a bit more personal this one is

I am having much better days, much more optimism, much more "get get up get up and go go go," much more day light (literally, as I am both waking much earlier and actually opening all of the blinds and letting in the sunshine, both very new for me), much more ability to plan for the future. But I am still having these brief periods where, in a flash-outta-nowhere, blackness hits and I cry. I guess that this is a kind of "withdrawal" to the process of having been depressed for so long, who knows.
I do know that I am actively searching for a job and want to get out there as soon as possible so I can maintain my good hours and "daylight savings-account balance" to keep from slipping back into bad habits that in turn would lead to the old depression. It's a vicious cycle as depression always is. So far nobody has called for an interview. This amps up my anxiety, which leads to either a) an as-aforementioned crying jag or b) a Klonopin and a glass of red wine. (Sure one or the other would do the trick, but together: bliss! Plus the added bonus of everything being astoundingly amusing! Chill with judgyjudgy--this happens about twice a week at most.How much beer do you drink/pot do you smoke/food do you scarf when you feel bored/blue/angry?)
It's been suggested that I volunteer somewhere, a good deed that would be indeed, however...
Confession time: When released from the booby hatch I had the courage to finally come clean with my husband about a shameful secret: Over the past 4-5 years I've run up an astounding credit card debt. My credit rating is still very good (probably better than yours, even) as my payments are always well above the minimum and on time. But my spending was tootoo much. The accounts are closed; the cards are cut; and only one account has a balance to be paid. But, oh! what a balance! So my entire spending allowance is now going towards payments, along with a tidy sum from the household budget.
I've also had to cut out triple-venti-flavored-lattes ($5.09 each), netflix ($16.99 a month), my monthly donations to Feminist Majority ($10) and WXPN ($20), my stack of 5 gossip mags every week (about $15 a week), the stack of monthly magazines from Borders (approx. $50 a month), my couple or five books a month ($30-$75 a month), couple or six CDs a month ($25-$75 a month), various miscellaneous donations every month or so (anywhere from $10 to $75 a month--luckily, as a couple, we still budget for philanthropy every month, so we are not snubbing the needy altogether, just not going into debt for it as I have been stupidly doing), stacks of various perfumes, makeups, shoes, clothes and personal care products I honestly and truly DO NOT need (untold sums of money), massages occasionally (about $65-$80 every other month or every third month), magazine subscriptions ($?), meals out ($?), and lots and lots of wine ($?).
So yes, I need to get paid. And well. (Well, "well" in terms of someone with little or no skills and a not-so-hot work history.) Then I can pay off my debts and maintain a bit of my previous spendthrift ways.
Nate has been amazingly wonderful about my having created this mess and then hid it from him. At his suggestion--and I agreed--the new counsellor I've scheduled with specializes in generalized anxiety disorder and depression and also addiction problems, so I can figure out why I can't control myself when I have a little plastic card in my hand.
So now you all (all one or two of you who read this, and who already know this anyway) know my secret shame and the anxiety I'm causing myself with it until I have a real, live grown-up job.