Within 2 minutes of my mom answering my phone call on Mother’s Day she started to apologize to me for not checking in on me by phone more while I’ve been sidelined from life with a broken foot. Immediately reminded her I can just as easily pick up the phone, which I hadn’t done a ton, and then she called my bluff, and asked if I’d hit the point of being depressed. And without a breath, I said yes.
It’s hard to explain. I feel like because there are so many people going through so much more difficult things in the world, it’s silly for me to feel how I do. But that one question, from the one person who knows me better than I’d care to admit, reminded me that isn’t how our minds work. Our minds, souls, bodies are going to feel how they feel until we figure out how to deal with it, regardless of how silly we might feel.
It’s hard to go from defining oneself as being a runner, an active person who cooks healthy meals, runs for hours each week, and interacts with other runners on a daily basis, to being someone who can only handle washing her hair once a week because it’s nearly impossible to do in a bathtub, and showering on one foot is just dangerous. Someone who can’t manage to keep her house clean because she inevitably falls on her broken foot every time she tries to act like a normal person.
I’ve stopped trying to see friends, even when they are in town from across the country, because I’m in pain, I’m excused, or I’m embarassed about not being able to walk. I’m afraid of asking for help because I’m too independent for my own good. I’m more okay with sitting at home, occasionally breaking into tears for almost no reason, and breaking open a bottle of wine at least once a week.
I’m depressed. I’m not myself anymore, and I can’t avoid it just because “it’s only a broken foot”. To me, it’s become so much more than that. And for both, I’m getting help, because regardless of what level of importance a broken broken foot might have to you, it is a tipping point for me, and your opinion, quite honestly, doesn’t matter.