Body Memory

I’ve been sick for five days (I think? It could have been four. Or six.). Fever, coughing, stuffy head, gastrointestinal ickiness, the whole unlovely, unpleasant drill.

My mind doesn’t understand the difference between staying in bed all day because of a virus, and staying in bed all day because of depression. If I stay in bed all day, I get depressed.

Sort of like, if you hold me under water long enough, I drown.

My brain says that life sucks, has always sucked, will always suck, and it says all of that loudly. My brain says that I’m useless; that I’ll never accomplish anything that matters. Adrift on my couch, I believe everything it says.

This morning, Carter woke up and told me a dream story; something about hairy pigs wearing dresses, and then he wanted to get all our dogs on the bed with us. He laughed at Blossom’s bald anus (Brian shaves it every month because otherwise, she runs around with a poop-encrusted ass which is, to understate quite dramatically, unpleasant.) and Lolly crawled under the covers like a giant worm while Doodle made how did I get mixed up with this nutty crowd? faces at us.

I can breathe again.

And just like that, the world is right-side-up again. Turns out, my body can make new memories.

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18 thoughts on “Body Memory”

  1. I think sickness and depression go hand in hand for most people. I know I get depressed when I’m not feeling well. But I think the difference between myself and others with tendencies towards clinic depression is that I’m able to pop right back out of it as soon as I feel better.

    I’m glad you are feeling better…and that it was your son and your dogs that could get you there.

    1. Yes, maybe you’re right. Maybe it happens to everyone. I struggle back to the surface; it will take me several days to be fully back to myself. That’s a vast improvement, though, so I’m grateful for that part.

  2. It’s hard, after suffering from depression, to rework those triggers. For me, it’s being in my pajamas after a certain point in the day. I NEED to be up and showered and ready to go, or my brain starts to think it’s Bad Time again. Even if I’ve been productive and have had fun, it’s hard work rewiring. Glad you were able to.

  3. Oddly, my allergies make me feel depressed. Because I feel like I’ve been crying. I haven’t been crying. I’m fine. I’m being assaulted by pollen, not misery.

    Yet the swollen eyes, tight throat, perpetual low-grade headache, feel like crying.

    And I have to tell myself: “YOU ARE NOT SAD! YOU ARE ALLERGIC!”

    Sometimes it works.

    I’m glad it worked for you and the world is again butter-side-up.

  4. Sigh.


    You keep posting things that are too big for me to comment on without spilling my guts. And you know I don’t like to spill my guts. I hate being sick. Not because of the being sick, but because I know that with sickness, for me?

    Comes a hole.

    Into which I climb.


    1. Yes, I know that about you. Gut-spillage is scary. I know that it is, although for some reason, it isn’t for me. Or at least not as much as it is for most people.

      I’m always wondering WHY that is? I don’t guess it matters, but I wonder.

      The hole is bad enough, but worse is the time it takes to climb back OUT. If the mood shit could recede with the fever and the cough, I would dread being sick a whole lot less. But no, here I am, several days past the virus and still clawing my way back to the surface.

      I hate that.

  5. Okay, I should probably write a serious comment.

    But that’s just not me.

    So instead –

    I’m sorry – Brian monthly shaves your dog’s anus, and YOU’RE the one who’s depressed?

    ‘Cause that doesn’t seem right.

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