Depression Hurts; Nothing Helps

Dear Reader,

It's funny. I was rereading some of my older posts from a few years ago, and noting how sad I seemed. I have been sad in many ways most of my life. I can remember feeling alienated and alone on the playground in First Grade! I have been in therapy for depression and other various problems since I was 16 years old. There have been gaps, until I had some kind of major crisis which got me "back on the couch," as they say.

I am in therapy now. I am also on anti-depressant medication; a good one that has a positive history. It does not impinge on my mental faculties, which I really need to do my work. It also hasn't had any of the negative impacts so often listed in the late-night medicine ads we see nowadays, with nice animations or little wind-up dolls.

I also drink too much. Yes, I am a drunk. Not an alcoholic; I'm not taking that medicinal term. I'm a drunk. I come from a family of drunks. It is genetic in many ways, and social in more. I've been through rehab, I know that drill. I really get no pleasure from it, and I don't "want" to, but I am choosing to drink these days because the pain I am feeling is so great, it can't be handled by medication, sobriety, or anything else I can come up with.

I had always thought that when my Dad died, my life would essentially be over. I would have no one who really cared for me left, and no reason to keep on living. I didn't want to hurt him by going before he did, but after he was gone, I figured it wouldn't make any difference. I was right about most of it, but I didn't anticipate getting my beautiful dog Hunny. She made life worth living, and she needed me. I think she also cared for me.

So, after Daddy died on November 11, I was okay. He had had a good life; he was 91 1/2, he didn't suffer (much) and I think/hope he went out the way he wanted to. Of course, I had sadness and a couple of episodes of deep depression, but because I had Hunny with me, I had an external focus and someone to care for. She even knew Daddy was gone when we went home for his funeral, but she worked through it, and continued to help me.

We got home to NYC, and got our new kittens on December 4, as planned. Hunny was becoming a great dog big sister to the kittens. We were getting close to a pile of kittens and dog, then I totally screwed up on Christmas Eve. We stopped at the grocery store which was part of our regular walk, to drop off a Christmas card to the night manager, who had always been helpful to me, and was a friend of Hunny's. He really liked her, and she responded in kind.

It is my fault she ran away. I attached Hunny to a trash container that I thought was heavy and stable, but was not. I was going into the store for no more than 30 seconds to drop off our card, and something spooked Hunny and she pulled the contained over and ran off. Part of the container remained attached to her leash, and clanked after her, scaring her further. After she ran across the uptown side of Broadway, her harness broke (I only found this out later, because the Manager I had left the card for followed after her and picked up the harness and leash where he found it, and kept it for me), and she then continued across the downtown side of Broadway, and 1/2 block on south. That was the last time I saw her.

Friends and I have been looking for her since. There have been some terrible episodes, which I may write down here just so I remember them. We/I have done all of the things prescribed by the various sources on the internet, and by other authorities, including a pet detective and psychics. I have tried to do more, but nothing has accomplished the goal of finding Hunny. I don't know if she is dead or alive. One psychic said dead; the other said alive. The pet detective said probably alive. My gut says alive somewhere. That doesn't make me feel better.

I am so blackly depressed that I can hardly move, or get out of my apartment. The only thing I have been able to do is go to work, barely.

I hate my work, so being in this mindset on top of it doesn't help. I wish work were an escape, and it is, in that I am miserable about something else besides Hunny when I'm at a client. Under other conditions, most of my clients would be considered cool, or interesting or even inspirational, but for me they are just a bunch of pains, who have no idea or appreciation of what I do for them.

Honestly, if I could think of a way of dying which didn't hurt, and that I knew was fool-proof, I would do it at this point. I am so tired of this struggle, and now I really have nothing to keep me going. My kittens will find homes. I've lost my girl, I have no friends, my sisters don't give a crap. What's left?

Sorry to be such a bummer,

Catbird