The Chronicles of Depression, part 4: Aftermath

Christmas Eve. Post work day. Tired.

Think of tomorrow. It will be the only day off I get for the holiday. A day full of food, presents, family and friends. Then, back to the grind Monday morning, 6:30 AM. 

Since I started working, roughly 1998, I have not enjoyed an extended holiday break. It seems we always have to cram festivities where they fit. For some reason, this year already seems different. Previously, I had anxiously awaited Christmas, and since my daughter came along a few years ago, it injected a whole new level of excitement. This year, I've almost dreaded the day.

I'm not sure why, but this year seemed like so much more work, even though I've done very little. No shopping. no food preparation (yet). My wife has taken the brunt of the work and I feel guilty about it. But, like the anti-depressant commercial, I just feel like a deflated balloon. 

I can't help thinking about all of the tasks I have to do tomorrow. Start the food, drive to pick people up, gift exchanges, forcing smiles, eat the food, deal with family drama, take people home. I guess it wouldn't be so bad if I had an extra day to recover. 

I know this seems like one big "Woe is me." I should just wake up, appreciate what I have, think of those who don't have family and friends to share the holiday with, but franking (and uncharacteristically) I simply don't care. 

Seasonal depression? Maybe. Burnout? Most probably. Self-loathing? Definitely. 

If you are reading this, I suppose I should apologize for bringing you down on such a joyous holiday. I won't. I guess the point is that I just wanted to make clear to certain people why I just don't seem as appreciative of their gestures as of late. 

Those who known me well, are well aware how deeply contemplative I am with everything that happens in my life. These recent weeks have left me without the energy to contemplate. When one is left without contemplation, one becomes confused. When one is confused, one is afraid. 

If there is one word that would describe my state of being of late, it would be disjointed. Writing about it, regardless of how many people read it, helps. This is my contemplation. This helps beat back the confusion. This helps keep the fear at bay. 

"I hate to say this, but this place is getting to me. I think I'm getting the Fear."