Today, my day went flat in more than a few places. Although I think I’d had a good night’s sleep, and our morning and breakfast were fairly bright and happy, my energy became low and lethargic, and  by noon, I felt both irritated and emotionally flat. I didn’t feel much enthusiasm for anything.

Grace and I did a Sunday drive out to Lafarge Lake, bypassing Riverview Hospital as we drove down Lougheed Highway.

I enjoyed the sunniness of the lake and the surrounding park, watching the ducks and the pretty scenery. It was a happy but only momentary distraction from my flat mood. Grace noticed my flatness and I’m sure it likely dragged her down too.

I apologized to her when we got home. She decided to book gym time right away and go get her system cranked up with some cardio. She invited me, but I just said “have a good time” and stayed out on our balcony rocking in our patio chaise and playing solitaire in the remains of the afternoon sun.

As I sat there rocking, I remembered that my cousin Jill had recently recounted a visit she and her family had to visit my family some time back in the 70s. Jill had recalled that throughout her family’s brief visit with us in our living room, my mother had just stayed in her armchair near the back of the room, rocking compulsively and twiddling a lock of hair around her index finger. Mum didn’t seem to react to anyone, and by that point in her depression was pretty much withdrawn into her own mind.

Even almost fifty years later, being reminded of my mother’s  dissociative behaviour and that it had been witnessed by my cousin and her parents, the memory shocked me all over again. Mum had been self-medicating with alcohol for a year by that point, I guess. She didn’t want to see anyone or do anything, and in her deep depression, the compulsive rocking motion and anti-social lack of response was probably her only way to create a defensive shield or a psychological distance.

I didn’t understand it at all as a kid. Indeed, her behaviour was never confronted or even acknowledged by any of us at the time; it was just part of my family herd of deeply dysfunctional elephants that followed us through every room.

I considered all that while I ironically sat compulsively rocking on our patio. I don’t want to have even an outward similarity to my Mother’s depressing behaviours, but there it was. In passing 59, I intend to stay aware of my moods and the ways I might counter-balance any isolationist tendencies. I’ll probably always need my alone time, but I won’t indulge it in a way that hurts the people I love.

I will apologize to Grace when she comes back up from the gym, and then maybe we can figure out what to do for dinner tonight.