It’s Not Just the Driving

I said in my last post that I’m selling the RV at the end of this trip, and that the first trigger point had been driving in the mountains.  But that is far from the only reason.  I mean, I was stressed driving in Scotland too, but I absolutely LOVED living there.  No, there’s more to it than that.

I’m depressed.  My doctor and I don’t believe I’m clinically or severely depressed because I completed a couple of medical questionnaires which she agrees indicate mild depression at most. (Although, it is hard for her to diagnose me over the phone – I do have an appointment with her as soon as I get back to properly assess this.)  I have none of the more worrying symptoms like thoughts of self-harm, or feelings of low self-esteem and failure.

I’m really only showing two of the most common symptoms of depression: lack of interest in doing anything, and lack of appetite.

It’s the latter of those two that is shocking.  I love to eat.  I eat when I’m happy, sad, bored, excited.  I go to sleep thinking about my next day’s meals; I read recipe books the way most people read novels; my social media feed is full of food bloggers.

In the past, if I was unhappy, I still ate.  Miserable at work?  Still ate.  Losing Mum & Dad?  Still ate.  Fighting cancer?  Still ate.  And it was the same when I was happy.  Falling in love?  Still ate.  Getting a big promotion?  Still ate.  So the fact that I have to force myself to eat something before the end of the day is insane.  Michele saw it in PEI – I couldn’t finish a salad in Charlottetown.  A salad.  Her friends had us over for dinner and I barely made a dent in the fish, and ate maybe two forkfuls of dessert (that could also have been because I can’t stand blueberry pie ☹).  I get grossed out just looking at a large plate of food.  Michele did come up with an excellent recommendation: if I can’t face a full meal, at least eat a little something every hour.  Very sensible, and easy to follow. (But even so, I’m still significantly under-eating)

The upside of my loss of appetite is my weight loss.  Yippee!  While I’m worried about what the lack of appetite is saying about my mental health, I’m rather enjoying having gone down one full dress size.  Lookin’ good, Lainey . . . .  I know, I know, this is neither funny, nor a good way to lose weight.  But at least I’ve kept my sense of humour?!?

When it comes to lack of interest in activities, here’s another confession: I’m not really doing anything.  Unless I’m in a town or city where I can check out museums, or galleries, or boutiques, I really don’t do anything.  I sit in the RV and read.  A lot.  Or crosswords.  Or social media. (I know that last one can add to an unhealthy mental state, so I limit the times I can be on Instagram or Threads or BlueSky.)  I do walk a lot each morning – at least an hour most days.  But did I really take advantage of exploring Cape Breton?  Nope.  The Annapolis peninsula?  Stayed in and read books.  Even my choice of books is telling.  I’ve bought a lot of books from independent book stores this past summer, but they just sit there in a drawer because all I seem to be able to face reading is chick lit and cosy murder mysteries. 

Anyhow, I don’t want people worrying unduly about me.  I’m getting through each day just fine; I’m monitoring my behaviours; I know this will pass the moment I get home; I’m taking action with a medical professional; and, in two days’ time, I will be travelling with a friend again for the last two weeks of my trip, and my issues seem to be primarily when I’m alone – I’m much better with company.