As I stood at the desk signing in, I felt such a rush of emotion. It has difficult not to leave. The failure that I felt, and feel, at not being able to deal with my depression can be consuming, so that I don't think of anything else. It is hard to keep the focus on wellness when I have been mired in this for so long.
I don't know that someone who has not battled with depression can fully understand how it can take over one's life. It is always there, a gray shroud that veils all aspects of me and everything I do. It is in my head, making it feel heavy and hurt. The constant throb in my temples. The aches of my body that feel always as if I am either just getting over or just coming down with a flu like bug.
I digress. Standing at the counter again, these few years later than last, make me feel as though I am a small child, at the teachers desk, asking for help with something that I should already know how to do. As the staff ask the perfunctory questions, I hang my head, and talk, I realize later, in a small voice. I just want this part ot be over with. After completing some paperwork, a staff member sits with me to discuss the intake process. They call the program partial hospitalization.
After that process is concluded, I am directed the first of many classrooms, or groups. It is these where, with direction of staff, I hope to work out the demons that keep me from the feelings that "those on the other side" feel. I am guessing those are happiness and a meaning for life -- neither of which I feel now. I am just existing, sucking up time and space. I attend classes on self esteem and enjoyment. One doesn't choose what classes you go to, the staff chooses for you. There was some grumbling among the other attendees that they had been involuntarily switched out of relaxation. I am checking my list; I don't want to go to that class, and am thrilled to find that it isn't circled. I am pulled out a session to talk to the nurse. She takes my temperature and blood pressure, making a comment about how they get the all of the older things, and apologizing for the thermometer. I didn't understand her comment that "the big house gets all of the newest equipment and rightly so."
Does that mean that a patient at Anthony House is any less deserving? I don't think that is what she meant, but it is obvious that some of the people in the system feel that we are. It is the oldest and least updated building on a multi-million dollar health care facility campus. Perhaps it is because society typically turns a cold shoulder to those things it doesn't fully understand. The nurse was nice enough, taking time to explain and to listen. For the first time in a while, it feels good to have someone really listen to me, knowing fully that her only agenda is to make me well. She encourages me to do things that I have given up on, and we make a deal that I will get out to go for a walk. "It will help you, and you will feel so much better." For some reason, I trust her and agree. We finish and she sends me off to the next session.
Somewhere along the line, I am asked what was my best day and what was my worst day. I couldn't tell them. I am so mired down in the now -- I can't remember a best day, and so many, many seem to be the worst. Another patient says, "I have a hard time accepting anything positive {about myself}. I feel that if people could only see what I see, if they could just look inside my head, they wouldn't say those things." Heads around the room bob in agreement. At the end of the day, I have to create a goal, I get to go last because I am the newbie. I copy someone else's because I can't think of a goal at that point. I am on overload. However, being able to reflect back over the day makes me realize that I want to get to a point where I feel as though I am not just being. I am hopeful.
I don't know that someone who has not battled with depression can fully understand how it can take over one's life. It is always there, a gray shroud that veils all aspects of me and everything I do. It is in my head, making it feel heavy and hurt. The constant throb in my temples. The aches of my body that feel always as if I am either just getting over or just coming down with a flu like bug.
I digress. Standing at the counter again, these few years later than last, make me feel as though I am a small child, at the teachers desk, asking for help with something that I should already know how to do. As the staff ask the perfunctory questions, I hang my head, and talk, I realize later, in a small voice. I just want this part ot be over with. After completing some paperwork, a staff member sits with me to discuss the intake process. They call the program partial hospitalization.
After that process is concluded, I am directed the first of many classrooms, or groups. It is these where, with direction of staff, I hope to work out the demons that keep me from the feelings that "those on the other side" feel. I am guessing those are happiness and a meaning for life -- neither of which I feel now. I am just existing, sucking up time and space. I attend classes on self esteem and enjoyment. One doesn't choose what classes you go to, the staff chooses for you. There was some grumbling among the other attendees that they had been involuntarily switched out of relaxation. I am checking my list; I don't want to go to that class, and am thrilled to find that it isn't circled. I am pulled out a session to talk to the nurse. She takes my temperature and blood pressure, making a comment about how they get the all of the older things, and apologizing for the thermometer. I didn't understand her comment that "the big house gets all of the newest equipment and rightly so."
Does that mean that a patient at Anthony House is any less deserving? I don't think that is what she meant, but it is obvious that some of the people in the system feel that we are. It is the oldest and least updated building on a multi-million dollar health care facility campus. Perhaps it is because society typically turns a cold shoulder to those things it doesn't fully understand. The nurse was nice enough, taking time to explain and to listen. For the first time in a while, it feels good to have someone really listen to me, knowing fully that her only agenda is to make me well. She encourages me to do things that I have given up on, and we make a deal that I will get out to go for a walk. "It will help you, and you will feel so much better." For some reason, I trust her and agree. We finish and she sends me off to the next session.
Somewhere along the line, I am asked what was my best day and what was my worst day. I couldn't tell them. I am so mired down in the now -- I can't remember a best day, and so many, many seem to be the worst. Another patient says, "I have a hard time accepting anything positive {about myself}. I feel that if people could only see what I see, if they could just look inside my head, they wouldn't say those things." Heads around the room bob in agreement. At the end of the day, I have to create a goal, I get to go last because I am the newbie. I copy someone else's because I can't think of a goal at that point. I am on overload. However, being able to reflect back over the day makes me realize that I want to get to a point where I feel as though I am not just being. I am hopeful.
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