In which Piers hangs tight

I mentioned a couple of months ago that I'm pretty sure that the "depression thing," so to speak, isn't going away any time soon. . . it's not something that I'm going to get better from.  It will continue to be a condition that I manage by managing the various symptoms that arise from time to time.  One does not finally overcome the kind of DSM-IV disorder I possess; one learns to keep it relatively under control and then request more aggressive intervention when necessary.

Most annoying to me is that I feel myself paralyzed by anxiety from time to time.  It comes for no reason other than run of the mill work stress, but I find that it has a major effect on my ability to complete even the most unexceptionable of tasks. . . to say nothing of actual research and writing and parenting, which are the more energy-intensive pursuits I must tend to.  Yes, I said annoying.  I know what's going on; I know it will pass; I'm not concerned by it . . . but I have to endure it.  And I have to force myself to keep the rest of my life going when all I really want to do is take a nap.

Depression lies; its lies are manifold and merciless.  Part of being an adult about this (again, "being an adult" is my motto for the year) is recognizing that it's not permanent and not a cause for panic as long as I do my best to make good choices and manage the things that are most important to me.  I think it also comprises the novel notion that perhaps I need not try to bring home 6-8 hours of potential work every night, and then kick myself for not doing that 6-8 hours of work. 

I am anxious about many things, but I also recognize that the anxiety need not be the final word.

Also, maybe I should cut down on the coffee.