Depression: the awful sequel

So, the thing is, I am not feeling all that well.

Sometimes you just need to say it. I feel bad! I am feeling poorly. In the head, that is.

I had a lovely time on tour and at the conference--I truly did! I wasn't the crying-on-the-inside clown I can sometimes be at these things--but shortly after I got back a whole cascade of awfulness knocked me right over. I could blame it on exhaustion, and I'm sure that contributed, but also I've been adjusting to some new meds mixed in with withdrawal from my old meds. My old meds, which, it became clear, I still needed, so now I'm back on 'em. Plus the new one. Plus another one, for anxiety. It's getting very Valley of the Dolls up in here. I've got a Lazy Susan of pill bottles.

The acute horror of depression-recurrence has abated, mostly--I'm ambulatory, able to laugh and shower, and so on. But I haven't yet experienced that relief that washes over me when I realize my brain is back to its regular, happy hum. I'm no longer horrible, but I'm frustrated. And irritated. And maybe a little despairing? Every time this recurs, I feel the teensiest bit hopeless. I like to believe I have my Depression beat, but here it's been lurking in the shadows all this time, waiting, ready to pounce.

That dick.