Predator and Prey

Sometimes my depression is like a relentless stalker. Lurking somewhere just out of sight, blending in with a blur of faces I pass at the grocery store. I can't see it, but I sense it there, just waiting to pounce. The same way a zebra senses the lioness watching it from behind the tall grass. There is an uneasiliness about me, a constant anxiety about what lies around each corner. I have a greater awareness of every sound, every movement, every person around me. I have a constant need to move, distract myself. It all begins to ware away at me. The tension in me builds until I become so overwhelmed and angry that I begin to show physical signs of anxiety. My hands visibly shake, and I appear tired. I have been trying to out run my own misery for so long that I begin to stumble. I become disorganized, my memory becomes spotty, and my energy level drops. I don't immediately see the changes in myself. I have no sense that I am beginning to make myself more and more vunerible. I am so wrapped up in the fear of the depression coming that I do not realize it is beginning to close in on me. Eventually, worn down by my own efforts to distract myself, the constant worrying about being ok, and the stress of life as a single mom with a crappy job, I am forced by my body to stop and breath. This is the moment, the moment I become the sick zebra who has strayed from the herd. And wham, like a sudden strike to the head it hits me. All at once the anger, the sadness, the anxiety, they become too much, and I go down. Feeling like I have been rendered helpless, I have nothing left to fight back with. Mundane, everyday tasks become more than I am able to muster up the energy or desire to do. Taking care of my child and sleep become my only goals for the day. I feel angry and weak for letting myself get overrun in such a way. That is when the the real damage starts. The recordings begin to play in my head, and with them comes all the memories. The memories of every time in my life that I didn't measure up or every time that I let my depression stalker overtake me. I fill with sadness, embarrassment, and fear. What if this is my whole life? What if I am not as capable as I thought I was? What if I need help? Who will help me? I don't want to be a burden to anyone, nor do I want to admit that I am not capable of keeping a home clean, working full-time, or being the best mom I can be to my little girl. Those are things I should be able to do. Those are things "normal" people do everyday. Why can't I? Why couldn't I just keep running? Why did I let myself get caught by this illness again?

And so it's been for the last few weeks. Constant need to run, distract myself, pretend not to feel the presence of my stalker behind me. Until two very bad days in a row knocked my feet out from under me, and down I came like an injured zebra, and the predator did not hesitate to snap me up in my moment of weakness. Looking back I can see so clearly all the little signs that I was in danger. I wonder if I could have stopped it some how. Cut it off at the pass. For now I sit here, wondering how I am going to get through the week, and even if I do what will happen next. How long will it long will it take to escape my captor? Once freed, how long will I be able to run before it catches up with me again?