The Day After

My time over the last decade has felt like a non-stop effort to put together a giant puzzle made with millions of pieces. Some pieces seeming like they should fit where I want to put them, and yet never quite settling, the image it reveals skewed - off somehow.

Working through it I untangle the mess of pieces and try again, the puzzle finally coming together – the image beautiful and clear.

As life grows and moves around me, the ground shifts and I watch as the pieces jiggle loose. But I’m there to catch them, shifting them gently back into place before they can slide too far out of their proper place.

Suddenly an earthquake hits… an event of such a strong magnitude that I can’t even react before the table is thrown violently and the pieces are scattered around the room, chunks of a picture that I can’t even remember. Desperately I search around me, looking for fragments… but it’s confusing and the room becomes dark, ad although I know that the puzzle still exists… I can’t find it anywhere. I don’t know who or what I am. I can’t decipher the patch of puzzle that I put together two decades ago, from the one that I most recently began to work on. It’s disconnected, jumbled, and senseless.

I’m Alice, thrown into wonderland. The lights are bright, but the world is hazy. Everything is nonsense, and nothing feels ‘right’.

Slowly the lights come back on and I grab a section of the puzzle. I throw it onto the table haphazardly and cling to that tiny portion of a picture, knowing that it is right, and it is real.

One by one I gather more of the pieces, the sections still scattered, loose pieces here, there, and everywhere.

As the collection grows on the table I can now see more of the picture, but once again it is jaded, messy, and skewed.

I want to put it all together, go back to where I was… just move forward one more step and forget about what happened..

But I can’t. As I try to put two small sections together, I notice that the corner of one piece is chipped, and another is bent. In my haste to try and understand the collapse, I have trampled pieces… sometimes entire sections becoming broken.

As my awareness builds I can see the damage. Things that I have done to change the picture that cannot be undone… they might be healed, mended, glued, taped, or fixed… but they will never be the same.

That thought alone sends a wave of shock down my spine and I can feel myself shaking, the entire puzzle table threatening to spill again… the thought of repairing what was broken overwhelming.

This is the hardest part of a mental breakdown.

The day after.

It's Today.

It's like starting from scratch while the world continues as though nothing happened... because to them, it didn't. Not in the same way, or the same form. They watched the earthquake as it hit... as though from a theatre, me an actor - causing emotions to rise and swell, fear and anxiety to take hold as they watch the scene play out, not knowing what I will do, or if I will even find the light to go on. Pieces flew from the stage, hitting the audience as they landed... effecting them in a ripple effect. The brokenness extending, damaging beyond my reach. I've fallen behind... lost time... lost days, and hours (and in the past, even weeks). I feel out of place, alone, isolated... lost in a world of time and difference and choices.

I know I will rebuild... I know I will return to where I was. I know that I will have to change some habits, build new ones, re-learn myself. I will have to apologize, and I will have to accept. I will have to make choices. But for now... it's quiet. It's understanding the destruction, the triggers, the path. It's becoming myself again... simply finding the pieces and not worrying about putting them all back together today. It's nothing, and it's everything. Once again, I'm no longer the same and I will have to relearn the new path that I have to take to recover.

This is where I'm at.

This is the journey. 

Read more »

The Invisible Prison

Locked inside.

Like a prison – without bars.

It’s almost impossible to explain.

I looked in the mirror this morning – I looked for a long time.

I couldn’t see anything.

I mean, I could see myself. I could see that I looked… well… normal. Aside from some darker circles under my eyes from not sleeping, I appeared the same way that I always do. As the day went on I listened to myself and noted that my voice was the same… still light… still happy… still social.

And it made me incredibly angry.

I was pissed off at myself for not looking the way that I feel. I was so angry that I have gotten so good at functioning on autopilot, and talking about things as though there aren’t a billion and one things flashing through my head constantly, and for just looking – and acting – like it’s another day.

