Access Denied

I've been thinking about starting a blog about my journey through depression for a while.   When I was first diagnosed 8 years ago, blogs were just starting and I'd never heard of them. So I went to the library looking for information. I found lots of information about depression but almost none documenting how it goes from the inside.  I suspect that by now other people have built blogs that file this gap but one more won't hurt.

Today's news: Access Denied

The university failed to renew my contract as an instructor at the beginning of the term.   It's having money troubles and I'm far from the only sessional out of a job this term. I tell myself this regularly and sometimes it even helps make it feel less like rejection. 

Really, it's just as well. I was struggling to keep up and, even though it was very part time, I suspect that it was a bit too much for me.  I knew that my use of campus resources would be limited without the status of a staff member but I didn't expect this.

 I can't get library access!   More accurately. I can get at the books as long as I walk in personally to pick them up.   But... there is apparently no way that I can maintain internet resources.   I can't do database searches or read journal articles from home.

If I were well enough to walk in and do my research in person, I'd probably still have my job and then I'd be able to do it from home. Talk about a Catch-22!   God I hate being disabled!

I hate even more being invisibly disabled.   I look fine.  Having a tiny amount of stamina and getting the shakes doesn't show.  When I'm in public, I have to have people behind me - I can't keep my back to a wall all the time.  That keeps me permanently on alert (PTSD among my other problems) and tires me out even further.   I do as much as I can by internet: it minimizes the amount of energy I have to devote to each individual task and so maximizes the number of things I can do. 

I'm feeling bitter. I had a good life. I had a good marriage, two great kids and my career (in grad school) was progressing nicely.   Then my life fell to pieces.   I managed to hold things together for about a year or so through sheer will but finally the nervous breakdown came.   Now, eight years later, my life is a mess. My career is now officially on the junk heap.   I still have the great husband and kids but there's nothing I can give them anymore. My life is a burden on them.  To be fair, they don't seem to agree.   But it sure seems that way to me.  I can't cook; I can't clean; I can't shop... I have to work hard and ration out my energy just to be able to pay attention to my sons.

 "Pay attention" is a wonderful phase isn't it?   Once I felt like the amount of attention I had was practically boundless.   But now it's a valued commodity. I hoard it. I only have so much and then I start to fuzz out. 

This is getting too bitter and self-pitying. I'm going to logoff for now. Maybe tomorrow will be better.