Not tonight, my dears

Because I've spent half my life in cognitive therapy, I know clinical depression when I see it, er, experience it. And yeah, it's full blown. I need meds. And my appointment with a doc of meds is in about a week and a half.

Don't worry about me, lovelies. I am not going to off myself or do myself any sort of harm. That's a commitment I made many years ago. Besides, I promised my Mama. And some kinds of promises I keep. Not like the "No, Mom, I won't have sex until I'm married" promise, because if I'd kept that I'd still be a virgin.

In the spirit of full disclosure, I did think about suicide a lot in the years following my brother's suicide. Feeling responsible toward my mom, not wanting her to go through that again, kept me back from that more than anything. But there was one day when I was that close. I thought about it thoroughly. I knew exactly what I'd do. But I couldn't get out of my chair. I was in a recliner and I just could not make my body move; I felt like I was made of lead and weighed a half a ton. Eventually the compulsion to hurt myself passed and I could get up. And I never came that close again.

Finally, in my mid-20s, I committed to seeing out the remainder of my life. Of course, in my mind, I kept the idea of "until my mom dies." I changed my mind about that, too. And at the end, Mom pulled her mind away from her own situation enough to exact a promise and certainty that I would not harm myself after she was gone. And I won't, no matter how depressed I get.

Mind you, if I get some horrible disease where I'll end up a prisoner in my own body, all bets are off. I'll move to Oregon, where they have that right-to-die law.

For now I will live. I just won't be enjoying it.

Good night.