The Voice

I’ve been feverishly trying to figure out why I’m so exhausted this week, why I don’t want to get out of bed, why I have been taking naps every day during lunch, why I didn’t drive to Griffin today, why I tell myself, “I’ll run that errand tomorrow”.  

My depression has a voice.  Sometimes I push the mute button and don’t listen.  I didn’t listen this week.  Today, I pushed play and realize why I feel so sleepy I barely can function, while simultaneously I feel ashamed and guilty for not having more energy to wrap the presents, go to the bank, go welcome my Dad back home, return texts and calls.  It’s my clinical depression.  It’s kind of an Aha! moment for me to realize this and really a comfort to not have to wonder what else it could be.  What has consoled me is to remember that setbacks are not permanent conditions. Relapses don’t last into infinity. The perspective I have in the midst of my intense struggle insists that I will feel this way forever. However, my track record for getting better is 100 percent. So is yours. 

Relapse teaches me over and over again that life can’t be wrapped up and put into one single box like a Christmas present.  As hard as we try to control all the aspects of our mental health, those of us who have suffered depression in an acute way will most likely run into relapse more than once in our life. These setbacks, as painful as they are, teach us invaluable lessons, like how to accept messiness, frustration, and uncertainty with grace. They teach us, like SNL’s Gilda Radner once said that “some poems don’t rhyme, and some stories don’t have a clear beginning, middle, and end.  Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what’s going to happen next.”

Remember, it is okay to not be okay.  Don’t suffer in silence, you are not alone.  Be kind to yourself and others.  There is a whole lot of love out in the world for us all.  

    

Every 13.3 minutes, there is another Robin Williams

September was Suicide Prevention Month.  The beginning of October pushed me to feel compelled to share another part of my story.  The battle continues for us all.  Every 13.3 minutes, there is another Robin Williams.  We must not judge from the outside when we know nothing about the inside.  We must all continue to fight the stigma surrounding mental illness and help others feel they can not only ask for help but also receive adequate help. 

  

A day in March....

I remember logging into my Psychiatrist’s practice website to check my appointment status and staring frozen at the words “condition” and “began”. 

How did I get here?  How did my condition become clinical/major depression?  How did I receive a beginning date of 11/1/2001 when I don’t even remember how this even all began?  In a warped way, it was the beginning of solace.  The beginning of understanding all of the sleepless nights, the racing thoughts, the hiding of my sadness, guilt, self loathing, forgetfulness, weight gain and low energy.  Many of my friends and family still struggle with the words, “how could I not have known?”  Honestly, after months of examining myself, I don’t know that I saw the freight train coming either. 

Although I chose to personally disclose my mental illness, I still see myself concerned about others perceptions about me, which in turn, has created anxiety.  This is something I have never struggled with before.  My recovery has had peaks and valleys and honestly has been uncomfortable at times.  Self-examination isn’t fun.  I am at times at war with myself.  Personal disclosure was important for me but at the same time, it still causes frustration in the overall explanation of mental illness and depression.  How can I explain to others what I don’t even understand at times?

I remember saying to my Doctor, “I have no reason to be unhappy.  I love my husband.  He loves me.  I’m a newlywed.  We have a new house.  My parents love me.  I have wonderful friends.  I have a job I truly love.  I am so blessed.”  As I was saying all of those things, there weren’t enough tissues in his office to wipe my tears. 

Are you me? 

Do you have a friend that you think is me? 

Please ask for help.  It’s okay to count your blessings if you are me, but it’s also okay not to hide your sadness.  There is help available.  There is recovery.  There is hope.  I am hope.    

Need help? In the U.S., call 1-800-273-8255 for the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline.