Depression

Usually when I publish a blog I spend a couple hours writing and equal time meticulously reviewing, overthinking and editing every word. Today I did a little less editing and a little more processing. I stopped asking myself “do you really need to say this” and just let myself get it all out. I know it isn’t perfect, but its something I’ve been needing to write about for a long time. At the end of this piece I texted a close friend and fellow depression hero and said: “I just wrote 3,600 words on depression and I’m still not sure I‘m getting it right.”

“Depression is something I could write 3 milllion words about and still never feel like I’ve done it right- that may just be the nature of the beast,” she responded.

Exactly. With all that said, here it goes.

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What a summer. I say that with half the month left, because as I reflect back on the past two months, I can’t get over how incredible a gift life has become. Even the moments that don’t make it into the Insta story, chatting on the back deck with Blake’s mom, laughing when Jax tries to insert himself into any pair of humans hugging, all the fun and messiness and children at Vacation Bible School. I’ve savored all of it.

This morning I stopped on my way back into our building to just take a mindful moment and take it all in. Today I love my life and I’m so grateful for that.

Especially since the past few days, I hadn’t been feeling that way. I can’t pinpoint exactly where it started, but somewhere after my last blog post my depression settled in.

I’m still processing it myself, so this blog has taken a bit to write, but its important for me to write through what I’m feeling right now and to try to explain how this most recent depressive episode manifested. I want to explain the sleep, the sleep you so desperately crave but that is actually futile… the way you can look at yourself in the mirror in the morning and just feel gray. The way you struggle through days where the sun is shining and you have to be civilized at work, all while feeling you have a raincloud weighing down your shoulders, ready to combust into a severe thunderstorm.

Yes, all of that.

My hope is that in delving in like this, I’ll gain some helpful perspective and bring some non-judgmental understanding of this mental health issue. Some 1,000 words into this article and I already feel the benefits of writing it. Like every word I type is chipping away at the stronghold depression has over me and has held for most of my life.

Depression is a huge part of my story. It was actually the first Mental Health Diagnosis I received back when my family started seeking mental health treatment for me after a TBI in high school.

It’s a tricky diagnosis for me, because I generally feel like a very happy-go-lucky person. I don’t often identify as depressed, but it is absolutely a part of my being. Every so often it will creep back up to darken my doorstep and make sure I haven’t forgotten it. It’s important to stop here and note that depression presents itself in different people in different ways. While an image of Pooh Bear’s Eeyore may come to mind when you think depression, and the slow talking and general pessimism of the donkey are accurate representations of this disease, it is so much more complicated than that. So complicated, in fact, that I had to turn to the National Institute of Mental Health to include the correct definition (#responsiblejournalism.)

“Depression (major depressive disorder or clinical depression) is a common but serious mood disorder. It causes severe symptoms that affect how you feel, think, and handle daily activities, such as sleeping, eating, or working,” according to NIMH.

The symptoms they list include persistent sad, anxious or “empty,” mood, feeling hopeless, difficulty sleeping, decreased energy, appetite/weight changes.

What the NIMH points out after providing this comprehensive list is that “not everyone who is depressed experiences every symptom. Some people experience only a few symptoms while others may experience many.” To me, this is their acknowledgement of the fact that depression takes very different forms in different people.

I believe this is an accurate assessment based on my personal experiences. I’ve been fortunate enough to make some amazing friends over the years who have been willing to open up and talk about this tougher topic and address their mental health.

I’ve had more than a handful bravely share that they are treatment for depression and every individual case is unique. It would be a disservice for me to try to generalize the experiences of so many into a concise definition. What I can tell you is what depression is not, it’s not just sadness or feeling bummed. It’s a much bigger, all-consuming mind-fuck.

Fancy NIMH and anecdotal definition aside, I’ll now try to describe my depression here. And please, don’t worry, I’m in the care of some really incredible medical professionals, have THE BEST support network and am writing this days after emerging from the folds of my depression. So no cause for alarm.

