Depression has always been part of my life. I didn't know that is what it was. I thought it was just being a bored teenager with no social skills and no social life. Then I thought it was just the tedium of being a stay at home mom with four kids - dishes, laundry, picking up the house, laundry, dishes... Then I got dumped. And a label: clinical depression. Treatment: counseling.
I trotted myself to my weekly, then biweekly appointments, rattling off whatever I wanted the counselor to hear, occasionally asking for help, basically thinking I was engaged in a game of emotional bumper bowling. I rolled down the alley of therapy every other week and her words were the bumpers that kept me out of the gutters - literally and figuratively. It worked for years until my kids yelled, "Mutiny!" They wanted to live with their father. The bumpers weren't big enough any more. I was rattling down the gutters at every turn.
It was time for stronger bumpers called antidepressants. Thankfully the bowling alley owner, aka counselor, called in a repair expert, aka my primary care physician, and they conferred. They found the right bumpers and told me to give them a try. Less than a week later I was back to bowling spares about 50% of the time - the other 50% I averaged less than 10 pins per frame. I've never been a good bowler...
Six months later I met the man of my dreams, everything I ever wanted in a partner, etc. I was in love. Totally, completely, blindly. Four years after that I found out who he really was and my world imploded with a force that knocked me to my knees. I'd been seeing my counselor still but once a month, just to make sure the bumpers were holding up. Sort of like a warranty package. I crawled my way back to biweekly visits. Thankfully, the medication reinforced bumpers held, but barely. I realized my biweekly visits were not being spent checking the bumpers for defects. We started fixing that ... and the bumpers.
It's been six months since I tossed the douchebag out. The bumpers are in pretty good shape but we inspect a different area of them every other week. My friends come bowl with me more often. They are much better bowlers than I am. They don't mind my 50% spare average or how easily distracted I have become. They even offer to help bury the bodies. But, I'd be worse in jail than I am in the bowling alley, so I thank them and send the bowling ball down the lane as hard as I can wishing karma really was a bitch and that we could become best friends...
Today brought another aftershock and I was thrown off balance, sort of like a 5.0 earthquake at the bowling alley. The bumpers deflated at first and I was starting to roll into the gutter. Thankfully, the bumpers reinflated and I caromed across the lane knocking the number 10 pin over and leaving the other 9 standing. I took a deep breath and sent another ball down the lane. This one banked right and shot across, knocking the #7 pin down. I told you I sucked at bowling.
I stomped around a bit in the seating area, taking some deep breaths. Aw, who am I trying to kid?! I sat down on the bench and stomped my feet like a 2 year old, bawling and wailing. I am a LOT better at bawling than at bowling. After a few minutes though, the tears dried and I knew I could do better. I took some more deep breaths and started another frame. Ok, so I didn't get a spare. But 5 is better than 2. At least in bowling. That was the 10th frame for today. I'm going to call it a night and enjoy the fact that my mind won't let me give up. In fact, I'm already planning strategies for tomorrow.
