I wasn't always as patient with Cory when she was ill as I wanted to be. When the hallucinations and delusions were at their worst, it was easy to see that it was the illness talking, and not my girl. It came naturally to comfort her, to try to see things from her perspective, and to wait it out. When the symptoms began to fade, it was often a day at a time. Her certainties about the improbable, and often impossible, weakened a thought at a time. She would often say, "I don't know anymore. That just doesn't seem right." After awhile, she would be unable to believe she had ever thought such a thing, and most times couldn't even remember the days she spent doing so. Agents...what agents?
It was harder when she was depressed. It seems viewpoints on depression symptoms fall into two widely varied schools of thought. There are those who understand it is truly an illness, and there are those who think the depressed person is just being lazy. If you don't know a lot about depression, or haven't experienced yourself, it would be hard not to think the person who couldn't get out of bed wasn't just lacking motivation, and that it was a choice on their part. I have now seen every person in my household -down to the pets- go through severe depression in the last eleven months, and I'm here to tell you, friends and neighbors, that shit is not a choice.
It used to make me feel like climbing the walls when I couldn't cheer her up or convince her to leave the house or be around people. I used to wonder how someone could not want to bathe daily, or feel perfectly comfortable wearing the same clothes day after day. I wracked my brain trying to figure out how in the world my gorgeous girl could look in the mirror and see anything but a breathtaking beauty.
Cory, my love, I am feeling you now, girl. We all are. I wish she were here, so I could ask her just how she managed to survive feeling that way on and off for years.
When you are depressed, everyday things that used to be part of your routine, and even enjoyable, become insurmountable tasks...getting out of bed, seeing people, talking on the phone, bathing, preparing yourself or your family a meal, grocery shopping...the list goes on.
When I am feeling really down, I can't even stand the sound of my voice and will avoid the telephone at all costs. I used to wonder what in the heck was wrong with Cory that she said she didn't like calling people. Not anymore.
When you are questioning what in life is good, personal appearance becomes the least of your priorities. Have you seen me lately? The proof is in the outfit repeats, lack of makeup, and scraggly hair.
I tried to force myself to get back to cooking by doing thecooking blog, but as you can see, it quickly went by the wayside. It hurts too much to be in the kitchen without her. And no matter how I psych myself up to do it, I end up feeling an overwhelming sense of guilt in front of that stove and countertop. I was cooking when I should've been watching my kid. Shame on me.
Grocery shopping is a challenge to Tim and I for different reasons. For me, I took Cory with me nearly every time, to every store in town, but most often to Family Fare. Out of desperation and pure exhaustion, I've been by there a couple of times to pick up milk or bread. It is like entering a time warp. I enter determined to do the "Cory Zoom" (a phrase invented when Cory was little to let her know we were going on a mission, and needed to stay focused- in and out), but always end up leaning up against a shelf with tears streaming. If it's not hard enough to be in the building that was Cory's last intended destination on an errand I sent her on, there are also the memories so fresh and techni-color that they bow me over with their intensity.
I went in the last time to get juice. Just juice. Like a time warp, I was back to the Friday night that Cory, Jake, and I had finished up our last DVD of a season of LOST. Whew, we were addicted to that show, every single one of us. Cory and I spent most episodes fanning our bosoms every time Sawyer or Sayhid graced the screen. Jacob was there for brain power. Even at nine, he had a better grip on the plot than Cory and I did. How's that for just wrong?
So there we were on the edge of the couch, leaning forward for the last five minutes of a season finale. How did it end? Cliffhanger, baby! Tim wasn't even home yet; it was probably after eleven p.m. Call me irresponsible, I know eleven p.m. isn't the ideal bedtime for a nine year old, even on the weekend. But we were on a roll. I loaded those babies up, and we rushed over to Family Fare before they closed and plunked down the cash for the next season. We were laughing and exhilarated. We were alive. We were together.
That's what happens to me when I go to the store. I end up back in a place I can never go again, and miss with every fiber of my being.
It's like break up sex at its best...that last night with the soulmate you know you can never be with again. Every kiss and every touch intensified because you will never have that experience again even though it is every thing you have ever wanted, and will never feel the same with any other person...because no one else's body could ever be such a perfect fit. No one else's touch could set your soul on fire in quite the same way. It is torture, I tell you. It's the sweetest and cruelest sort of torture imaginable. Why do that to yourself?
As Tim so often says, "Screw the store!"
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