I know why I do it. I’m high-functioning. Sure, every now and then I go through something and end up at the hospital to adjust some meds, or get my sleep patterns back to normal. But for the most part I am calm, rational, able to talk and think and work and relate. My kids are normal. My marriage looks normal. My house is usually clean, there are home cooked meals on the table, and I bake and take photographs, and I write. I function… and I function well. Logical me splits from emotional me and for some reason I can still live day to day life while feeling like I am going to explode on the inside.

And that’s why I’m angry. That’s why I can’t understand myself and I am often torn into two pieces as I try to understand my own confusion, and justify outbursts, emotions, or breakdowns to the outside world. For the most part, my illness is completely locked inside of me.

And often times… I’m just not okay.

If I’m going to be honest tonight… I will say that I haven’t been okay for weeks. My husband knows… a couple of people close to me have a small idea… but even when they know – it’s hard to grasp it, to see what I feel on the inside.

It is impossible to look at someone who can appear normal, and understand why she says that she is in emotional agony. It is nearly impossible to understand how a person can be at work, literally walk out the doors and disappear inside her brain – become non-functioning; become delusional; begin to hallucinate; and plan to commit suicide.

It is impossible to understand how someone who appears calm and happy – who laughs and has what appears to be an amazing night, will not be able to sleep; to understand the fear of sleep… of nightmares… of memories. It is not easy to imagine how someone can stay awake for days – and still function… at least until the inevitable crash.

It is impossible to understand the prison of the mind that won’t let you out. That splits into voices and monsters and hallucinations and paranoia. It is not something that most people have experience with, and few people will ever ask about it… their own fears overriding their concern, as stigma and ignorance rears its head.

It doesn’t make sense to anyone who has never experienced it. The isolation. The loneliness. The fear of living. The desire to die. It doesn’t make sense to see a person smiling and gripping a mug of tea with both hands, carrying on a conversation like any other day – only to find out that minutes before they were gripping a bottle of pills; ready to end it all. It doesn’t make sense to hear them talk about it. To hear them speak as though it’s another person, in another mind, in another body.

Knowledge of mental health says it is dark, and people don’t talk. It says that they spend days in bed and crying and that it is obvious if you look hard enough, to see someone struggling.

But mental health awareness doesn’t always seem to cover what happens when the illness is diagnosed – it doesn’t talk about living with the disorders once medications are ordered, therapy is started, and any potential crisis is averted for the time being. It doesn’t cover the fact that it never goes away. It doesn’t cover the day to day struggle that someone living with any number of mental health conditions lives with. It doesn’t even seem to cover the more ‘scary’ aspects of mood and or personality disorders. Depression, anxiety, even basics of bipolar seem to be covered. But mention suicidal ideation, narcissism, borderline, schizophrenia, voices of any kind, hallucinations, paranoia, hospital visits in locked wards, medications that don’t work, messy side effects, constant insomnia, rapid cycling, or simply exhaustion from dealing with it all – and people just don’t know. And I don’t blame them. Because for a lot of it – it is terrifying – for the person dealing with it, and for their loved ones. It’s also exhausting. It’s also often invisible. And the one that people don’t think of, is that it is actually humiliating and shameful.

I don’t know anyone who wants to be labelled with a serious mental health diagnosis – because as much awareness is being raised… it is still taboo. There is still the thought of drooling patients, straight-jackets, asylums, and archaic treatment methods. There is still the stigma that if you look normal on the outside, it can’t really be that bad on the inside.

But the truth is. It hurts. It is more painful than any physical ailment that I have ever dealt with. It is confusing and embarrassing and unpredictable. I am terrified most of the time – of myself, of my illness, for my kids, and for my husband. It doesn’t take a break. Even stability can’t give me reprieve.

And the truth is, that every day is a struggle to continue. Some days are far worse than others. Some days I picture myself ending it – some days I even plan it. Some days I can’t think straight, and I’m literally not the same person as 'usual'. Some days it feels like I have multiple personalities and as much as it confuses those around me, it confuses me even more. Some days are so dark, it feels like I will never see the light again. Some days I literally feel insane - I'm not present in my own head - I see the world in a skewed manor, I make irrational decisions, and I am delusional and on the verge of (or actually am) psychotic. Some days I turn on the autopilot that I hate so much because without it, I would give in and I wouldn’t be here any longer.

