Not Feeling So Groovy

So I'm feeling depressed today. This isn't entirely surprising since I have felt depressed some 99.9% (just like my birth control!) of the time since September 10, 2005 - the day my mother and I drove to Vancouver so I could attend Regent College (aka "The Biggest Mistake of My Life"). Over the course of the past six months, I have struggled to feel happy on a daily basis. And oh me, oh my has it ever been a struggle. Ask Adders, I'm sure he's more than willing to testify (and for proof, he will provide the pages long phone bills showing the thousands and thousands of minutes he spent on the telephone, trying to placate his grieving, hysterical girlfriend).

But it's strange because I have never really experienced depression before. Oh, sure. I've had a few bouts, a few weeks here and there when I wasn't feeling my happiest. But even in high school, when I literally believed I was trapped in the deepest recesses of hell, I still felt moderately cheerful because there was fantasy, there were People magazines, there was university to look forward to.

And then I spent two painful summers at home. The first one was between my third and fourth years of university and while one brother frolicked in Calgary and another saved the world overseas, I had to witness every illusion I had about my parents' marriage be blown apart. I somehow became their marriage counsellor and confidante, and it was as grueling and painful as one might imagination. It didn't help that I had zero friends in Crannie, and Charkins was off in ArkansASS, playing kitchen cook and making out with 12 year olds.

Then came Europe, which as I recently observed to Adders, should have cured me from any illusion on what happiness looks like. It should have grown me up to just face life, dammit. How at 22 I still thought MY life (forget anyone else's - we're just concerned with me here) would play out like a Danielle Steele novel, I'll never understand. But Europe hurt me more than even that summer did because it was supposed to live up to every book, every movie, every fantasy I ever had about two best friends travelling Europe together. And it didn't. Instead, there were fights, lack of money, indecisiveness and disappointment (but don't worry, there was a helluva lot of fun too. And wonderful yogurt. And sunsets in Greece that took my breath away. And stinky cheese. And 5:00am walks through the snow to the train station in a French town with an enchanted castle).

But when I got back from Europe, I couldn't think about the helluva lot of fun stuff Charkins and I had experienced there. I was more caught up in the fact that, Fuck that was nothing like I thought it would be, and Fuck am I in a shit-load of debt now, and Holy Fuck do I not want to be in Crannie right now, living at my parents' house.

And so my second summer of hell began, wherein nothing had changed with my parents, both brothers were absent as usual, and my only friend was a mean, viscious alcoholic who we'll call Dave Version 2.10billion. And although I enjoyed my job, I hated my life. It also didn't help that Charkins was at this time consumed in the throes of the very best thing in the world - summer lovin'. Unforrtunately, it was with a gay man (and we have the modelling credits to prove it). Tamara Lee was also in the midst of her own complicated love struggle with a lovely and not gay at all man who we shall call Maximus and who we hope will be here for a very long time. But if there is anything worse than being trapped in a summer of hell, it is when you are stuck there but your best friends are off enjoying their summers of love.

Nevertheless, the summer soon gave way to fall, and my depression only deepened, culminating in a Thanksgiving at my Grams' place, with my mother saying to me without even a hint of irony in her voice, "I am not responsible for your happiness." (Ooooh, how I'd love to throw that comment back in her face now because let me get this straight: you're not responsible for my happiness, but me and my intact virginity are directly responsible for yours? Sounds fair to me!).

Anyhow, October 2004 was a terrible, dark, lonely, bitter month for me. That is until I met my own version of the second coming of Jesus Christ. And I'm here to tell you, Jesus has himself a gorgeous set of blue/green eyes, a smirk that will get you horny EVERY SINGLE TIME, and just about the most vulgar sense of humour you've ever encountered. Although I didn't know it at the time, Monday, October 25, 2004 changed everything and it also began what would come to be the best year of my life (at least so far).

I won't bore ya'll with the details, especially when you know them all anyhow, but falling in love with Adders made me more happy than I could ever have believed I could be. And while over the course of time, things started to get more dicey at home again and the Redhead started stepping up her crazy and I had to step up my lying, I didn't seem to mind because, gosh darnit, I was in looooove!

And it is the one period in my life when I can recall distinctly saying to myself, over and over again: You're happy. Enjoy this because right now, YOU. ARE. HAPPPPPPPY! For example, there was this one time last April when Adders decided to take me on my first fishing expedition in years. Of course, the fishing I did was nil, but I remember lying in that boat, barking at a dog, swilling a cooler, enjoying the relief of having my period (not that I even could have even been pregnant at that point, but since I am a hypochondriac in all things I thought that our feverish hand-holding the night before might have led to conception), taking in the view of a near topless Adders row me across the lake, and thinking to myself, "Wow, am I ecstatically happy right now. In fact, no matter what the future holds, no matter how much pain and misery, it will be worth it for being this happy and this content with this man at this moment."

I'm telling you, love did crazy, crazy things to me. And it released some crazy, crazy hormones! Which made me feel crazy, crazy good most of the time. And while last summer had its difficult moments as I tried to decide whether to go to Vancouver, and poor Adders had to grapple with the fall-out of my decision, we were still on top of the world.

