20 December 2012 by thaliakr
Today was a glorious day for a walk along the Wellington waterfront, and a baby in a pushchair is a very good companion for a stroll.
SBJ and I were out and about for a few hours today, for my first visit to the waterfront since we moved back to Wellington. It is one of my favourite places in the world.
I took these photos to entice foreign friends to visit and to wring each drop of pleasure out of the experience. Wringing was necessary because of anhedonia, a word I didn’t know until I was experiencing it.
Anhedonia just means you don’t enjoy things like you used to, and it’s a feature of depression, but also a common result of taking antidepressants.
The medication I’m taking successfully blunts the despair – I spend very little time sobbing uncontrollably anymore – but it seems to do the same to the other end of the emotional spectrum, and I don’t experience enjoyment very strongly.
So today, on a blue sky day, out for a walk with my boy, with pohutukawa sirening, the sea implausibly bright and a different piece of Wellingtonish sculpture every few metres, I felt… okay.
It wasn’t that these things I love couldn’t shake my terrible mood. I wasn’t in a low mood at all. I knew that they were bringing joy somewhere nearby, over there, just out of hand’s grasp. I just couldn’t feel it.
Similarly, I don’t really look forward to things at the moment. In times of stress or difficulty, it has always been useful to remind myself of the next treat on its way. Nothing really does that job anymore.
Birthdays, Christmas, seeing friends, eating chocolate, all feel better than bad, better than nothing, and I know that they are things I enjoy. And I do laugh and have fun when they happen. But trying to feel the pleasure is a bit like juicing a really dry lemon. There’s an awful lot of effort for a couple of drops of tang.
This is anhedonia. It’s why some people give up on medication, and I sometimes am tempted to. But anhedonia is the price I’m paying to keep out of the pit as much as I can right now, and it’ll have to do.
This is the sixth post in a series on my experience of postnatal depression. If you want to start at the start, the first is here, or you can see the series list here. Please feel free to pass any of them around using the share buttons below.