The Depression Monster

Today is World Suicide Prevention Day. I wanted to share my experiences with this topic.  I have been sitting here for 2 hours trying to type this up. Trying to outline it like a formal paper.  Trying to figure out how to be elegant.   Trying to give this the “respect” I think it deserves.  It’s not happening.  So, I’m just going to start typing and try to regurgitate my memories of dealing with this monster as best I can. 

Uncle Clyde and me. June 1989

I have dealt with depression and anxiety for a very long time.  The first time I vividly remember being depressed was when I was 12.  I don’t think I realized there was a term for it, but I knew it was something far more than just “sad.”  It was also the first time I thought that maybe the idea of death wasn’t so bad. Whether the pre-pubescent angst of “I wish I were dead!” or the start of teen depression, it was a very real thought and it was scary.   

I continued to have thoughts of suicide over the next few years. Then in April of 1987, due to family and school drama, I decided that dying was far more appealing than living.  I took a handful of prescription pills that belonged to my grandma and went to bed. I woke up in the middle of the night dizzy and sick to my stomach.  I did not tell my parents about it because I knew that would lead to even more drama. Weeks later, when my mom DID find out, she did not know how to handle it. Instead of seeking help for me, she said “Great. I have a nutcase for a daughter.” The topic was never brought up again.  I’ve long since forgiven her. She was dealing with her own issues and needed help every bit as much as I did.

I used to believe that I was depressed solely due to my environment and circumstances. But after leaving home when I turned 18, the depression did not go away. And as I grew older, I learned that it had as much, if not more, to do with genetics as it did with my environment.  Depression runs in my family.   On my mom’s side and on my dad’s.  It’s why my mom was not able to deal with my depression. She hadn’t yet dealt with her own. It’s why we suffer from addictions. It’s why my dad was not able to be part of my life for so long.   It’s why on September 3, 1992, one of the greatest men I knew, walked out on a beach in Provincetown Massachusetts, held a gun to his head and took his own life.  I will never know all the reasons my Uncle Clyde felt death was his only option, but I do know depression and addiction were the real killers.  

The path leading down to the beach where my uncle spent his last moments. A beautiful place. As morbid as it sounds, I understand why he wanted to be there.

Thoughts of suicide still haunt me.  There are days, though now few and far between, when I feel death would be preferable to life.  But I refuse to leave my children with that legacy.  I refuse to let the temporary feelings of despair lead to permanent grief for those I love.  Because those feelings are just that, TEMPORARY.  And they do not erase the joy and the love that I feel on the good days.  And the good days now far outnumber the bad ones. 

Recently, I came to the realization that God had a plan for me when I got pregnant at such a young age.  I was given a gift. I was given something that I felt was worth living for. For that, I am eternally grateful. 

The rose bush near the hotel room where my uncle spent his last days.

Dear Bloggess...You Are Not Alone.

One of my favorite bloggers is “The Bloggess.”  Yesterday she wrote a serious entry that resonated very strongly in me.  

Is it just me? 

This was my response to her:

 “Nearly 3,000 comments?  Looks like you are most certainly NOT alone!  Which might be cold comfort, I don't know.

The first time I heard the term "Imposter Syndrome" was last year. My sister in law, a psychologist, said I suffered from that.  I can never internalize my accomplishments.  I'm a 4.0 student?  Only because my teachers like me and I have a line of bullshit a mile long. Not because I study my ass off and most definitely NOT because I might have more than two brain cells to rub together.  My kids are happy, strong, independent, loving, empathetic, and smart?  It's not because I am a good mom. In fact it is despite the fact that I SUCK as a mom.  My husband still loves me after 23 years of this crazy shit?  It's because he is a saint and sufferers from "broken wing syndrome."  NOT because I am deserving of his love. NOT because I've earned it.  (I don't know if broken wing syndrome is a thing. But he has a thing for wanting to help "broken" people. Which is pretty damned impressive for an engineer)

So yeah, I am there with you.  The little voice in my head is one evil bitch.  I am working hard at shutting her up. 

Number of days I don't feel like a fraud?  Maybe 2 days out of a week.  When the planets align and it's a really good month, maybe 3 days out of a week?   So, somewhere between 8-12 days out of a month. But I've worked damn hard over the past couple of years to get it that high.

Depression and anxiety suck.  Add that together with feeling like your life is a lie and that you are a fraud...I don't know. I need a better term than "REALLY SUCKS”

The reason I am sharing this is that the more I talk to people, the more I learn, this is not terribly uncommon.  I am NOT sharing to be told my inner voice is “wrong” or to get pats on the back and compliments. Logically, I KNOW that voice is wrong. I know it is wrong because if any of my friends were saying these things about themselves, I would be able to clearly see and know that they were wrong. They are not imposters.  And I know that I am not so special that “my case is different.” 

