My darling Buffistas --

This is somewhat of a confession, and a cri de couer.

I have been -- not just bitten, but rather ravaged -- by the Black Dog in the last several weeks -- and I am asking for -ma or help or reaffirmations or what-not.

It was has been bad. No, I am not suicidal, but so down and lethargic and and unable to DO anything.

I hereby apologize for those to whom I have promised help, and hope you may find in it in your generous hearts to forgive me for any dereliction of duty on my part. Those of you who know exactly of which I speak, I beg mea culpa and wish you to know that I am attempting with much determination to get my ass back on the track and get my ass in gear, and I humbly beg forgiveness for those who I have wronged by my retreat from the world and my responsibilities. Much mea culpa.

I am now attempting to drag myself -- with bloody, scraped fingernails and scabbed knees -- out of this.

I am not precisely certain what has been the catalyst for this recent bout of depression, but I am going to do my best to kick my ass into...well, not high gear, I suppose, but into gear.

My husband has been worried, and has taken up the majority of duties in the household, with merely has exacerbated my feelings of guilt and powerlessness. I have ignored not only my Buffista friends, but also my meatspace friends, which, as anyone knows who as also been bitten on the ass by Le Chien Noir, merely makes worse a bad situation.

The cloud remains over my head, and it's hard for me to write this -- it makes me want to cry (although I haven't been able to cry, and perhaps that has been part of the problem.

Before I lose my nerve and delete this post, I would like to apologize to any to whom this 'sode has hurt or frustrated with all my black little heart.

Writing this has been difficult for me, especially since -- in the past, I have prided myself on my honesty and forthrightness.

I will also be reaching out to my meatspace friends and making amends. But not today.

I plan to take the next two days to clean not only my home -- which, in the best depresso/anxiety funk -- has fallen into a squaloresque disarray -- and I find that, as always, I cannot clean up my mental process whilst living in a DMZ zone. And then, once this has started, then I maybe able to organize the rest of my responsibilities.

I really hope that I haven't burned any bridges here, which has been, so many times, my lifeline.

I feel guilt for posting this, as so many Buffistas have been dealing with life circumstances which render my troubles -- comparatively -- less than a fart in a windstorm, but, as many of you know, one cannot compare pain and guilt to that which other have suffered, as one persons horrific problems does not negate the seemingly lesser problems of others, like myself.

Many people declare that they do not need hairpats or hugs.

I do. But I also request ass-kicking in a general, although not mean nature, (if someone were to be mean to me right now, it would Not Be A Good Thing, as I have been mean enough to myself that this would likely send me to my bed with a case of the hysterical vapors.)

I ask for general support. Yes, hairpats would be welcome, but not phone calls. I fear I would curl into a fetal ball if I were forced to interact on the phone to people. Texts are welcome, as are e-mail messages -- although please do not recommend that I see a therapist, as the thought of finding one and revealing my Sad Sack story would send me off the screaming deep end.

I do not know, as is so often the case when being ravaged by that dusky puppy, what has set this off, but I am determined to claw my way out of this, by hook or by crook. I am not prepared to talk to my meatspace friends about this yet, because, as loving as they are, I feel that more Buffistas have similar experiences to mine, and after (hopefully) gaining some type of reshoring of my psyche in the next few days, I will be able to take this steps, but I am not quite prepared to take (continued...)

( continues...) steps outside of the home or the internet quite yet.

So. I am grasping my metaphorical balls in my shaking hands and making this confession. I have tried to in the last several days, but this morning has been do-or-die (perhaps not the best cliche, as I am NOT on the cusp of self-harm, let me reiterate) but rather stuck in the slough of despond.

My plan:

I plan to drink some coffee this morning. I have already taken my medications. I will clean my office and my bathroom. I think that this is all I can accomplish for today, and that doing anything else would be Too, Too Much.

Anything else I do will be a lagniappe.

I welcome any words or texts of encouragement, but I cannot bear to communicate voice-to-voice with anyone as of yet.

My husband is a trooper, but I know he is worried about me, but I cannot speak with him quite yet, and he has taken on the slack for the last two weeks or so.

Forgive me for being all mememe, but this is one of the non-judgmental spaces that feels safe for me to communicate this -- and typing this has been hard, HARD....but if I didn't get this out and seek some type of...I don't even know...absolution? Confession? Assistance? then I feel that I would not have any sense of responsibility to you, myself and my family.

And it is at this point that I feel as though I should delete this post out of a sense of shame, self-rage and narcissism, so I will grasp my last spoon so tightly that it leave creases on my palm and hit the dreaded "Post" button.

Please do not roll your eyes; I feel as though I cannot bear it. This has been something I have been longing, yet terrified, to write for the last week, so please be gentle.

I feel that I can persevere and work my way out of this, but it is bitterly hard.

It is at this point that I feel my finger hovering over the backspace button, so the most courageous thing I am doing now is to hit the "Post" button.

I thrown myself upon your mercy. And hope that during the rest of this hard day, I will be able to show the same mercy to myself.

I shall drink another cup of coffee, and clean, and thank whatever powers-that-be that, no matter how long it has been since I have posted, I feel that this is one of the most therapeutic things I can do for myself. The phone is too scary right now -- one of the many things I find overwhelming and guilt-making, so I am going to hit post now, regardless of the pterodactyl-sized butterflies swimming in my gut.

Thank you.

All the loves, Erin dear. Texted you to say the same, and don't you dare feel obligated to answer unless you want to.

I am patting the crap out of your hair right now, Erin.

In other news, girl, you need to use better shampoo.

{{{Erin}}}

That was a brave, brave thing you just did.

Also, I understand the impulse to clean. If you're anything like me, it will help. The only thing I ask is that you please be gentle with yourself if you need to readjust your goals partway through. Sometimes, the spoon inventory depletes faster than expected.

but, as many of you know, one cannot compare pain and guilt to that which other have suffered, as one persons horrific problems does not negate the seemingly less problems of others

First, I hope you know I love you and care about your pain. I am grateful that you have this place because it is much easier to share with your blinvisible friends than those in meat space. Yes, many of us have been there and know well the pain and guilt.

I applaud you making a plan and would suggest two things added to the schedule you may find odd. In addition to the concrete action items of cleaning, which is essential to move in a positive direction, you should consider these. 1. Schedule a weepy pity party. Watch that movie, read that book that makes you weep every damn time and release some tears. 2. Do something pampering for yourself. New hair bobble, nice bakery treat, something you think you don't deserve.

I'm sorry that you have to go through this, but I believe you have turned the corner. Also, {{{{{ hugs }}}}}

Oh, Erin. I'm so sorry that this has been such a horrible time for you, and so humbled that you felt that this was a safe space to share what I know must have been a terrifying confession to yourself as much as us.

Many, many hairpats and hugs and spoons to you.

Thank you, all! It's a scary thing to articulate. I've always prided myself on having 'nads of steel, but they seem to have lit out for the North Pole these last weeks.

I AM going to do some cleaning, but not too much. And serendipitously, a friend emailed me to go get my brows waxed today, which I am going to do, and has promised to lend me a Xanax to do it, since I have been quasi-agoraphobic girl for the last 3 weeks.

Oh Erin, do take care. You have my love and support.

May any time you find yourself fetal and hurting be spent in the most comfortable, comforting, warm, and healing place imaginable. And send our thanks to your Hubby for looking after you.