I was going to call this post ‘Irritability card, storm warning’. Given current preoccupation with storms it would be at red stage. Filled holes in roof yesterday, shook hands with roofer, and we virtually prayed that the roof would stay put until completion of house sale. As I have 35 metres of road-side rooves, all difficult access, cobbled together over the centuries from at least five different houses it is challenging.
Coming to the end of seven turbulent years, and this year being filled with more hassle than the most determined pessimist could envisage, I am now wondering if I am actually depressed. So, I thought I would ask the experts with too much experience of depression, to whit, Moodscoopers, to weigh up my case. I have gone through the ‘classics’: moving from a beloved house to one which did not contain ‘good ambience’. Illness, death, husband and a son, loneliness, frustration that no plans came to fruition. Covid, stopping driving in UK, Brexit, decision to move into a ‘Retirement Residence (Old Folk’s Home) then clearing and selling house. I was alone, OK, I have a super family, but none of them was in a situation to come and help, even if there was anything practical they could do.
So, why do I think I am depressed? It’s November. So, it comes once a year, but never gets any better, and the weather is, of course, worse. I am secure, comfortable, well fed, reasonably entertained. Have a big choice of occupations and the health to carry them out. But I lack enthusiasm and confidence in the future, however much is left. Just had a ghastly meal (not the food). The table is never lively, I retire into my diary, having given up hope of meaningful conversation. Lots of new people, nervous and lonely – the ‘regulars’ have taken exception and all sulking. Chairs are heavy, and squeak horribly unless eased back. Huge gasps of annoyance. Ditto if people cough or sneeze loudly. Irritation over poor zimmer frame parking. A new woman, actually plays Scrabble, had half an hour on the table manners of her lunch companions. I got cross, said must be philosophical or eat in endless loneliness off a tray in your room. Conversation mainly on food quality and list of ailments. Will I get like this? I have plan ‘B’, which is feasible, but I dare not even think of the improvement because of the house sale nightmare. I want to scream and shout and throw things, so much for my ‘tolerance’.
But I don’t think depression is looming. I can joke and make people laugh. Mornings, with breakfast delivered to my room then swim in bright pool are great. I like, not just relief, sinking into my lovely bed with a good book. I lap up praise for my French and my clothes. I love being the pet of the staff. I spoke Italian for half an hour last night, still can, great. So, on balance, I may be down at the moment, but hope for a better forecast.