This is what I wrote the other day when trying to describe where I was:

Even reading it back now, it’s scary to see how dark the corners of my mind can get. I just breathed a little sigh of relief because as unnerving as it is to reflect back on the darkness, I can be relieved that I made it out.

From this other side I can also appreciate that it has been a long, long time since my depression piqued in this way. The program and life that I have found for myself here in PA have mainly staved off any depression. I’m on what I finally believe is the right combination of meds with which I’ve been fortunate enough to feel stable. Like a normal, happy human being living a great life.

As I was describing my recent conundrum to my psychiatrist earlier this week, I actually had to pause and celebrate the fact that this was the first time I’d had one of these episodes since moving here to Pennsylvania. They used to be far more frequent, more severe and much, much harder to pull myself out of. In fact, this most recent bought was so mild, I almost didn’t recognize it.

Okay that almost is kind of a lie. If I’m being honest with myself, I saw the first signs that something was amiss back in July. Post-pneumonia I was sleeping a lot and having a really hard time getting myself to the gym. These are pretty normal things for a person to go through, especially after being sick. But I had a sneaking suspicion something more was going on. Was I just tired? Or did I not feel like it? Was I okay? Easier to address the physical situation instead of that million-dollar question.

I made a follow-up with my primary care physician, sort of hoping that she could tell me I was fine to resume all normal activities, no excuses allowed. The medical advice I received was to ease back into my normal routine, but as a binary thinker this “easing in,” didn’t compute. I was going all-in on all-or-nothing, skipping the gym, eating tons of ice cream and sleeping in every single day. I’d come home from work and take a two-hour nap instead of making dinner, I slept most of my Sundays after work away. With Blake’s return to the office on Mondays, I found myself home alone with a delicious lack of accountability and promptly spent three in a row sleeping the entire day, save for Jax’s afternoon walk, thank God for that dog.

So what happened? That’s probably the glaring elephant in the room that I need to address. And this is what’s hard for me to explain about my depression: it doesn’t just happen over one thing.

Or, as my psychiatrist said to me last month as I bemoaned my then-reported oversleeping, Depression is not situational.

Situational depression does exist, and that’s a whole different, complex mental health challenge, but what I struggle with is clinical depression. For me, while certain things like the advancing of winter’s dark and too much bad news don’t help my depression, it’s important for me to know that it’s not just one thing that “sets it off.”

This is huge for me because it helps take some of the fault out of the whole situation. Knowing that the real cause is a chemical imbalance in my brain beyond my control, not something I’m doing wrong, takes a huge weight off of me. It means knowing that it is not my fault. I’m not depressed because I lack gratitude or appreciation for my life. It’s a literal chemical imbalance in my brain. And thank God for that. Because the last thing this dual-diagnosis girl needs is to be worrying that it is her fault she is depressed because she isn’t grateful enough. You can see how that thinking can get destructive rapidly, right?

Knowing the true scientific reasons for my depression is also helpful because it removes some of the uncertainty of the whole thing and provides opportunities to catch it before it gets too severe. God, can if my depression had instantaneous triggers it would be like living in fear that a black hole could appear and swallow you up at any moment. Peace of mind would be impossible. Recovery unattainable.

But thankfully, mine doesn’t work that way. It’s more subtle. It moves in like a fog, subtle at first, you think you can see it, as it builds in severity until there’s zero visibility.

During my July check-in with my psychiatrist, I was probably at the point where the fog had started rising, where it was starting to become visible to myself and those around me. I remember lamenting that I couldn’t possibly be experiencing depression, “my life is so good, so many good things are happening!” I pleaded with my therapist, as if I could argue some logic into the depressed part of my mind and banish it with my resolve of happiness. But that’s not how it works. And despite the raising of those initial red flags I carried on, slowly being consumed by the fog.

The fog used to swallow me whole.

