I'm crying now, but I'll laugh again

I think back to Junior High years and how I used to handle sadness.  Honestly I think it was more through crooning to Peter Cetera's Hard Habit to Break while thinking that my world was crumbling around me and I would never find love again.  I can laugh at it now.  I honored and acknowledged those feelings big time via Bret Michaels, Journey and Phil Collins.  

Now sadness feels so different when it sinks in.  I feel a bit anxious when I feel even a tinge of it because I worry that I may relapse into the deep hole I found myself in months ago.  I know it's normal to experience bouts of melancholy but when you've spent days locked behind doors in a hospital, there is a hypersensitivity to ensuring it never happens again.   

I found out today that my childhood best friend's Mom passed away.  I found myself staring at my computer screen and overwhelmed with complete and utter sadness.  And for once, I didn't want to fight it.  I wasn't scared of the sadness.  I didn't even worry that it would lead to a bump in the road of recovery.  Instead, I just wanted to sit, stare, cry, remember, be grateful for my idyllic childhood with my friend and just be.  Perhaps I was onto something at age 15 listening to Every Rose Has Its Thorn and crying along with Bret.  I acknowledged my feelings.  I think I'll try that tonight.  It's okay to be sad sometimes.  Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.   

Home sweet home

Everyday is special.  
Even a rainy Friday the 13th.  
Sometimes we just need a reminder to realize just how special a day truly is.  

Mine was in the form of a text this morning. 

A year ago today I was coming to pick you up from the hospital. It was one of my fave days ever.

This morning I was complaining about the time change, the long week, bad dreams and then I realized...  

I'm home.  

I left these doors a year ago and entered a new world.  A world of healing, recovery, love, spirituality, support.  I never saw the rain or the sunshine behind those locked doors.  

It feels so good to be home.   

Support, it's not just an undergarment

This weekend we discussed how long I have been mentally ill.  Maybe my whole life?  Maybe since high school?  Maybe since 2001?  All I do know is depression has been a part of me just like allergies have been and I can't remember the last time I didn't wake up sneezing.  

We are within a couple of weeks of my hospitalization anniversary.  This has caused me to reflect a lot over the past year.  Mainly, it has caused me to be grateful for my support system.  I sit in many of my support group meetings listening to people who have no one, no one to prod them to get help, no one to listen, no one to ask if they have had their meds, no one to tell them they care.  We all need people in our lives.  I have found that a support system consisting of old friends combined with new is so healthy for me.  It is so refreshing to receive an email or a text from someone who has walked in my shoes, been hospitalized and who "gets it".  It's like having our own secret code.  At the same time, there is nothing better than an old friend reaching out and still loving me for who I am today.  We are all broken in some way and in need of people to help repair our cracks.  

JT will turn as red as his hair when reading this....but I've been saving all of my "support system" messages since last year to help me through a rainy day.  I say it often and I'll say it again, reach out.  You make a difference to people in ways you will never know.  

Thank you all for being a force of support in my journey.      


I love you so much.  You are so strong...you continue to amaze me.

That was sweet.  You do make a positive difference in many lives Nat...most especially mine.  You just may not realize it (or perhaps I do not tell you enough).  :)

I hope this was therapeutic for you.  It’s a good thing to reassess…but know that I love you for who you are…right now.  And for who I know you want to be…and all things in between.  You are such a good soul…a light in my life…and my love.

Well said.  We must stumble through some of the past…if only not to repeat it.  But we will not get mired there.

I’m so happy and lucky to have you in my life.  I love you so much.

I love you so much.  You are so very brave…I wonder if you know that.  You make me so proud so often…and I have a tear in my eye right now.

Nice blog today.  Love that pic of your parents by the fire.

Depression is a bastard

It's been a while... I have immersed myself into my job, successfully spent a week in NYC for market and am beyond thrilled for my favorite season of the year to arrive.  College football is up and running at Bethany Bend on the back porch!  Therapy, support groups, football, Nashville and Scandal are all on the docket for the next few weeks.  

I have struggled to explain depression to people.  A rather long article was in the Huffington Post not too long ago and it touched me beyond belief.  Such an accurate description.  I wanted to share a few parts which I found to be profound.  Happy first week of Fall to all!  

The media portrays depression as sadness. It doesn't portray the screaming and self-harm and trips to the hospital at 3 a.m. It doesn't portray the entire truth. It's hard to watch the people you love the most sit at the bottom of a very large dark hole and remain helpless and on the edge looking down with no safety rope to pull them out.

Depression, anxiety, OCD, bipolar, eating disorders -- if you look around right now I bet half of the people surrounding you are fighting one of these silent battles. They are soldiers, and like anyone fighting a disease they deserve compassion and recognition. People with mental illness are sick and engaged in a battle every day with life.

Depression is a bastard. It crawls inside of you and debilitates every dream and aspiration you've ever had. It incapacitates your basic function and controls every aspect of who you are. You can't hide from it when you want to, and you can't explain it to anyone else. It's not even just sadness, it's physical pain and passiveness. The world around you keeps moving and you are there, remaining still and lethargic. That's the thing about depression -- it's silent, and it doesn't care if you are black or white, male or female, rich or poor. You can be standing on a train next to someone reading a book and that person could be screaming inside, clinging on to their last hope of life. 

Something needs to change. Something has to change. It's hard to live in a society that has sadness for cancer and shame for suicide.

Alaina Baker - Huffington Post

100 Percent

Some days it's a lot harder than others to put one foot in front of the other.  Yesterday was one of those and I'm doing my damnedest to not make today one of them too.  I'm tired of being 75 percent or 81 or 85 or any number other than 100.  Sick of it!  I want to be whole, I want to be the friend I feel I used to be to people, I want to return phone calls, I want to go to concerts, I want to plan birthday outings, I want to exercise, I want to work to my highest level.  This is so so hard.  It's hard to write that I don't feel whole and that I'm going through a really hard time right now.  However, I feel that it's the fair, raw thing to do and what I promised my Doctor I would do.  Be real.  

This journey isn't all fun and games.  You don't walk out of the hospital and claim wellness.  It isn't like Lasik surgery where you see clearly again.  It's a cloud constantly.  It's the unknown.  It's so so difficult to treat the unknown.  

I am so fortunate.  Fortunate to have a caregiver who truly cares, pushes me forward and says, "what can I do to help?", takes me to a meeting last night, points out a rainbow and says it is our sign, surrounds me with people who know exactly how I feel and most importantly, loves me for who I am -- all 100% of me.  100 percent.  I have it.  It just took me writing it all out this morning to see that.