Some days, like today, I look in the mirror and I hate what I see. I hate the invisibility. I hate the smiles and the determination to appear normal despite the pain and the chaos. I hate that the cliche sayings are plastered everywhere - especially on social media - that tell you if you want to be happy, then you make the choice, or that you are the only one that can decide what you, or your day, or your life are going to be like. I hate that for me those things are impossible to control. I hate that there isn’t a magic fix-it tool. I hate that even those closest to me, just want to avoid what they can’t see. I hate that I push people away, as much as they avoid me. I hate that I can’t always fix it. I hate that I can’t shove it into a box, slam the lid, and make it disappear. I hate that the harder I try, it feels like the harder I fall, and the stronger the urge is to give up completely. I hate that this is - and will be - a lifelong battle. I even hate that I’m here, writing about it.

Right now, even while I type.

I’m locked inside of my head.

I’m trying to let myself out… but it really is like a prison.

I know I’m not well. I also know what to do. And at the same time – I don’t.

So... I'll see you tomorrow. I'll be smiling and talkative, I'll be at work, and I'll look just like I do, every other day.

Read more »

Meds, Moods, and (Hypo)Mania

For the past several weeks, it’s been there. Lurking below the surface, hiding behind the pills and the effort and the struggle to find a new routine – one that would work for me.

Every day I have faced the same fight – the same urge to let it go and take over filling me as I try to remind myself of the reasons why I can’t do that. The reasons why I have to stay in control and be obedient and keep putting in the effort.

Insomnia.

I’m not tired.

Emotionally I’m completely drained and yet for the most part I’m physically wide awake almost all of the time. The past couple of days it hasn’t been as prominent as I battle a sore throat and head cold – but it’s still there, taunting me at night, pulling me into a fantasy world that I want so badly to be real.

Logically I remind myself to take my pills daily – and I manage to make myself obey. Every morning I take what I need to without a second thought, never even thinking about disobeying that one. But in the evenings as the house is winding down, the kids are in bed, and my husband tells me that he is turning in as well – the battle begins.

I’m supposed to take my mood stabiliser at night – it also puts me to sleep. And every night I do take it… but not before a battle of wills takes place. Because every night I can feel it, the hypomania that is hovering just below the surface. The creative energy that is flowing – the ideas, the ambition, the beginnings that happen when I am in that state beyond appealing to me. It’s a feeling that I honestly love. And it’s there right now… waiting for me to miss a pill, to forget… or to simply choose not to take it. But every night I do.

Every night I lie awake and wait for the pills to make me drowsy enough to want to close my eyes. Sometimes it’s an hour, sometimes it’s three. And then I do sleep – the kind of sleep that I can only ever get if it’s induced with the help of a med.

And now, several weeks in to this mess in my mind, I’m starting to feel the effects – I’ve been staying up later and later, waiting to take my pill until I know I have to get at least a little bit of sleep. I’m agitated because I’m tired of the fight – I’m tired of fighting what in a way feels natural to me, what my body wants to do. I’m angry and I’m bitter that I can’t just take my pills regularly and forget that I have this illness that can take over at any time if I’m not careful.

I want to say screw it.

I want to just give in and let whatever will be, be.

But more than that – I actually want stability.

I want the kind of stability for myself where I don’t have to argue with myself to take the medications that I know keep me level.

I want the kind of stability where I don’t have to think about my illness every day, and include it in every decision that I make.

I want the kind of stability where I feel ‘normal’ or at least as close to it as possible.

I want the kind of stability where I don’t have to try and figure out which part of me is right – the logical part or the wild part or the emotional part.

I want to be able to sleep without medications.

I don’t want to worry about manic episode which when over could plummet me into a depressive episode.

I don’t want others to constantly worry and question my behaviour – to doubt what I’m saying and refuse to listen because I’m just the ‘Bipolar Woman’.

But this is who I am.

These are the things I think about constantly.

This is the way that I have to live my life.

This is the only way for me to be stable.