It was all-consuming when I was living alone. I’ll never forget one week in 2019 when it was especially bad. I’d just taken a leave of absence from my job because I simply could not get myself out of bed in the morning. My alarm would go off and I’d be angry to be waking up another day. For the weeks prior, I’d been hitting snooze repeatedly until the last possible moment. I I’d dash to put on any clean articles of clothing in my closet and show up at work as presentable as possible. Which for me, at that rate, was not presentable.

The invitation to take the time to get the help I needed was a welcome one and I continue to be thankful for the kindness that was shown to me in that situation.

I’d lost all motivation with the need to work removed. I don’t know exactly how long I sat sitting in that apartment, just staring at the walls. I can still remember the texture of those walls. Sitting there paralyzed by lack of motivation, will or desire. Just frozen.

This obviously didn’t lend itself to basic human upkeep. I showered infrequently, barely ate, didn’t do laundry or even leave the house. I was drinking at the time, but thanks to the invention of alcohol delivery, I didn’t even need to go out to get my numbing agent. But I was often even too depressed to drink. Sometimes I’d force just enough liquor down my throat to get enough of a buzz to get hungry so that I could eat. That was the only way I could get myself to eat.

I’d known Blake was coming to visit all week and continually told myself that I had to clean up. For anyone who hasn’t seen the Modern Love series on Amazon, I encourage you to watch the episode with Anne Hathaway. Her character is bipolar and in one scene she surveys her apartment and remarks “I’ve got to clean the bipolar our of here.”

That’s what I had to do before Blake got there, but I just couldn’t get myself up to do it.

I thought about cancelling, telling him I couldn’t see him, but at that point he was the only thing I was looking forward to. Plus, he wouldn’t have listened, already aware of the fact that something was amiss. He’d been hearing the light go out of my voice over the phone for days, there was no chance he was going to let me dodge seeing him in person. And so, one Friday night after he drove two hours from Pennsylvania to Washington D.C., I opened my door to him and watched the sadness tidal wave over his face when he saw how I’d been living.

“I know it’s bad,” I’d admitted at the time. “But I just don’t care… I’m so depressed.”

We spent the first night of his visit cleaning my apartment, most of the weekend in fact. By the time Blake was getting ready to leave on Sunday morning it resembled a civilized living space again and I’d had enough of a reminder of the value of living, I thought I could keep it that way. He made sure I had plans for the day before leaving me. “Keep putting one step in front of the other,” he reminded me lovingly.

“Remember that weekend when you came to visit me in D.C. and my apartment was a mess?” I asked him the other night… as if he could forget seeing that devastation. As much as I hated bringing it up again, I remain grateful that he was able to see that and still accept me and my “sad side,” as I call it. It remains the best representation of what my depression can do to me if left unchecked. He knows it well and in living together has started picking up on its signs so that he can help nudge me away from it and I cannot begin to tell you how helpful that has been for me these past ten months. I know I have to be the one to address my mental health, but damn it is easier with a partner there holding your hand. Blake knows this too, so he tries to be as supportive as possible while encouraging me to be my own best advocate. Around the time I mentioned to my psychiatrist that my napping had up-ticked, Blake started mentioning how much napping I was doing.

It can be incredibly, incredibly helpful to have a loved one who supports you and knows your signs as well as and sometimes better than you do. Because when the fog sets in, its easy to get lost in it. I was lost in this depressive episode way before I was ready to admit it, and thankfully Blake was there, nudging me in the right direction.

“There’s been a lot of napping going on,” he said. Nap after nap until I had to address the unavoidable depression I was operating under. I took a baby step and went nap free for a week and added 20 minutes of exercise a day.

When I woke up in the morning I was still exhausted. I felt like I could sleep several more hours when my alarm went off at 6:30 a.m. for the gym. One day I hit the snooze button and didn’t wake up until 11:30 a.m., when a concerned Blake nudged me awake with “are you okay?”

Then last week I went completely off any semblance of a schedule I may have been crawling towards. Work was hosting a Vacation Bible School each night, so in my desires to insert myself fully, (or unrelenting need to please people and be a part of everything…) I flipped my schedule so I could be there from 6:30-8:30 p.m. every night.

