Virtual World.

Life is tough at the moment. The relief I felt in early November was short lived. I was depressed all through November and over Christmas. It got worse in January. I can’t work at the moment. I barely function.

It got to the point where my thoughts became sluggish, my movements slow. It is particularly hard in the morning. Things improve as the day passes. I get some relief in the evening. I feel more human. Less of a burden.

I wake early. Usually between 4.00 and 5.00am. I sit in the kitchen and vape. I drink coffee to try and kick-start my brain. My concentration is poor. The effort of writing this is difficult. I sit in the kitchen and experience the worst of the symptoms on my own. It’s lonely. I pray for my wife to join me. I crave company. I crave distraction. I beg for the pain to relent.

I would describe myself as moderately depressed. I’ve been worse. I’m not suicidal. I’m not angry. A bit cranky yes, but not much. I haven’t upset anyone. I haven’t done anything I regret.

I haven’t had a shave in over a week. A shower since last weekend. I can’t. I don’t care.

Finally, when I felt I could go no further on my own, I called my psychiatrist. Arguably, I should have contacted him sooner. Maybe I let it go too far. He offered me a virtual admission to St Pat’s. All of the benefits of an inpatient admission but all the while remaining at home. If there is no improvement, a bed awaits me if I need to use it. It’s an attractive package.

I slept on the idea and discussed it with my wife before putting the wheels in motion. The programme starts this morning. I’m in the care of St. Pat’s once more.

There is comfort in asking for help. I will let someone else drive for a while. I’m going to sit in the back. Maybe I’ll have a nap. Maybe my wife will give me a blanket. Maybe she will be my blanket. There is a light at the end of the tunnel however distant. There is hope.

I can’t enjoy my usual activities. I can’t play my flute. I can’t read. So I listen to music and try to get lost in the beauty of Mozart. I’ll recommence as I improve. I will get better.

So why do I write this miserable post? Maybe someone reads it who relates to my description of depression. Maybe someone is struggling. I urge you to have the courage to ask for help. Life can get better.

You just have to believe.