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Regaining Stability

Corrin Elizabeth Ofori

The latest that has been going on with me is the tumultuous depression that has spiked in my life due to our (my husband and myself) living situation. I am thirty-one years old. My husband is twenty-eight. We are living in the basement of my parents’ home. 

This depression is similar to that of many others, meaning I have more than influenced the severe mood fluctuation by taking it into another dimension through anxiety and what feels like raw emotional pain. I have been extremely irritable, argumentative, stressed beyond belief, utterly angry, and exhausted by all of this, which kick starts other manic symptoms such as insomnia and restless thoughts. 

I had a rough start into this week. The beginning of the severe mood swings began early Sunday morning. I woke up feeling excruciatingly miserable to the point where I felt like I was on the attack. One wrong opinion from my mother and BAM sure enough I pounced. Shortly after that my father came down to our room to find me balling at my computer desk searching for apartments. He sympathized with the pain I was feeling and confessed that he didn’t know how bad living at home was affecting me. He then continued to mention that when Charles finds a job, he wouldn’t be around as much, as I have difficulty with this notion as well. I told him, through tears, that I am aware of this, but I don’t know what else to do. His response was a comforting hug and a reassuring, “I know…”, all the while helping me search for apartments, with the intention that Charles and I were going to check a few out later that day. Turns out, I was so physically exhausted from that mess of an emotional attack that I felt as if I had lead running through my veins so much so that I couldn’t even lift myself up off the couch to do my grocery shopping for the week, which I normally would be overly anxious to get done. However, I did manage to take a shower and do my hair, only to reunite with the couch directly after.

Later on I experienced a restless night in which I took two Xanax to finally knock me out, and missed work on Monday. 

Monday was a repeat of the lead, weighted feeling accompanied by the comfort of the good old reliable couch. The only thing that peeled me off that couch was a visit with my gynecologist later that day, which served me good. For some reason these awkward routine visits don’t bother me that much, which I’m sure contributed to the fact that my mood was elevated simply by leaving the house to go to one. 

I don’t remember Monday night’s slumber, but I do know that I dragged myself into work two and a half hours late. My boss reprimanded me for not checking in with him immediately after punching in (and for socializing excessively, which I know is not exactly the right thing to do at work, however, it uplifted my mood enough to last the rest of the day.)

Today is Wednesday. My first full workday of the week and I feel better. I went to the movies last night and had a terrible bout of itching (literally itching all over for hours before I went to sleep, which I have read has something to do with the illness; literal irritation) but made the best of a very productive day at work. 
I now sit here regaining my strength to remain stable, maybe even a bit above par, for the rest of the week. 

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