Depression (and All That Jazz)

There's a recurring scene in All That Jazz (one of my favorite movies) where Joe Gideon wakes up every morning, takes his amphetamines, brushes his teeth, and says to his reflection in the mirror, "It's showtime, folks!"

I think I need to start doing that -- the "it's showtime" part, anyway.

Not too long ago, I tried to explain to The Husband how, when I'm depressed, whether in the depths or in the shallow end of the pool, it takes a tremendous amount of energy to get up, go to work, and be "on." I mean "on" in the sense of gathering myself up and performing, whether I'm answering the phone, interacting with my clients, what have you. It's a conscious effort. Before I pick up the ringing telephone, before I open the door to the reception area, I can feel myself (in my head anyway), preparing to go on stage.

Yes, it's showtime, folks!

I've been in a low-grade dysthymic funk for some time now. It was enough to have me roaming the 'Net this past Sunday afternoon looking for psychological assessment self-tests on depression, if only to reassure myself that I'm not yet in The Pit(tm).

Now, I know full well I'm not in The Pit. I'm not even remotely near The Pit. I've been there -- not a happy-funtime place -- and I know it when I see it. Most of the time, anyway. Right now, I'm dealing with insomnia, lack of enthusiasm, and a burning desire to consume pints of Ben & Jerry's for breakfast, lunch, and dinner (Mint Chocolate Cookie, perhaps; or Phish Food; maybe both.) No suicidal ideation. No feelings of worthlessness. Just a pervasive grayness. Blah-ness. "Gosh I need a day off to sleep and mainline chocolate" - ness.

So, anyway. Sunday afternoon. Internet roaming. Depression self-tests.

I can't remember exactly where I found this question, but the last of the three potential responses had me laughing out loud.

Q: Do you have a specific plan for killing yourself?

• (a) Yes
• (b) No
• (c) I'm working on it

Now, while my true and factual answer is (b), I will admit to daydreaming about the reaction one could get from one's shrink if one answered (c) (I admit to a number of smart-alecky comments that go through my head but never come out of my mouth).

I am wicked, truly.
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