I burned a batch of cookies today.
It shouldn’t have been a surprise. It shouldn’t have even mattered at all. I’ve
never been good at making cookies. I think I can count on one hand the amount
of times in my 7+ years of marriage that I’ve not burned the cookies. I hate baking. I hate cooking. I hate any
form of anything that requires mixing and then eating. I only do it because
that’s what I feel I must do as a stay-at-home mom. Cooking, baking, making
treats are all part of the job description, right?! That’s what I need to do. Now that is what I’m good at –doing the things I feel I need to,
whether they be miserable, hard, or even torturous.
Maybe today’s failed cookie attempt
crushed me because I’m sick, and maybe it was for entirely different reasons. I
really am sick though. My whole family is. It’s a nasty summer cold, and it’s
one of those colds that makes you stuffed up with a headache and a fever and it
makes your days blur into your nights, and your dreams so hazy that you wake up
unsure if they actually happened or if they were pretend. I hate these kinds of
colds. When I’m sick like this, I tend to dream the horrible types of dreams
that leave me waking every few hours covered in sweat and shaking in fear. I’ve
been up the last few nights so often between the kids and Caleb that I just
feel worn out, tattered, and exhausted. I’m sure that’s contributing to the
mood, but in all honesty, there have been a lot of lows lately anyways, and
those are probably playing their part as well.
I’ve been doing everything as right
as I possibly can in terms of managing my depression. Despite my attempts, something
hasn’t been quite right the past several weeks.
Out of nowhere the depression hits like a wave, and it doesn’t matter if
I’m ready for it. Down, down, down it drags me until I don’t think I will ever
be able to breathe again. I imagine that helpless state is a lot like what
someone feels when they’re snagged by a riptide. You can fight for your life,
kicking, screaming, thrashing…. But in the end, you are at the mercy of
something beyond your own control, and it’s terrifying. No matter how many
times you’ve conquered it, it still comes back full-fury, as if it exists for
the sole purpose of destroying you. And little by little, you start to give up
hope that you can overcome.
Yesterday I wrote another post that
perhaps I’ll share someday. For now, it’s hidden away in some corner of my
computer. It’s one of those that puts me in a very vulnerable place, and I just
don’t think I’m quite ready for that yet. It’s hard for me to talk about the
deepest, darkest parts of myself. It’s always been that way. It hasn’t gotten
any easier over time, but it has been surprising for me to see that I do my
best writing when I’m struggling, and the writing process leaves me with a
glimmer of hope. While I’m in the deep, turbulent waters of my own heartache, it’s
like a small ray of sunshine somehow manages to reach to me. For a second -- a mere
heartbeat of time --, every fiber of my being tells me that I will make it
through – that somewhere out there, someone else knows exactly what I’m going
though, and maybe they just needed to hear it, too.
Depression is difficult to talk
about because I know many people have never had to fight that battle, and
perhaps they don’t even view it as one that is thrust upon a person without
choice. I know that a lot of people think it’s a choice and if we could just
snap ourselves out of it and quit being miserable, we’d be fine. Once upon a
time, I believed that, too. I thought that if I just put on a smile enough
times, if I just tried harder, If I
just discounted and numbed every single feeling inside of me, I could handle
it. I thought that it was something I could drive out of my life permanently if
I just stopped wallowing my life away. But you know what changed for me? One
day I realized that it is not just parts of my life or certain, difficult
things that have brought on the misery. Sometimes I will have everything I need
in life, but yet, I don’t feel a thing. I could be in the most beautiful place
on this planet (which anyone in their right mind would choose to enjoy), and
yet still be miserable. That right there is beyond my control. I do not and cannot choose when to be miserable.
It’s not possible. I wish it was though, so I could just reach out and have the
sweet relief I long for.
Two days ago, I sat in an
appointment with my psychiatrist. All I could really say is that lately, for no
reason at all, I don’t feel like my life is worth living. Have you ever felt
that way? Can you imagine that it’s easy to have to admit that? I would give up
any worldly possession I own if I could make sure I never felt that way again,
but I can’t. I’m helpless to my biology. I’m helpless to the waves of depression
that continually threaten to overcome me. I could travel the world, but I’d
always be running from something within me. My depression can’t be controlled,
and I say with every ounce of strength that I have, that any and all of us who
deal with it would never experience it again if it were within our power to do
so.
