Slim and SAD

If I could be anywhere in the world, right now, I would be on the couch, in my pj's, with Slim.

Slim is a good kitty.  The little dude started his life feral and remnants of that origin remain with him today.  He’s skittish and fearful.  It takes a long time to earn his trust.  It takes patience and calm to keep it.  All his emotions, his insides, show up in his behavior, his outsides.  He grooms his fur almost constantly, scratching, biting, and licking it.  He darts around the house in sudden skittering bursts of movement.  He hides under the bed. 

Two things calm him.  He enjoys lying still in patches of sunshine.  He is comforted by the snuggles and grooming of another cat, Brother Justin.  They are often found curled up together, a warm knot of fur and whiskers.

These days, I feel a strong kinship with Slim, as I wrestle with holding my insides inside of me.  The season has changed from crisp sunny Autumn to dark damp Winter.  My emotions drag down into depression’s grip.  Pulling them back up is a furtive persistent labor, like tugging up a pair of stockings, twisted and drooping, all day long.  The effort distracts me from the other things I want and need to do, like parenting my son, engaging with my partner, and completing my job duties.  I’m rarely fully present, as my attention is turned to monitor and manage my feelings.  I feel it in my body, too.  My limbs are heavy and require more energy to move, as if fighting against some increase of gravity.  My chest and gut feel hollow and vast.

I mustn’t let it show.  I can’t let anyone know.  I can’t let this gloom cast shadows into the lives of others.  I must smile and perform.  I must maintain my relationships as if everything is fine.  For others’ ease.  For my own sense of self and control.

But that’s a lie.  It’s one of the many lies that depression composes and replays in my mind when these episodes come upon me.  This lie is especially insidious as I believe I am protecting my relationships and loved ones only to render them disconnected and strained.  Faking it is a failed strategy, in my experience.  Pretending to be sanguine during a depressive episode erects an impervious wall where I actually need a permeable boundary.  My relationships and my mental health require connection between me and my loved ones.  I can say, “I’m not well, right now.”  I can ask for help.  I can request and accept comfort.  It’s not a matter of exhibiting all my insides outside but neither is it about concealing what resides within me.  I can do a little bit of both.

Tis the season of darkness.  I see it outside of me even as I feel it inside of me.  Experience has provided me with a catalog of ways to mitigate it.  The primary one is to say it, out loud, to myself and to my loved ones.  I’m depressed. 

Our kitty Slim doesn’t have much in the way of language.  He expresses himself in his behavior.  This is one time when I’m grateful not to be a cat.  Even so, his behavior reminds me of a few of my favorite creature comforts for this time of year – bask in the sunshine when we have it, let a loved one care for me in little ways, and settle in to their warm embrace.