I need to think things through. I need to be strong and determined and willing to pit my logical side against the creative or the emotional one. I need people to remind me why. I need to remind myself.

It isn’t easy.

But some days… days like today where it’s 5:00am and I have yet to close my eyes… I wish it was. I wish there was a simple fix. I wish I wasn’t like this. I wish I could focus on the kids - on the Birthday we're celebrating today. I wish I was just normal.

And yet, here I am. Still awake. Still wondering what it would be like if I just didn't have to deal with this every minute of every day. 

And then I know. I know I'm not alone. I know it is difficult at times. But I also know I've made it this far. I can make it one more day - everyday.

Read more »

Amid the Quiet and the Darkness

I should be asleep right now. Eyes closed, mouth open, snoring softly and dreaming deeply. I should wake up in the morning rested and energized, ready to face another day, fight another battle, and smile another smile. I should be able to close my eyes without my mind racing a million miles a minute – ideas and sparks of restless energy plaguing me as a tiredness sweeps into my brain, just out of my grasp.

As is typical, I laid down to rest tonight – electronics shut off, calming thoughts, quiet, and darkness surrounding me. But I did not fall asleep… could not fall asleep. My mind has been going non-stop for several days now, my heart racing constantly, my brain flipping around like a fish out of water. I’m exhausted but I’m wide awake.

It’s one symptom of bi-polar disorder and for me it is one of the earliest warning signs of a massive shift in mood occurring. It started with a mild depression and some anxiety following Christmas – my sleep becoming disturbed and then I began the upswing. I noticed it one night suddenly… the way that my brain changed complete direction. I couldn’t stop talking – I couldn’t stop thinking – and I felt good – really good. I suddenly felt like showing off – spending a little extra effort on my appearance, working a little harder, taking on a little more. I dove into some work on mental health – on my history, on recovery, on management and skills. I tackled each thing I did with a newfound energy and a vengeance. Most of all, I completely stopped sleeping at night – struggling to get an hour here and an hour there.

A couple of days passed. I saw my family physician who prescribed me something to help me to relax – something that had absolutely no effect on me whatsoever. Finally, I became agitated, the lack of sleep getting to me even though I had all of this energy and I knew it was time. If I didn’t get it managed quickly, it would blossom out of control... it was better to catch it early so that it didn't get too far out of my hands.

Taking a risk and facing a nervous anxiety I took myself to the emergency room – not an easy task when you are frustrated and tired, and you have an irrational fear of (being kept in) the hospital. Thankfully it was a good visit – speaking to the crisis worker and the ER doctor on call I was given a prescription for something to help me sleep – something I had been on in the past and that had usually worked well. Going home with a scheduled appointment with the psychiatrist I was almost excited to get to sleep and get back into a ‘normal’ routine. I should have known better.

That first night, I did sleep. It was broken and I awoke several times, but it was something more than I had experienced in several days. The next night I wasn’t so lucky.

It’s a tricky thing – a mood disorder. You want to live simply – take your meds and get better. You don’t want to have to think about whether you are too close to depression or too close to mania all of the time – but you do. You want to be able to fall asleep like everyone else… but you also have your best thoughts and ideas amid the quiet and the darkness – when the rest of the world is asleep.

I’m thankful for the doctors and nurses, the psychiatrists and the counselors, the crisis teams and all of those people who advocate for better mental health care and knowledge. I am thankful that they take me seriously now when I say I need to level out – when I can recognize the symptoms before they get too severe, and I am thankful that the good ones will work with you for a treatment plan that works for you.

Tonight I’m still struggling with Insomnia and I still worry about entering a full blown manic phase. I’ve seen the psychiatrist and we are upping a medication to hopefully get me to sleep before the insanity begins to set in. I wish I didn’t need meds for that – I wish I could sleep – I wish that sleep wasn’t a requirement so that I could act on all of my great ideas – I wish that my mind wasn’t built this way. But wishes aren’t reality.

And the reality is that sometimes life just sits you down on an out of control roller-coaster and you learn how to hang on tightly at all of the important hills and valleys – knowing that eventually it will slow down and you’ll be able to take control back again.

