Yesterday I was feeling really proud of myself. I had compiled all 31 sources for my article that I have to write for my one class, and I started writing the article. I had to have the rough draft finished for class that night, and I completed about 1/4 of my paper. I brought it in anyway to share during writer’s workshop, and I received some great feedback. Now all I have to do is concentrate and jump right back in, right?
Wrong…. The first thing I did after I checked my email this morning is I went back to sleep. I conked right out on the couch for at least two hours. Then another two hours have passed, and I haven’t progressed any from this morning.
UGH. I’m having a hard time with that C word- concentration.
It’s been difficult trying to keep myself up and moving. Yesterday was the best I’ve felt in a while. Problem is that it takes me so stinking long to write because I am a perfectionist. It took me 3 hours to write 5 pages. Back when I in undergraduate school, I could knock out research papers so easily. Now I agonize over every detail, fact, comma, punctuation mark, and flow of ideas.
It might be the perfectionism holding me back. It might be the depression. It might be the fact that it just feels so darn good to sleep and I want to go back to that couch and enter the darkness again.
I have had so many ideas just floating around in my head. Does a diagnosis define who I am? Well, if you’ve been around this blog much, you would know that I am anti-label because of my son, Casey. He has autism, and for the longest time, I fought getting that autism label attached to him. I didn’t want anyone to think that the label was who he is. I keep telling my classmates that the label does not define who you are. Most times in special education, parents need the label so that they can get services for their child.
So, here I am facing another round of depression, and quite possibly a diagnosis of my own. I go to the psychiatrist next week on Monday. Granted, the practical side of me is praying for a diagnosis. Something–anything– an answer as to why I keep going down into these depths of despair. Give me the label and I can work with it. I can research answers for it. I can educate people around me so they can help. The other small part of me is saying “does the label really matter? You’re still you… figure out who you are.”
It’s easy to figure out who I am in terms of labels- wife, mom, graduate student, friend (wish I had more friends around here so I could actually do something fun). But who am I? That age- old existential question still haunts me.
Now if I could just concentrate on an answer…