My brother, Mark, who is familiar with clinical depression, told me yesterday that I am exhibiting symptoms of depression. My rising blood pressure (which is down another coupe notches but still high this morning, 144/99), lack of perspective at my work, anxiety, weeping, all, Mark sees as possible evidence of depression. Eileen agreed with him. So. I will ask my doctor to refer me to a psychiatrist when I see her.
I have always thought that I haven’t quite entered into actual depression. I remember that people with clinical depression have low motivation and often are debilitated to the point they cannot get out of bed.
That has never happened to me. Plus I know that I am basically not unhappy with my life.
On the other hand, a quick google reveals that much of the stuff I am dealing with is associated with depression including hypertension (high blood pressure).
early morning rising (ahem)
feelings of worthlessness (a lifelong struggle that I combat almost daily)
difficulty making decisions (I can make them but it takes a toll)
feelings of anxiety and fatigue
self medication with alcohol
There’s probably other stuff but it’s enough for me that two of the people I love deeply, Mark and Eileen, both think I should pursue this.
I wonder about starting therapy at the age of 64.
I love to talk so talk therapy is not something I dread particularly. I also have a tendency to over confide which might or might not come in to play if I reach therapy.
I was thinking last night that the complex thing that is a personality is difficult to unravel with any clarity.
I have difficulty imagining where I would begin with a shrink. Plus I would want someone a bit literate and, of course, intelligent.
I have ceased to write the “bad paul simon songs” I wrote in my youth.
I have wondered if the real purpose of these songs was for me to work out my personality problems. I know they have always felt therapeutic.
And it’s hard to admit, but I am having difficulty getting off the ground with active composition.
When I think about this, I immediately think of my daily stress and the pressures I find myself under.
So I guess I’m going to follow up on my hypertension and possible depression with medical professionals.
I wonder what that will be like.
We had to turn back just as we began our trip over here to Mark’s yesterday. I had forgotten my organ shoes. I hesitated before turning around. But I knew I wouldn’t do very well if I couldn’t rehearse Sunday’s postlude for two entire days. I enjoy practicing. I enjoy putting myself through the paces of learning new music that is challenging and attractive to me. Sunday’s postlude fits this description. And my rehearsing this week seems to be paying off as the difficult little fugue by Gerald Near I want to perform falls into place.
As I was leaving the little church that allows me to practice on their terrible Allen organ, one of the ministers asked me what I thought of their new organ. I had to tell him I wasn’t in love with it, that I preferred pipe organs. But I quickly added how grateful I was to be able to practice on it.
One of the sites I looked at this morning.