Until then – I’ll control what I can, pray for what is out of my hands, help end the stigma by talking about it, and rely on the support from friends, family, and professionals to help me get back on track.

Read more »

Hiding in Silence

Isolation. It’s what I do best when I’m struggling… I push people away when I need them the most. When I’m struggling to maintain a level mood or when I’m sliding a little further up or a little further down. Sometimes it’s a good thing… sometimes it is because I need to focus, to realign myself to ensure that I can get back on track and that I haven’t fallen too far off the path. Sometimes though it’s

embarrassment, frustration, and sheer exhaustion that cause me to isolate.

I’ve been on this journey for what feels like a very long time. For the most part I’m open about it. I enjoy talking about mental health in general, as well as the specific challenges and successes that I have personally faced.

But occasionally a period of silence hits me. I don’t want to talk for any one in a million reasons. Sometimes I am learning something new about myself and want to make sure that I understand it fully before I decide to share it. Sometimes I’ve been triggered, or fallen a little further than I wanted and I’m embarrassed – I feel like a fraud or a failure or that I’m simply unreliable because of the way my mindset and my moods shift. And sometimes I’m just plain tired. Those times I just want to be normal. I don’t want to have to think about every action that I take and every word that I speak. Sometimes I want to be able to make a decision and be confident that it is logic and reason – and not one of my many moods that have dictated what I am doing.

Sometimes it is everything all at once that hits me.

I haven’t been overly vocal lately. I’ve been struggling off and on – and I have learned over the years that I am not good at dealing with difficult things in life. I’m working on it, but it often takes all of my energy and leaves me completely drained with no room for extras. It is something that over time is requiring me to fundamentally change who I am and how I process life events – untwisting my thinking and calming my instincts – my immediate reactions. It is taking what I know and what I feel and learning to balance myself in a way that requires constant self-control and checking in. It is remaining level when my brain tries to spin me around, or send me falling into darkness.  It is looking at myself openly and honestly and realising that sometimes I don’t see clearly – that sometimes I need to pull myself back and examine my words or actions even closer to see what others around me see that I can’t.

The medications that I take help. Routine helps. Exercise and diet help. Self care helps. Reading and learning about mental health helps. Speaking and listening helps. Prayer helps.

But the truth is that I have Bipolar Disorder and I have Borderline Personality Disorder and life happens and sometimes I still have (and likely always will have) difficulty dealing with things like an average person.

Sometimes I am ashamed by the way that I react. Sometimes I am angry and indignant and I believe that I am right – even when I am wrong. Sometimes I want to curl up in a ball and hide away from the rest of the world because I don’t know how to keep functioning in the way that the world expects me to. Sometimes all I can do is work on auto-pilot until the storm around and inside me dies down and I can process things again. Sometimes I wish I wasn’t me.

And then… then I pull back. Then I make it through the tough times – better, stronger, and easier than the last time. Then I look back and see the progress and the changes that I have already made and how far I have already come. Then I look around me and I see that I haven’t only survived the earth shattering around me – but I stopped it. By knowing, and learning and growing and changing – I made history in my life. I passed a crucial landmark and I know that from this point forward that no matter what happens – I will never return to the way that I once was. It’s impossible, because I have seen too much, I have learned too many new things, and I have become a completely different person.

I will still struggle.

I will still fight.

I will still isolate.

But I will come out of it stronger. I will come out of it alive. I will feel sunshine and happiness, relief, and love, and joy again.

And then I will share it.

I will talk about it.

I will not hide the way that I struggle… my fears… my insecurities… the choices that I have made.

Because I do have Bipolar Disorder. And I do have Borderline Personality Disorder. And I am more than my illnesses.

