Stupid depression, who invited you to my party?

I have returned to write this blog post time and again. I keep editing it and adding, removing. Maybe it will never be done. Oh, foo, posting it now. As I've taken a turn for the better. I hope.

I was blind sided by another attack of melancholy last Thursday night (12/5). Unfortunately I have been unable to shake it.

That Thursday started out fantastic: I met Dennis and Darrick for a paddle from Belle Haven Marina, just south of Old Town Alexandria. We explored the little islands and Dyke Marsh before crossing the Potomac River to the Maryland side. We found some not-flat (ruffled? textured? eh_choppy) water in the crossing. We lunched on a sandy beach at Fort Foote Park and then explored the National Harbor from the water.

We paddled back across the river just down-river from the Woodrow Wilson Bridge. We found some rollers (even sets of waves) about one-third the way across the open channel and turned to the south west take them straight so that we were rising and plunging (that's some fun there!). We stopped to explore a junk-loaded barge that was nonsensically parked in the middle of the river. And then finished by approaching the Marina from up-river making a nearly perfect 10 mile circle around the area.

credit R. Dennis Green 2013

My First World Problem: my gps lead me far astray on my way home. Why, why did I turn right when I KNEW I should be turning left? Duh. A 22 minute drive turned into an hour and a half traffic nightmare. But finally I arrived safely at home. After washing my boat and stowing it on its cradles in the garage I stripped off my damp layers that I wore under my dry suit and started a load of laundry. Then more house work, vacuuming and what not.

Finally, exhausted but satisfied I had not wasted my day off, in the least, I settled down for some mindless tv while waiting for my husband. An ad came on for personalized ornaments and I remembered my husband giving my son a personalized ornament last year. I remembered seeing it on the shelf with his other presents, all unused, in the garage and in a flash I was crying. It was all so pointless.

I went to bed a bit early feeling weepy. But none the less I figured I was beat and so should get a nice night's sleep. Instead, I woke up with terrible hand pain at 11:15, after only two hours sleep. My shoulders were burning badly and my hands cramping. I simply could not get comfortable. There is no amount of ice bags and heating pads, no combo of tight gloves and muscle cream, that will beat this pain back.

I woke or dozed fitfully until just after 4:30 am. I tried reading, mindless catalog perusing, texting my night-owl sister Lisa, but never did feel much like sleeping until around 4. When I was finally fading out I knew my alarm would be going off in only an hour. And I knew I would not be ready to rise. Exhausted.

I was productive at work the next day, but was stricken by black clouds over and over. I kept watching the sky get darker and darker approaching the time I would drive home.

I got to paddle again Saturday with Pete and Brian in Annapolis. Afterwards we went to an Everglades presentation given by Joel at Annapolis Canoe and Kayak. I was still in my insulating layers I wear under my dry suit. When I tried to take off the layers and put on a light cotton tunic and pants I was too cold. So I ended up looking like the paddle bum I am. Bedraggled, wind burned cheeks, big smile.

And then when I am back at home or work I am sad. Maybe everybody is sad most of the time. I don't know. All I know is that I've been crying quite a bit. I do not know how I will get by these next couple of weeks.

Lastly, I know I am sad about my son. He is off somewhere, and not in contact with me. I am trying not to dwell. But I am haunted. Sorry for the vague-booking, must be this way. His story is not mine. I feel like I am reading a novel that is slowly winding to an awful conclusion, the story already written. I can not change the ending.