I sat on the couch sobbing, “I’m so sorry I ruined Valentine’s Day. I’m so sorry I ruined everything.”
We had a dinner reservation in a town about thirty minutes away. My spouse had asked my mother a whole month in advance if she was willing to babysit. It had been months since the two of us had actually been out together. Date night is a rare occurrence in our house as we have a two year old and a seven month old. It’s also become a rarity as means to save money given my current unemployment.
We had to cancel those reservations because I was too anxious and depressed to even leave the house. I felt absolutely desperate in this most recent depression, afraid that this one was so bad I may never come out of such depths of anguish and lingering gloom. So, I wasn’t just ruining one meal together, but I felt absolutely sure that I was also ruining my life, our marriage, and our family's future. I honestly believed all of these things in those moments of despondency.
However, as I recently regained some clarity, I realized that the situation was never truly hopeless, and reservations could easily be rescheduled. Our date may not have happened on the holiday assigned to love. However, we can just as easily celebrate our love and additionally celebrate renewed clarity and hope on any calendar day.
As a component of my enhanced clarity, I felt a strong desire to solve the riddle of such a deep depression. My moods were cycling and this low felt far deeper and more abysmal than it had in years. It was such an entrenched, serious low and one I never, ever want to experience again. Therefore, I began to contemplate the source of such a deep depressive episode.
Well, it was February … and February is a bitch of a month, hiding the sun away from those of us who desperately rely on her rays to make it through each day. Furthermore, I had also stopped taking my fish oil during my most recent pregnancy as it upset my stomach, and I never resumed my consumption of this natural mood beneficiary. I was still ruminating over my job loss and the injustice of the whole situation. Finally, the obvious culprit (once I had regained any sense of clarity) was my most recent medicine change.
I still felt certain, though, that there was even more to the mystery of such an acute episode. Suddenly, it occurred to me. There was a reason our Valentine’s Day reservations were not in our own town. That reason is because we had ran out of wine in the house about two weeks before and there’s really no fine wine to be found at our local liquor stores. However, the town we planned to dine in had an extremely fine wine cellar, and part of my Valentine’s Day present was for my husband to purchase me a new stock of wine.
Alas! I had solved the mystery of this latest episode. It was the wine! Damn! I didn’t need a new mood stabilizing medication. I needed some finely fermented medication. I feel quite certain the psychiatrist will agree with this analysis when I meet with her again tomorrow morning, right? This girl just needs her god-damn wine. Next year, I shall ensure a sweet Valentine’s Day by staying well stocked throughout these long, difficult winter months.