Read more »

Undone - One Step Backwards

“Bills, money, cars, repairs, house, home, kids, Halloween, Christmas, stop it, leaves, cold, work, second job, hair, getting out, working out, be quiet, eating, groceries, tired, not allowed to sleep, keep going, don’t stop, laundry, dishes, homework, snow, tires, shut up, doctor, dentist, get moving, too much to do…, I said stop it, get control, hospital, manic, depressed, mood stabilisers, anti-depressants, side effects, police, suicide…”

The thoughts were racing through my head, swirling on repeat and speaking over each other without pause. I was in the shower, a little late in the morning but trying to get ready to accomplish the day’s tasks when I realised I couldn’t shut down the thoughts. Trying harder I squeezed my eyes shut, willing my brain to stop, to slow down and to let me think rationally.

“You can’t do anything right.” The thought began as the rest of the words, the rest of the stress of everyday life continued to yell in the background.

“Get a grip!”*“Loser!”*“You do nothing all day… you can’t even control your own thoughts, your own emotions!”*“You can’t stay stable, you will always have to watch out for highs and lows and dysfunction.”

The negative thoughts came faster, reminding me of what a failure I was and I always have been. Soon I was arguing with myself… as a negative thought screamed internally at me I yelled loudly right back. I know, at this point I sound full of crazy, right? Well surprisingly, arguing with my own mind didn’t work and I found myself having trouble breathing. It was too hot, I was still in the shower and my chest felt heavy trying to breathe. Yanking the shower door open I stumbled out and into the bathroom, wrapping the towel around me awkwardly and moving into the bedroom. My head was now pounding, the thoughts still blaring as I struggled to catch my breath.

“Too hot. Stop panicking. Knock it off. Focus. Stop. It’s just a panic attack.” I reminded myself as I gripped my now aching chest while I struggled to get it under control. My heart was now pounding relentlessly in my chest and everything that could pop into my head did. Fear, crowding, anxiety - all of it was crashing down on me and I felt like I was going completely insane. Remembering some of the things I’ve learned I focused on the breathing, the feel of the air as it entered and exited my body… counting as I inhaled and exhaled, trying to keep my mind from speaking to me. I grabbed my cheat sheet (Yes I have a cheat sheet for panicking!) and looked down at it, picking several simple things off the list that I could do in the moment.

Finally I got my breathing under control, barely. I lifted my head and realised I was lying face down on my bed in a pile of laundry, my face soaked with tears. Gripping my dripping wet hair I wanted to scream and I wanted it to stop; I wanted my brain to simply shut off for five minutes. Continuing with the tools I had available to me, I eventually came out of it; my body aching and tired but under control again.

This particular panic attack happened just this morning and I’ll admit I’m still a little shaken up over it. For me, it isn’t necessarily the difficulty breathing or the physical pain that bothers me as much as it is the complete lack of control – my inability to always stop it before it gets out of control like that.

It’s also why I feel that sometimes being in recovery and treatment with a mental illness can sometimes be even more draining than going untreated. Because every panic attack, every bump in the road, every single time there is a slight shift and you feel a little happier, a little too angry, or a little too weepy you have to watch it. You have to be aware of the miniscule changes to your emotions and the way you react, you have to analyse every mood you are in and every choice you make. Others do it too, they watch you closely and at the slightest sign they question you worriedly – ‘You’re playful today, are you sure you’re not manic?’ or ‘You have a mood disorder, can I trust your opinion and that it isn’t just your emotions making that decision?’ And then… occasionally it still sneaks up on and you feel like you have accomplished nothing in the months of stability. One outburst leaves you feeling completely naked and vulnerable, useless and stuck in a cycle of hopelessness. You wonder if it will be like this forever, if the guilt and the shame that you can’t get it under control will always be with you. And you just want to be normal.

I’m in recovery from a mental illness, but panic attacks and emotional dysregulation still happen from time to time.  I’m safe, and I’ve got support – I know what to do now… but it doesn’t make it any easier when you feel like you have worked so hard to be level and all it took was waking up one morning for the sea to begin churning, throwing you overboard and letting the waves carry you wherever they may.

I’m sharing this because it’s easy to forget. It’s easy to see someone and know that they have struggled but not to see the internal battles that they still face to stay somewhat stable. It’s easy to look past their eyes and the fatigue and think that it means that the fight is over. It’s easy to get down on yourself if you are that person that is still struggling. Everyone has bad days… but it doesn’t mean we are weak or failing or succumbing to our illness again if we have to struggle, if we ask for help or if we simply need to take a breather. 

