Mel's Mind, Friday

The sign at the front of the building says Anthony House. Of the health care setting it is on, this is one of the ugliest buildings on the property. It is obviously several generations older than the others. I think it is supposed to be a cream color, but it looks as though someone took great lumps of charcoal and wiped down the sides of the building, creating dark streaks that start at the roof line and cascade down the outer walls. Someone has planted bright flowers at the entrance -- lipstick on a pig.

Sucking in my breath, I walk up to the door and give it a yank. I am reminded of another time I have been here. I pull the inner door open and am met with the dank smell of old carpet and even older building. It doesn't smell like a hospital, it smells old. The carpet is dingy, in need of a change. Walking down the hall, I glance up at the sign that confirms the mental health outpatient clinic is still in the same place as it was three years ago. The sign confirms that it is, and in a weird sort of way, confirms that I am still in the same place also.

I pull open yet another set of doors, and drag myself up to the desk. I am greeted by Tammy. I remembered her from the other time that I was at this same desk. She is still as bright and cheery as I remembered -- I hated her at that moment. Her happiness irritated me. Everyone on staff was kind and cheerful. A drag for me at that moment in time. It took everything I had not to turn tail and bolt out of there, but I didn't. I have made it a mission this time to stick it out. After 25 years of fighting, I am going to win the battle.

My battle, of course, is depression -- mental illness, if you will. As I struggle to be the best mom that I can for my children, and help them with their battles, I am waging my own war. I am tiring of fighting, and, therefore, have to win this time.