The Doldrums

And I was determined that the next couple of posts would deal with something other than PD. That is until I started experiencing insomnia. Now I’m sitting in a completely silent house with nothing but my thoughts. This is rather irritating. This gives me plenty of time to hit the doldrums.


That’s a real issue. I don’t know if I fall into depression often enough to require happy pills, but I’m not too happy tonight. Looking to the future is bleak business, but once again, I can’t seem to help myself. They come, my thoughts, in waves of unscrupulous misery. Knowing that I’m not going to just slow down, but I won’t be able to do anything on my own in that future.

It’s a future of wheelchairs and frequent trips to the bathroom. It’s a future where I can’t open a milk carton, button a shirt, open a pill bottle. As for picking up my guitar and playing it? It’s difficult now, let alone when my left side becomes affected. Most likely by 45, I’ll be walking with a cane. By 55, with a walker—if I’m having a good day.

Yes, the depression hit. Or maybe it’s more like mourning. What am I mourning? My independence. My ability to do for myself; without having to rely on someone else. I’m a caregiver by trade. This is what I do. This is who I am. This is who I’ll no longer be.

With the passing of time. Yes, with the passing of time I’ll be less of myself. I’ll be slower, unsteady, ready to fall at any time. I do enough of that now. With the passing of time, it’ll get worse. No miracle drug is going to change that.

So, I have to ask, did the insomnia bring on the depression, or the depression bring on the insomnia. Does it really matter? Not especially, I think. The facts are in: I’m awake, and I’m not feeling chipper about anything right now. Then again, tomorrow’s always a new day. I look forward to the sun.