Read more »

It's Not Impossible

Some days, you just aren’t normal. You aren’t capable of reacting to things in the way that you are learning that you should. It isn’t a case of not wanting to, but of your brain being hard-wired in a way that you know isn’t quite right, but being unable to fight the thoughts that surface during those times.

It’s having thoughts, and thoughts becoming feelings and feelings becoming actions. Things that spiral out of control and keep you locked up in your own mind: irrationally, stupidly, and fearfully.

Despite an overwhelming and stressful couple of weeks, today was supposed to be a good day. A day filled with work, and baseball, and the beach. Before we even began, words were spoken; sarcasm that began to ruminate in my mind, sending me on a trip into a different reality.

He doesn’t want to be with me. But I know that he does.

It doesn’t matter, because he said it, he talked about disappearing and how we would be better off. He must be thinking about it. No. It was said as a joke, an offhand remark. He wasn’t serious and he would never do that. I should know that after everything we have been through and with how he has stayed by my side.

Once the thoughts became planted, it was crystal clear. I needed to put my guard up, be prepared. 

Although the rational, logical side of me was yelling, screaming at me to understand and to realise that it was all said in harmless fun this morning – it was drowned out by my emotional dysfunction.

I used every tool and every strategy that I’ve learned so far, within a matter of a few hours. Humour, distraction, shock, mindfulness, breathing and acceptance... all used to keep one foot planted firmly in reality so that I didn’t fully get washed into the chaos of my mind; a hand grasping onto the door marked ‘normal’.

By the time I faced off with him again I was almost there… fooling everyone around me, and to a degree even myself, into thinking that I was okay. I was fine. Until I wasn’t.

And all it took was a comment from my nine year old. A simple comment that completely shook me to the core and pulled out every brick from the wall I had carefully built throughout the morning and afternoon. It washed me away from any and all rational thinking and sent my mind into a full-blown meltdown.

Both my thoughts and my heart were racing and within seconds it was more than I could handle, it was the straw that broke the camel’s back… and so I ran away. Literally. I dropped the buckets and shovels that I had been carrying towards the beach and moved back towards the van, letting myself in and letting the tears wash down my cheeks as I tried desperately to shut down my brain.

I spent the next hour arguing with myself. Trying to sort out the ‘truths’ in my head, creating charts and graphs that only I could see, trying to cling to any sort of reason because everything was completely jumbled and I couldn’t make sense of anything at all. Couldn’t understand what was right, what was true and what was my messed up mind trying to fool me, make me believe things that logically I know are false.

Today I missed out on a trip to the beach with my family, because I wasn’t doing well and couldn’t cope.

I also handled it better than I have in the past, and learned some of my triggers for the future. As much as my mind was random, garbled bits of chaos… I did manage to use tools and strategies to overcome it and not let myself get to an even darker place.

Tonight I know I’m being hard on myself as I bring myself back to reality. I don’t want to be this way. I don’t want to experience these lapses back to the ‘old’ me. I also don’t want to entirely lose the ‘old’ me. And as I write this, I’m not really sure where I stand, except that I’m not 100% okay right now, and that is okay as long as I can accept it and work towards correcting it – and getting help if I don’t feel like I can.

Today was a hard day, but it wasn't impossible.

Read more »

Sometimes

Sometimes there is no choice.

Sometimes it doesn’t matter whether you work harder at making things better… it doesn’t change the feelings.

Sometimes it doesn’t matter that you put on a happy face and pretend to be happy because you hope that you will become happy.

Sometimes it doesn’t matter how hard you try to pull yourself up and out of that low place, because the more you grasp at things to pull you up, the more things pile down on top of you.

Sometimes depression is just depression. It’s an overwhelming and painful pressure that never lifts, that completely drains you and becomes a part of you.

Sometimes you fight it with everything in you and yet it doesn’t let you out of its grasp.

Sometimes you just want it all to go away.