The last 2+ years I have worked DAMN hard to silence that inner voice that tells me I am a fraud.  It’s still there and frequently it is the only voice I can hear.  But that is not the case ALL the time now.  Slowly, I am beginning to own more and more of my “good stuff” as well as the bad.  Slowly, I am starting to believe that my friends aren’t all so stupid that I’ve been “pulling the wool over their eyes.” 

How much of this imposter crap is due to dealing with major depression for 30 years? I don’t know.  I suspect there are people out there who are not depressed who also occasionally face this.  I just wonder if the depression makes it more extreme? Makes the inner voice louder?  

I do have to disagree with some of the comments from her blog. There were a number of people who said that “EVERYONE suffers from this.”  That is not true. I know people who do not. They accept their accomplishments as their OWN.  No, they are not jerks or super egotistical. They just know that they have worked hard to reach their goals. That being said, I think this “imposter syndrome” is much more common than those who suffer from it realize.  I suspect those people who we are sure “have it all together,” often deal with the same nagging doubts and feel like they are faking it just enough to get by.  I think we’d be shocked and relieved and maybe a bit saddened to discover who feels like an imposter. But at least we would know that we were not the only ones.

No Room in My Bubble For You

I have found myself being incredibly irritated the last few days.  One on one time with my girls…time I usually love…I find overwhelming.  I don’t want to hear about their classes or the drama that comes with young love and being in high school.  When they come into my room, I feel like they are intruding into my safe place. My blood pressure starts to rise and I feel very agitated.  I can’t handle the closeness. I just want to be left alone.  Alone in my bubble.

This is NOT how a mother should feel.

I have always cherished the times they would hop in bed with me at the end of the day and tell me what has been going on with their lives.  Teenagers are notorious for clamming up around their parents. But my girls (and even The Boy) have always come to me. I am certain they do not share EVERYTHING with me. I don’t expect them to. However, it feels damn good knowing they trust me enough to ask my advice and share so much of their lives with me.  I want them to continue to do that.  It’s important that they know they can come to me…always.  

But right now I just don’t feel I can handle it.  

They come to me so eager to share good or bad news. Or to just hang out and read or do homework.  And all that is going through my head is “Please leave me alone. I don’t want you to be this close right now. You are suffocating me!”

I hate myself for feeling this way. I am sure it is due to all the hormonal fluctuations. And I have only felt this way for about a week.  I KNOW it will change. It HAS to!  But I am worried that it won’t. And that thought scares me to tears. It is my job to be there for my kids when they need me.  I want this to go away.  

* The reason I did not add The Boy...he is not here enough to irritate me in that manner. Which is an irritant in itself. 

Ahhhh…there they are!

 I have been feeling SO good and SO positive the last few days.  Absolutely thrilled at the lack of the dreaded roller-coaster ride of emotions.  Very few moments of feeling down.  Somehow avoiding or dodging the post hysterectomy blues. 

 

Well, today I found them. Or, they found me.  In fact I am pretty sure they had been following at a distance this whole time, snuck up fast, and rear-ended me into the path of an oncoming truck. But it was one of those small, compact pickup trucks. Not an 18 wheeler.  And I was wearing my seatbelt. Things could have been a lot worse. 

My suspicion is that lack of sleep is playing a big part in my blueness. I am also pretty sure that going outside at 4:00 am in the pouring rain to chase off an adolescent raccoon that was terrorizing my mama hen and her chicks did not help.  And it probably made matters a little worse that I had to then waddle around the house…in said rain, to try and catch the feline escapee that took advantage of the fact that I left the back door wide open while being distracted by the raccoon.  I was not able to catch the irritating clump of fur and worried about her survival until she decided she wanted in 6 hours later. 

So now I am not feeling terribly positive or upbeat.  In fact I am feeling pretty darn negative.  I am hurting more than I have in days.  Body is bloated. Incision areas are tender. Insides are cramping. I am aware of the stent. And I just want to curl up in the fetal position and feel sorry for myself. But I can’t. Because curling up hurts too much. 

I know that this shall pass. I will be back to feeling better soon. It is all just part of the process.  Blah, blah, blah.  And to be completely honest, regardless of the above complaints, I am still feeling damn lucky.  I just think that I will have to leave the critter chasing to other members of the family for a while.