Making the rounds in my mind

The book is done. It’s out of my hands for the next three weeks. Then, the editing comes. It should be time to relax, get back into the swing of things at work, but there’s something not quite right.

It starts in the back of my head, like a nagging thought that I have forgotten to do something, but can’t quite remember what it was. This feeling is all too familiar. It’s what happens when Depression makes a return. I can often recognize the signs and find ways to counteract it, but this time I was mired in research with a real and definite deadline that distracted me.

In between pictures from history, these feelings began to seep in, taking advantage of a tired mind working toward perfection. Everything is amplified now. A slight annoyance becomes anger. Extra work becomes overwhelming. Being tired increases. It’s not the tired of being overworked. Nor is it the tired that is cured by a good night’s sleep. It’s the tired of the 24/7 living with mental health issues. There is hope of a day where I don’t have to deal with them every day, but I’m not there yet.

For the past month, I have worked on a hardcover book about the history of the Scotts Bluff National Monument. I was focused on it at least ten hours a day from January 14-28 so the information was ready by deadline. I didn’t have a day off. While I was overworked to meet the deadline, I neglected to pay attention to me. I didn’t heed the signs that appear for me, the warnings that Depression was on its way. While I can’t make depression disappear, I can head it off at the pass and minimize its effects. I missed them this time.

I missed the signs when I started eating crap food. I stopped exercising. I missed the subtle changes in thought. Those are a key factor for me, but I was so engrossed in my work, I didn’t see the big D when it came.

Yet, in a way, I did know. I knew something was off. I mentioned it to my therapist and a friend. I couldn’t put my finger on it. I missed it again once I turned my work in because my brain did an auto shift without me into a visit with Anxiety.

The first proof  of the book will arrive on Feb. 14. A lot of people are looking forward to seeing it when it publishes in June. I’m worried about the typos. I’m worried about getting something wrong. I’m worried that, in general, the book sucks. My editor keeps telling me it will be fantastic. He has much more confidence in my abilities than I do.

I get the pleasure of going to work each day and bringing Anxiety and Depression with me. They spend their time making me feel sick to my stomach over every decision I make and sprinkling the seeds of self-doubt in every corner of my mind.

I will work, type out a story, conduct an interview, but I’m simultaneously searching for those seeds and burning each one I find. Occasionally, one begins to sprout and I must retreat within my mind to take extra care to not only pull it out, but destroy its roots so it cannot grow again.

When my already-exhausted mind is fighting this battle, it is also finding strength from somewhere, to keep going. You may see a tear or two in my eye. I may leave so you do not see them flow. It’s all part of the battle.

At the start of the day, I’m tired. It’s not a lack of sleep or too much sleep. It’s the battles in my head that have made my soul a bit more weary. If you’ve never been there, it’s difficult to understand. It goes much deeper than impostor syndrome.

I know this feeling won’t last forever, but it’s here right now. I have to remember that things will get better and to reach out to the people that have your back and let them know what’s going on. My friend, Amber, has been there to see the subtle changes. She provides a gentle nudge out of the bullshit with truth, honesty, and hugs. She knows that pushing me out of the mire and the comfort of despair will only cause me to dig in. Her incredible gift of friendship and kind words got me to think clearly before I went too far in.

She also gave me an assignment, something just between us. I’ve got three days to complete it. Not only will it help me now, it will help her to help me in the future when Anxiety and Depression come knocking on my door.

It will help me for the days when I think I can’t do anything, when I sit and stare at a blinking cursor or cobwebs on the wall, when I beat myself up for mistakes anyone could make, and for all the times I think I’m crap and not worth a damn.

I’m having more good days than bad and, as time stretches on, I suspect the bad days will become even fewer. Remembering the proactive things I can do helps, getting coping skills into place and tweaking them as needed has already turned a few bad days into partially successful ones.

The truth is that I spend a lot of days worrying over things that I cannot change. Those worries are amplified because, when I make a mistake, 10,000 people see it. That mistake churns in my brain trying to make me give up. Those thoughts have increased since I turned in the materials for this book. I’m not sure if they will ever go away.

It’s not helpful to tell me those fears are irrational. I know that. It’s not helpful to tell me everyone makes mistakes. I know that, too. My brain doesn’t care. It doesn’t care that this project is the kind of work I love to do. It doesn’t care that I already know I did the best I could. My brain likes to tell me I’m a complete fraud and, soon, everyone will know.

Maybe putting these words down and making them public will make my brain think that I’m good at what I do and I can get on with the work I need to do in therapy instead of the brain bullshit that tries to bring me down.