I’ve been having a tough time lately. I felt it coming at me and I did everything right. I adjusted my routine, kept up my meds, and kept my meetings with my counselors. I spoke about my mood with my husband and blogged about the edges of my depression; I was determined to stay ahead of it, to keep it away.

But sometimes it isn’t as simple as being determined. Sometimes no matter what you do, depression can creep up and slowly take over your life… it makes you want to give up.

Here’s where it gets hard. Because when you feel completely alone, lost in the world that keeps on going around you while you are stuck in this place, you want to open up. You want people to understand and to be able to help you. But it isn’t that simple. Because as much as you want people near, you also want to push them away. As much as you want to get better, to be happier, to be stable – the amount of effort it takes to simply get up in the morning sucks any effort out of you.

Sometimes it just takes too much.

Sometimes you don’t know where to turn to. You might pick up the phone, that friend who said to call her anytime – but you’re so tired and you just want to give up, you don’t want to be that nuisance. And what would you say anyways, ‘Hey, you said to call and I did because I feel so terrible that I want to die.’ It isn’t that simple. It is that terrifying. And so the feelings get pressed down – especially the darkest ones, the ones that we know we need help dealing with but are so frightening to us because we know, those are the thoughts that will get us locked away and looked at with pity. And they keep getting pushed further and further within us, dragging our mood down even lower because we are stuck and we don’t know what to do anymore.

Sometimes we need to talk about these things.

I need to talk about these things. It’s because I’ve felt them, been feeling them. No, I’m not suicidal at the moment, but it doesn’t mean I haven’t had dark thoughts. It doesn’t mean that I haven’t been struggling in a place that is invisible to the outside world. The battle is real. And I’m fighting it. I’m struggling through it day by day, and hour by hour. And I’m making it. But so many people aren’t. I’ve been there. And that’s why I’m talking about it. That’s why I’m sharing the daily struggle here. I want people to see what can’t be seen, to know that even though I may look okay on the outside, there is a war waging on my mental state. That it isn’t simply about trying more or working harder. Depression is a very real illness. And while I fight to get better, I want to give it a voice.

Sometimes we need to talk about it.

Read more »

The Fight with Depression

I woke up this morning, groggy and exhausted. I tried to get up but it took several attempts and even when I was finally able to get going, my movements were sluggish. Last night I decided not to go walking this morning because I work at eleven and I'm not feeling the greatest mood wise. My kids and husband got off to work and school at their usual time and I had to fight the urge to crawl back under the covers of my bed until the last possible minute before work.

I don't want to admit it, but my mood has dipped down again over the last couple of days and I'm feeling the edges of depression reaching for me. 

I figure I'll give it another day or two but for the moment I'm worried. For the moment, my logical side is still somewhat present and can see what's going on, even though I naturally try to deny that anything is wrong. 

It's a difficult topic to talk about. If I know that depression is coming for me, why don't I just snap out of it... change something to make it go away? If I can see it, can feel it... am I really that depressed? Sadly, these aren't just questions that other people ask... they're questions that I still ask myself. The real problem is that when I'm depressed, my logical side isn't in control; sometimes it's not there at all. My mind and my emotions don't work together very well and by the time I can see depression looming in the distance... well, it's already a little closer than I thought. It's already taken over some parts of me. It's why I find myself overwhelmed and frustrated over the smallest things, why I find myself crying again, and why the simplest tasks become mountains that I have to overcome. Getting out of bed... brushing my teeth... having a shower... getting myself out to work... each task is a marathon I have to run and each task I try to complete wears me out a little more so it gets harder and harder to push myself through it. Eventually there's nothing left in me to fight it. 

I admit I'm fighting hard right now. And I admit that there's a part of me that doesn't want to fight it, that's already being sucked down into the depths of despair and the rest of me is struggling to hang onto the ledge. I'm not supposed to be feeling this way. The medications are supposed to be doing their job, they are supposed to be keeping me somewhat level. That's why I'm not giving it long before I seek help... right now my logical side is still fighting to be present. It's why I'm talking to my husband, taking time for me and watching closely. I don't want to lose this battle and will call in reinforcements if necessary. 

Read more »