old friends…

I’ve had two old friends come and visit recently.  Usually, I enjoy catching up with old friends.  We talk about things we’re doing, rehash what madness we may have shared in the past, glance at the future.

 
But not this time.
 
This time, I’m not happy to see these old friends.  They’re both kinda sneaky.  Gliding in like mist through a crack in the wall.  That imperceptible presence just outside of my line of sight.  These friends like to linger.  I guess they like me.  I should be flattered, right?
 
I’m not.  I wish they’d go be someone else’s old friend.
 
I first met Depression in 2003.  That friend managed to stay around a while – almost a year in fact – before I kicked him out of my house.  He tried to come back again in 2005 but I was much better than him that time.  He only lingered a few weeks.  He got clever, though.  He found ways to sneak in to my life without me even knowing he was there.  It wasn’t until a conversation with a good friend that I realized that Depression had moved into our spare bedroom.  I was too busy looking the other way to notice.  So, at the advice of said friend, I went to see the doctor this week, hoping to find a way to make Depression move out.
 
That’s when my other old friend showed up.
 
Her name is High Blood Pressure and she really is a sneaky bitch.  I bet she’s pissed at Depression, though, because now her cover is blown.  I first met High Blood Pressure when I was pregnant with Little Man.  She was persistent and refused to go away.  She didn’t bring along her other preeclampsia friends, just her own bad self.  She even managed to force the doctors into delivering our son six weeks early and then started a knock-down drag-out fight with the doctors forcing them to bring out the big guns – the Magnesium Sulphate drip.
 
Yeah, High Blood Pressure is an evil bitch.
 
She managed to live in the spare bedroom of my life until after Little Man was about 6 or 8 months old, then she left.  Sometime in the last 6 months, she’s decided to move back in.  
 
I suppose I should be thankful to Depression, though, because without him, I would never have known she was there.  I stopped checking for her after she had disappeared for months and doctor’s visits over the last two years turned up nothing.  She was gone.  Needless to say, I’m now on to them both.
 
Excuse me while I go draw up an eviction notice.
 
 
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13 thoughts on “old friends…

  1. I hate those bitches. They always let their children, jealousy and neglect, run around my house – they’re always breaking shit.

    Brilliant entry, brilliant.

  2. You are absolutely right. You should see the condition of my house. At least the kids are fed and clothed, right?

    Thank you – coming from you, that’s a great compliment.

  3. Wonderful post! Terrible situations, which I am sorry to hear have returned for visits.

    I too have a friend named Depression. He likes me more than I like him though.

    I am on medication (prozac, low daily dose) too keep a grips on my depression. I hate taking meds, but it is better than the alternative. I would be more than happy to help you through the depression in anyway that I can. I know, this is a horrible saying but, hang in there.
    You are in my prayers.

  4. Really sorry to hear this Kool Aid.
    I have a really good friend who is going through something very similar and she’s is just like you, making light of it and almost laughing it off.

    I really do hope to find a way to kick them into touch.

    I have nothing but admiration for anyone who can write about it and be so open. I guess it can only help.
    I have read Clark Kent’s Lunchbox for a while now and he often talks about dealing with depression, which as a man and a father is a bit of a taboo subject I suppose.

    Also wanted to really thank you for sticking by me and coming over to my new blogging home. I really do appreciate your support.
    x

  5. Honestly, Tara, that post has been a couple weeks in the making. I didn’t want to post about it because family reads it and I wasn’t sure I wanted those “are you ok?” calls. Now that I’ve been to the doctor about it, it’s less emotional for me. Make sense?

    Anyway, I figure maybe it’ll make a difference for someone else who’s going through the same thing and possibly help them.

    I’ll have to check out his blog. I’ve been once or twice but not regularly.

    Why wouldn’t anyone follow you over? You’re still the same writer, right? I’m happy to keep reading your posts.

  6. rock on my friend…you are one smart woman!!

    depression has a cousin named disthymia (maybe it’s dysthymia??) that lives with me. but, i’m on to him, have been for years. i hope the pharmaceutical companies don’t one day need a bailout. i doubt they will.

    know i live on the other side of the ‘hood from you but you can call. don’t rob me too!

  7. I think it’s absolutely brilliant that you have written this with helping others in mind.

    It is hard when you discover someone you care about is struggling because you naturally want to do something to help, but equally I understand the ‘are you OK?’ questions can be draining.

  8. @grits404 – thanks, friend.

    @tara – thanks and I know exactly what you mean. But it’s also kindof cathartic to write about it. Once it isn’t a secret any more, I have more that I can write and clean out my closet, so to speak.

    Wait, did I say clean? I hate cleaning…. 🙂

  9. I’m sorry to hear you are battling this “friend”. It used to be such a taboo, but now people are talking about it, and it makes the people who never really understood it understand. My best friend battled this for years. Through much sturggle, natural remedies and using a “sun lamp” {it imitates the rays of the sun}, she is doign much much better. It is hard to understnad as an outsider, but reading personal posts really helps. Thanks 🙂

  10. Thanks Rosie,
    Just another reason to put it out there, I guess. Now not only people who are going through it don’t feel so alone, but it helps others understand.
    Thanks for your kind words.

  11. Kool Aid, I think most of us would be telling bald-faced lies if we said we’d not had our bouts of it, too. It passes. Sometimes with a variety of help and sometimes all on its own. Sometimes it takes a while (okay, a long time) and sometimes it’s just with us for a little visit. I think giving it some sunlight helps a lot. Good for you!

  12. Thanks for your words of encouragement. Usually those moments of melancholy for me don’t last that long, but this time around it really snuck up on my and decided to stick around.

    But I do see sunlight at the end of the tunnel. A lot of it.

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