March/April I really feel like shit, and am half the woman I should be. And I make the mistake nearly every year of thinking I can get through it on my own. Many years I did and I was miserable the whole time. The past few I’ve been smart enough to recognize when it’s time to go to the doc and get some ‘happy pills’ to get me through. This year was no exception.

     Yep, made an appointment with the local, white-coat a few weeks back and he started me back up on my Wellbutrin. I got tired of just coping and making the best of it, and decided I needed something to take the edge off of my depression. I’m especially glad now that I did, given the recent events and how I may have dealt with them had I not. I’m still not 100%, but a helluva lot better than I was. I’m not boo-hooing about stupid shit anymore, anyway.

     You know what amazes me? How a man can be with a woman for years and still be oblivious to how she ticks. WTF? I mean, each and every time I go through this and then come out of it my husband seems surprised by the change in my attitude. I’ve tried to educate him many times, but I think he has selective retention and chooses not to learn. He seems to be under the assumption that anti-depressants are miracle pills and will magically turn me into some kind of Stepford Wife that is happy all the time and compliant, and that ain’t gonna happen! Many times I’ve had to ask him, “Did you ride the short bus when you were little?” because I’ve tired of explaining myself over and over again.

     We had one such discussion just the other day; and hopefully this one will be the last. My husband and I were in a heated conversation over who the hell knows what now, and he stopped me short when he said, “I’m going into town, drag that old doctor out by the coat, and kick the shit out of him. I don’t know what he gave you, what I’m paying for, but it ain’t working.” I had to stifle a laugh. I really did, cause he was dead serious. I asked him again for the hundredth time just exactly what he thought the anti-depressants were supposed to do to me. “Well, you’d think that you’d be happier and not bitching so much, wouldn’t you? He answered. Yeah…okay…I thought to myself. Like that is ever going to happen!

     I spent the next five minutes again trying to enlighten him on how they work. “Anti-depressants don’t fix your personality,” I told him. “They do nothing more than curb the edge off of your existing depression. Once that edge is curbed it allows you to be yourself again.” I swear I heard him groan then. I’m serious. “Maybe this is just who I really am. Did that ever occur to you?” I asked him. He almost looked like the floor fell from beneath him so I tried to make light of it, gave him a smile and said cheerfully, “At least I’m not depressed anymore.” He groaned again and said quietly, “Yeah, but now I am.”

     Okay, I’m a little abrasive, I admit. I’d like to think that’s one little facet of my personality that makes me more interesting though. And truth be known, if I were agreeable all the time my husband would be bored to tears. I think he likes a little kicking and spitting from his women. Had he not, he never would’ve been interested in me after he saw me cussing out 300 pound bikers in the bar that I managed when we met. He has only himself to blame. I stick by that.

     I wish there were a magic pill that could fix all that ails me. Something I could take that would make me stop feeling the painful emotions I experience that are associated with certain memories. Something that would give me the confidence I lack to achieve my dreams. Something that would enable me to see the world through rose-colored glasses like I did as a child. I wish. Sadly, to date, there’s not. Maybe someday. In the meantime my husband and I both will just have to accept the hand dealt us. I suppose if it gets too bad he can always take mine! 🙂

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