Another story from my depression adventure.

[xfundy]

(Moderator: if you feel my doing this is counterproductive, please hide, but please give me a chance to edit. Thanks!)

One evening, years ago, around the time I first got diagnosed, I found a 3-sided bus shelter on the 1 California line. I was too tired/fatigued/exhausted to walk three blocks up the hill to get back to my apartment. There was a man in business attire waiting there. I stood in front of the shelter, he at the side.

After a few minutes, I heard a sad, moaning sound. "Great, the old guy's drunk," I thought. Or maybe one of the street people had joined us, needing a fix. Can't be too careful in The City.

Finally I turned around to see where the noise was coming from; the man and I remained the only ones there, and I could see caution in his face as he backed away. The moaning had come from me.

--

To say that realization was scary is a great understatement. I realize now that, at the time, I rarely looked in the mirror; without lenses, I can't see much of anything, so over the years I've perfected the art of shaving in the shower just by feel. Brushing my hair had become automatic as well. Looking in the mirror made me face someone I'd rather not have known and didn't want to see.

It later became routine to go for days without a shower, months without a haircut. The hair place was down the hill on Fillmore. The 'down' part wasn't a problem. Getting back up, though, was another story. The fact that I hadn't been exercising regularly or eating properly since I'd shut the refrigerator for months (that's another story), as well as smoking who knows how many packs of cigarettes a day while sitting at my computer for hours or days on end didn't help, and I would usually have to stop, wheeze and rest several times just to go a few blocks up the hill. Previously I had walked literally from one end of The City to the other, from the bay to the ocean, for example, many times, and absolutely loved exploring its history, architecture, and many 'ethnic' neighborhoods, bakeries, restaurants and grocery stores.

Basically, everything was downhill from my place, which contributed to my isolation, I guess. I discovered a tiny convenience store only a block and a half away and with only a slight incline. Of course, that type of store carries items that are typically smaller–yet more expensive–than in larger grocery chains. I began buying just about everything I needed from there. Especially wine.
--

Hopefully someone will find comfort in the above, either from knowing that you're not nuts, that you got or will get help before you reached the depths I was in, and mainly that none of us is alone in this. It can, and will, get better, but sometimes you have to wait and accept it a little at a time.

Best.