It’s hard for me to talk about this
so openly. I have three beautiful children and a husband who loves me, provides
for me, and supports my dreams. How could I ever feel like that’s not enough –
that that’s not worth living for??? When someone is in the midst of depression,
no amount of reason, logic, or debate can get through to them. Do you want to
know what will? Do you want to know the secret?
Compassion. Sympathy. Mercy. Support.
I think a lot of people fear that
if they sympathize with someone who is depressed, that person will keep acting that way because they think it gets them attention. But the thing is, when has it ever harmed someone to show
a little kindness even when prompted by the wrong thing? If a child is fake-crying because they want their parents’
attention, is the appropriate response to tell them you’re not going to listen
when they cry at all now? No, definitely not! You’d look at the core problem of
them wanting your attention, and you would mercifully answer that need. If a
child is crying because they’re lost and scared on the street, would you pass
them by without showing them mercy? No! You would help them, and that is all
anyone ever needs. Help. Comfort. Love.
Trying to persuade someone out of depression only
results in them feeling isolated, misunderstood, and broken. It won’t work as
intended – it can’t. The only thing that will work is letting them know that you
are there for them, that you would take it away if you could, and that they are
so strong each and every time they overcome.
Sure – I think that at one time or
another, all of us have reached a point where perhaps we wallowed when we didn’t
need to or we gave up before we should have quit trying. That kind of stuff is
human nature and perhaps some of us do it more than we should. But just because
some people abuse the system, does that mean we should all abandon it as well?
Well, I sure hope not. I’m not sure where I’d be if that was the case. There’s
something meaningful about fighting a battle of any kind and knowing that you
have at least one friend by your side during it. I think depression is like
that. Even when we’re appearing crazy or our friends can’t understand where we’re
coming from, if they don’t leave us to fight it alone, we will always succeed. They’re there,
supporting us, lifting us when we can’t lift ourselves any longer, and they
help us do those hard things that we need to do, even when we don’t want to. On days when the nothingness of depression encircles me and I feel hopelessly alone, my kids help me find a reason to get up (even if it's just for cooking, which I hate!). I may not always thank my husband for the many times he comes looking for me just to check on me during a tough day, but I recognize it and know that he's reaching out in love. He never lets me handle it alone and is always supportive, even if he doesn't always understand what I'm dealing with.
In my personal battle against
depression, medication was the biggest game changer for me and is the one and
only thing that has successfully and extensively combated my depression. The most
frustrating thing for me the past couple of weeks was that I was doing
everything right and taking my medication as prescribed, and the depression
shouldn’t have been happening at all, but it was. Although my depressive
episodes still come when they want to and tend to show up whenever things get
really tough, life is generally much easier to bear when I’m on medication. I
once heard someone say that if taking a little pill a day was all it took to be
happy, then why not do it??? That’s how I feel. I meant it when I said I’d give
up any earth possession to not feel depression again. Is that all I have to
give up, then? Simply spend some money for a doctor and a prescription? Yes, apparently
that’s all it is. In the grand scheme of things I realize it is very little to
do, and I’m capable and willing of doing just that much.
I learned at my appointment that we need to up my meds again to get to the right level for optimal control of my moods. There was an easy explanation for why I’ve been struggling, and thankfully, it’s an easy fix, and one that Caleb supports me in. Taking that time and effort (and
money) to get help for depression is the way to solve my own issue and it’s a
sacrifice both Caleb and I are willing to make to be the happy person I want to
be. Caleb always reminds me about taking my meds if I’ve forgotten. He’s never
once made me feel broken, stupid, or fake for dealing with depression or for
going on meds for it. That loving and caring support means the world to me. It’s going to take a couple weeks before things make a good turn around
and my mood are stable again, but in the meantime, I’ll just be here. If you
see me looking sad, go ahead, throw a smile my way. I’m sure it will mean the
world to me. I’ll be here fighting
through the tough days, breathing in the good days, and being grateful for each
day, both good and bad.
Love,
Rebecca