That's what has made my past 6 months of depression doubly difficult, for I succumbed to it after having enjoyed an almost year long high, which was entirely 100% due to the glorious endorphins and orgasms my body had been enjoying on a regular basis. Suffice to say, last September hit me like a tonne of bricks. It was figuratively like falling off a mountain - so high to so low, so damn fast.

To be fair, my depression didn't hit full force until November. September was difficult but a blanket from Adders and a kick-ass night of partying with Charkins (followed by a killer hangover) made it somewhat bearable.

October was even more tolerable, if only because I got to be with Adders for both Thanksgiving and a full 10 days during Reading Week. That said, Thanksgiving was still a bitch because it was when things officially began to go from bad to worse with my mother.

And then November hit. And nothing, NOTHING could have prepared me for it. I will never forget standing in my dorm room (or prison cell, as I affectionately referred to it), the phone clasped to my chest, dry heaving because I was sobbing so hard, and having Adders pet my hair and look absolutely petrified of me as my world shattered to itty bitty bits. Having just gotten off the phone to my parents, I remember thinking that things really couldn't get any worse, poor foolish girl that I was!

With the help of Charkins and Adders, who both stood valiantly by my side and endured my never-ending hysterics, I somehow made it through the next six weeks. And yet it still didn't end. Landing at the Cranbrook airport for Christmas break, I saw poor Adders standing there looking weary and exhausted, terrified that he would be picking up the alien that had abducted his once happy and amusing girlfriend. And the next week and a half was agony as I came to realize that he was barely holding on himself, because my God, woman, he can only take so much. I spent Christmas break trying to make amends, convincing Adders that I would get better, that I would stop leaning so entirely on him. I remember one night in early January, sitting in his truck and he had just said something that was both sweet and probably vulgar (I can't stress to you just how filthy this man is), and I laughed and smiled at him and he got this shocked look on his face and in all sincerity said to me, "I can't remember the last time you looked at me like that." And I thought my heart would break then and there, because God only knows what this poor boy has suffered.

Nevertheless, my time at home wasn't the greatest of successes because everytime my mother raged or screamed or bawled or snarked during Christmas (which was often), I was responsible for the clean-up. Unfortunately, I had barely enough energy to keep myself above water, much less my mom. Needless to say, Charkins and Adders had to endure many more of my breakdowns.

Then I was faced with moving to Calgary, finding a job, and once again having to be separated from Adders on a constant, daily, heart-breaking basis.

And then all hell broke loose.

And here we are. Yet in the past two weeks I feel like I've been given a short respite from what now seems to be a daily battle with depression. Sure, I still bawled on occasion. And yes, Adders had to deal with the rage that I get when disappointed (but that Adders, he has some rage of his own. Just ask his steering wheel. Or my ear drums). Yet over the past two weeks Tamara Lee and I made peanut butter cups and watched various mindless television shows, I got to go to a Flames game, and Adders MSN'd with me at lunch which gave me something to look forward to every single morning as I opened up my computer. And then there were the weekends, oh the past two weekends, both of which involved great hockey, lots of alcohol, even more sex, yummy food, sunlit hikes, earnest talks, sincere "I love you's" (followed by much snorting and bursts of laughter), some lovely hand-holding and glorious sleeps on a wonderful new set of sheets.

On Friday night as I drove in to Crannie, early enough to make the Ice game, I noticed our town sign, welcoming everyone to CRANBROOK and I thought to myself, "I am happy. As in right now. Fuck, I am excited. And I am happy."

On Monday morning, as I left early enough to not make my boss hate me, that same sign seemed to mock me, taunting me by asking, "Where's your happiness now?" And all I could think was that he was back home in bed without me.

My parents return home today. That depresses me. Instead of a kiss tonight from Adders, I'll only get a whisper in my ear. That depresses me. Instead of being able to phone my mom and ask her about her trip, I'll be avoiding her calls, that is, if she does call. That depresses me.

I'm not going to be so foolish as to say that it can't get any worse. Because I know it can. And maybe it will. But I will ask, how much more can I take? And I don't know. But I don't like this Miss Courty. Depressed Miss Courty isn't any fun. I'm tired of trying not to cry every single time I'm on the phone with Adders, I'm tired of being over-sensitive and taking every slight or every mistake someone makes as being an intentional way to "attack me." I'm tired of being 24 and thinking that my life is just passing me by.

Last Saturday night, Adders and I sat up at PeterLynn and philosophized on what happiness is and what it looks like and if it can be attained for any great amount of time. It's the type of conversation that should take place under the influence of marijuana (insert sighs and I told you so's here), but we still managed to analyze the subject to death with the aid of our cheap bottle of strawberry wine. And our conclusion was, "Who the fuck knows?" Is happiness possible? Who knows! Can one be happy for any length of time? Who knows! The only two things for certain are (1) happiness is never guaranteed; and (2) Adders, you make me happy. Very happy.

And yet here I am, depressed again today. And I probably will be tomorrow. And the day after that. Should I be medicated? I don't think so. I hope not. I mean, I can still get out of bed and go about my day. I just wish it didn't feel like my heart was being ripped from chest as I am doing it.

And yet, all I have to do is look at this picture
and I know what happiness feels like.