Losing My Words

A difficult event surprised me last week and I had what seems like a shock reaction to it. I found myself frozen and unable to function normally. I wasn’t interested in my normal activities like exercise or even walking. Food was also of little interest. I slept a lot. I found it difficult to shower and do regular self-care. My brain seemed to have turned off, as well, because I wasn’t able to write words like I normally find easy and pleasant to do. Friends who texted me asking if I was OK mostly got a single syllable response “Meh.”

I’ve been depressed before, but it’s always been very functional depression, the kind that most people wouldn’t notice unless they knew me really well. I continued to exercise at a normal rate, continued to eat according to my strict dietary rules, and checked off all the appointments on my list. I’ve never before thought that showering was an optional part of being human and I’ve always enjoyed going outside on walks, even if when I was in Alaska in winter and had to put on six layers of clothes and cleats on my boots.

I would say that it scared me, but I didn’t feel scared. I’m not sure “numb” covers it, either. I felt like I had disappeared and gone away somewhere and I wasn’t at all sure that I would ever come back or that I wanted to come back.

And then, four days later, I woke up and my brain seemed to have rebooted. I won’t say that suddenly everything was fine. It wasn’t. I don’t think I’ve “recovered.” It’s just that this level of depression is more normal than that level. I’m able to make decisions. Food tastes good again. Exercise feels good. Walking doesn’t feel like dragging a body made of sand through molasses.

This is all to say that it’s good to have words back. And if you noticed I was quiet, this is why.