This One Time, In The Middle of the Night, A Lovely Thing Happened...

This One Time, In The Middle of the Night, A Lovely Thing Happened...

I've been in one of my funks lately.

It started small, and then it swelled, and last night the bubble burst. I woke up in the middle of the night, panicked, frightened, and distraught. For some reason, my mind had convinced me that I have no good memories.

I tried to think of my wedding day, but my brain kept diverting me to how my beloved grandfather was diagnosed with terminal cancer only days after our big party. I tried to think of my nieces and nephews, but my neurons fired in the direction of my infertility and how long we'll have to wait to adopt. And on and on it went, until I believed that my life wasn't worth shit.

Then, Chris rolled over, opened his eyes, saw me in the dark, and he held out his arm and said, "Come here." I snuggled up to him, and he asked, "What can I do?" And for the next 15 minutes, he listed off good memory after good memory after good memory.

At 3:47 fucking a.m.

With zero complaint.

With love.

And compassion.

So, this morning, I still face my depression. Of course, I do. No switch allows me to just turn off pain. But now I have a good memory to add to my arsenal.

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I know, I know. This post really doesn't offer you anything. I didn't generalize to be inclusive, I didn't provide any context, and I didn't do any of that other stuff that professional bloggers say to do to make readers feel like they're part of the story. But I have a health psych paper to write, and I have to prepare for a big job interview tomorrow, and I have to eat lunch. Obviously, that last bit is the most important. No, really, though. You know that I think of y'all with every post I publish. I hope that this story doesn't make you all like, "Oh, good for you, bitch. You have a great husband. Fuck off with your bragging." It's really me saying, "I can't do this depression thing alone. I can't. I am so grateful I have a tater-tot-loving port in my particular storm." So, the point is this: Depression is shit. I routinely thank whatever deity is in charge that Chris does battle for me. Because I'd be dead otherwise. And I don't tell him that enough. And I certainly don't give him credit for it publicly. So, this is that. This is me saying that my husband saves me. And I hope beyond all hope that you have someone in your corner, too. If not, reach out. My sister is single and swings both ways. Mind you, she has herpes, but, you know, at least she isn't Republican ;)

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True story: Life would be super swell if we all embraced our OMG side instead of living a Facebook-friendly existence. So, let it out. How the hell did I get so lucky to have Chris as my husband? No, really, this is a legit question? Do you think that four-leaf clover I found as a kid has something to do with it? Feel free to disclose details. You're safe here.