Just How Much Can One Woman Cry?

And that is what the hurricane lily looks like today. As you can probably tell, we've been getting some rain. To me, the stamens of that lily look like cat whiskers. Such an odd and interesting blossom, isn't it? Like the passion flower, almost otherworldly. 

If ever there was a Sunday that I can say without a doubt that the Church of the Batshit Crazy held services, it was today. I cried from the moment I got up to just a little while ago. I really was not functioning well at all. No matter what, I've always, for the most part, been able to get up and do the basic things that life requires but I spent at least an hour in bed today, looking at stupid, stupid things on my phone because I did not have the energy or motivation to reach down and get the book I'm reading off the floor. I just could not. Before that I made us a breakfast but it wasn't very good although my husband kept telling me that it was. He's being so sweet. But he couldn't even speak to me without me tearing up again and if I tried to answer him, I would go into sobs. 
Just insane. 
Cue the hymn of the day: "Nineteenth Nervous Breakdown."

I finally got off the bed and did a (very) little laundry and then I sat down and shelled some more peas and watched part of a documentary on the Neanderthal and for whatever reason, after about an hour, I felt as if a switch had flipped and although I still feel very much as if I'm dissociating, and am not quite here, the tears have ebbed somewhat and I feel as if I might go ahead and live for a while longer, at least. 

Here's another thing that happened- I got an email from a blogger whose name I have seen in the comments of many of the blogs I read but whose blog I had never visited. And this woman, who lives in a most perilous place in a most perilous time, sent me words that touched me so very, very deeply. I had no idea she read my blog.
A big part of depression is the overwhelming sense and feelings of guilt, inadequacy, and lifelong failure. And although the depressed part of me cannot really accept words like the ones this woman wrote me, just the fact that she had written me, that she had taken the time to write, meant more to me than she could ever know. 

And that's all I really need to say because as someone from around here might well note, "She ain't right." 

I ain't right. I've had at least three more crying occurrences since I started this post but at least I'm laughing about it with Glen. 

Thank all of you for being here. I swear I have no idea why you are but I don't know what in hell I'd do without you.

Love...Ms. Moon