It's just seven days. Feels like a week.

Last night as we gathered with the children, singing songs and attempting to contain their wildly bouncing bodies as they begged to play 'guess that animal', I involuntarily covered my ears. The cacophony of it all had my teeth on edge, regardless of the fact that it was a happy kind of cacophony. I just sat there, hands over ears, eyes closed.

Then, as I was dressing myself this morning, I gazed in the mirror and made a face. My fingers poked and pinched at a bit of soft flesh and I found myself thinking that perhaps I shouldn't dress so. My colorful attire seemed to have added a few dozen pounds overnight. 

Later still, whilst browsing through a magazine, I read a review on a book called Disquiet. "Marcus and Sophie return home with their stillborn baby, hoping to get to know her before the funeral takes place..." I read. 

Then burst into tears. 

If you haven't already guessed, I've been off of my depression medication. Only for a week, mind {due to inadvertently allowing my prescription to lapse}, and yet all the symptoms of a full fledged crash have reared their ugly heads, oblivious to the previous months of happiness. 

For example, on Saturday J took the kids to a hockey game. I stayed home and bustled around the kitchen, doing chores and trying not to cry. It was only later that I realized the source of my weepiness. I had become convinced that they weren't coming home. That I was going to receive a phone call any moment informing me that they'd been in a deadly car accident. 

I've had insomnia, an extremely short temper, crying jags, and sensitivity to noise {if I've disappeared during your party recently, please don't take it personally}. But worst of all is not being able to trust my own thoughts. They lie! I know that I haven't gained weight this week, but suddenly I can't stand to look in a mirror. I'm back to analyzing every phrase that flits through my head, tasked with deciding whether it's innocuous or deserves aggressive counter-maneuvers. 

Sure, it's only been a week. But it's been a pretty sucky week. 

This morning, I sat in the doctor's office and forced myself to chit-chat, when what I really wanted to do was rip the prescription right out of his hands and race to the pharmacy-- on foot, if I had to! I guess that means I'm past feeling like a failure for needing medication. I've advanced to the stage where I can't imagine having to go back to the tortured soul that I was before I had it. 

Thankfully, I don't have to think about purposely going sans medication until we're ready to have the next baby. And I'm not. At least, not this week.

{image via}

PS  The post title is a line of lyrics from Learnt My Lesson Well by the Kaiser Chiefs.

PPS Dane Patterson talks about the Marathon debacle here, here, here and here. Happily, I am not linked in any of them.