Opening up myself to a change of schedule was not my brightest idea. In fact it was just plain stupid.

I’m not saying that people in depression can’t handle a little bit of a schedule shift, I’m just saying I don’t recommend it for anyone trying to right a ship that’s entered into depression’s dicey waters.

For me, the small shift in schedule became seismic and I used it as a self-sabotaging opportunity to throw all my fantastic checks and balances to the wind. I slept in every morning, as late as I wanted to. I’d skip breakfast because I was sleeping and then eat one huge, unhealthy meal around 3 p.m., snacking on candy and Trader Joe’s Many Things Snack Mix until 8:30 p.m. until I went home and found my way back to sleep before 10 p.m. By Saturday morning I was starting to feel physically ill and my emotional state was growing increasingly worse. I sat in my usual Women’s Support Group Saturday morning, running through the words in my head.

“I’m not doing okay…” was all I could think to say. All the joy of vacation bible school, the great dinner we had planned with Blake’s parents that night, I was afraid that uttering those few words would ruin it all.

“I am not okay.”

I wish that was easier for us to say.

I held it in Saturday and by Sunday I was full on ill, physically and emotionally. I made it through work on Sunday morning, came home and immediately got in bed and stayed there. My only break from the bed rest being the trip I made to CVS for prescriptions and ice cream (priorities.)

By now I was willing to admit it, I was depressed. Monday morning as I talked it through with my therapist, it was obvious what I had to do: just keep putting one foot in front of the other. Go back to basics, trust the rest will come.

I can’t tell you how hard it is to do the mundane, seemingly inconsequential things when you’re in a depressed state. You wake up in the morning resentful at the day for starting, walking into your bathroom and see your toothbrush and groan “what’s the point?” The other day while driving to get my eyebrows done, the thought crossed my mind “what is the actual fucking point of this?” Why?” I caught myself resentfully staring at a woman running the other day and genuinely could not fathom why she cared enough to run. It felt impossible to me.

But the feeling is fleeting. I beg of you, and me, to remember that. As long as you’re still alive, this too shall pass. And on the day that a little glimmer of hope resurfaces, you’re going to want clean teeth and kempt eyebrows. It’ll be easier if you haven’t gained ten pounds by replacing working out your feelings with eating them, just speaking from personal experience.

Glennon Doyle shared a tweet this summer that really stuck with me and I just took the time to dig it out of her brilliant and may I highly recommend feed. Note, if you have not read her live-tweets of the USWNT, I highly recommend them. Also, I just spent like an hour looking this up, but here it is:

Things get better. Eventually. I know it can seem like it takes forever. That when you’re sitting at the bottom of a depressive pit that glass of water or ten minutes of yoga seems pointless, even infuriating. But it works wonders.

Tuesday, Blake helped me get out of bed and start my day at 9:30 a.m. I went to work and had a normal, adult sized lunch sans candy. I left my office on time. I came home and read a book (note, I HIGHLY recommend the soothing words of Barack Obama, I swear reading him helps me feel better) until Blake brought home dinner. We watched a movie and after that the end of the Phillies game. None of those things were monumental, but they were baby steps that pulled me right out of the black. Wednesday morning I woke up a little earlier and actually made it to the gym. Today my body woke itself up at 6:30 a.m. and I went to spin. After I got home from the gym I was able to sit down and write this, this piece that’s been evading me since my several weeks depression.

And thankfully, amazingly, now here I am. Standing there this morning outside the building I thought of that tweet from Glennon Doyle, because it perfectly incapsulates living with depression. Yes, my world gets dark sometimes, but thankfully today I know a way out of it. I’m so grateful to be able to resurface on the other side of the fog and from here clearly see everything. Originally when I wrote this I wanted to say “to see clearly what went wrong,” but that isn’t really right. Because as I said earlier, the fact that I’m depressed doesn’t come from one big thing or failure, it is something that happens. I’m not okay sometimes, and that’s okay, because I know, eventually I will be.