I need an operation on my knee – I have a torn meniscus. I’d love to say I got this playing hockey, or running, or doing something else heroically physical, but no.
I tripped up a tiny step. A very tiny step. Sighs.
It’s been a year, and the pain is steadily worse, and finally, I went for an MRI and it shows the tear, hence the op on 10 Sep… everything will be fine, I am one of these annoying eternally optimistic people who think everything will be okay, all of the time.
What prompted this post though, wasn’t the op, or the tripping incident, but the letter my doctor wrote for the referral to the surgeon. She described me as formidable – I hope that is because of how I’ve put myself out there for the kids, or maybe because I am so very fixed on everything being okay. I hope she didn’t mean I was channeling some ancient matriarch in a period show who spends a lot of time being in charge. LOL.
She also spoke about why I was on medication for depression, saying that mostly it is because of our son, Matthew, and the fact he has autism and this is hard.
I won’t lie. Of course, it’s hard. Autism is far FAR from easy. I suffered from postnatal depression with Matt and it kind of never went away, but I can honestly say my depression goes back way farther than nineteen years.
I am what I like to call an introverted extrovert. I can be the life and soul of the party, loud, funny even, drunk, fun… but I can also switch that off at a moments notice, and then I want to sit in a room all on my own with a book, a cuppa, and some cookies. I’m not pretending to be loud and confident. I’m not pretending to be introverted. I am both of those things at different times.
I do, however, live with depression on a daily basis. Every single day I am vulnerable to being dragged down, and I have triggers that I know I need to avoid. Maybe, as a result of this, I have become this eternally optimistic person. Who knows.
All I do know is that for as long as I can remember (maybe the age of 5 or so) I have suffered from depression, with what Winston Churchill called the black dog. If my head becomes too *messy* I color in patterns and shapes, or I read, or I watch TV. I don’t talk about my depression anymore; I have coping strategies, positive thoughts, and I have accepted it is part of me, and that perhaps, a writer is so involved in their own worlds that depression becomes a constant companion.
That feels kind of like depression is supposed to be happening to me, for all the right reasons.
Told you I was positive.