How it Feels to Be Depressed
For no good reason at all…
It’s been many years since I’ve felt this anxious, and I can’t even tell you why. I felt it sneaking up on me, but I thought I could sufficiently deal with it. I don’t like being a an anti-depressant, because mine alters people’s metabolism; and I don’t want to have to deal with that on top of everything else. Except when I’m this anxious I find it difficult to eat, so I don’t care about the side effects now.
I’m not as depressed as I’ve been before, and I wonder if age brings me the wisdom to know I’m going to feel better eventually. The first depression found me when I was a college freshman, and I noticed not wanting to eat or go to classes. It honestly had more to do with a boyfriend than being homesick, and I bounced back with no need to see a doctor. But I had about three really awful weeks. I had just turned eighteen three months prior to that.
The next one hit me right after the birth of my first baby. I slid into it within three days, and when my mom stayed for two weeks; she thankfully realized what was wrong with me. I went to a doctor who prescribed an old antidepressant and gave me something for the disabling anxiety. Who knew postpartum depression could feel so horrible? I felt like a failure as a mother, precisely due to how I felt; and that only made my symptoms worse.
It took very little time for the medicine to work, but I did go to therapy for a while. Talking to somebody about my fears helped, because I didn’t have any friends who were mothers yet. I felt quite alone, while my husband still had his daily routine of going to work. I figured out how to meet some other new moms, and it wasn’t from my neighborhood; since we lived in a not so great area with mainly elderly (and nice) neighbhors. I found a play group, and from that larger group two other women and I formed a smaller play group.
It took several months to feel competent. When I had my second child, and I felt myself sliding down again; I knew I had to give up my hopes of nursing my newborn daughter and get on my medicine. I never took anything during my pregnancies. I still felt very down, and it didn’t help that I had my baby in November when the daylight dwindled down to seven hours. I made an effort to get out of the house that felt close and made my world seem too small.
Even though it was dark when I walked for twenty minutes, the light that poured from the windows of the homes caught my attention. Our new neighborhood featured old bungalows, and people believed in keeping the curtains and blinds open except in the bedrooms. That meant I could quickly glance at the decor inside, before I propelled myself to the next house. While I made it through that depression quickly, the worst one was just around the corner. Good thing I didn’t know it.
My newest daughter was only ten months old when I dropped into a deep, dark pit I couldn't manage to climb out of on my own. This is going to sound strange, but it was my Catholic upbringing that stopped me from trying to kill myself. I don’t write this lightly at all. I felt so awful that I wanted to end my life, but I reasoned if suicide was an unforgivable sin then I would wind up in a bad place. Hell, is what the Catholics said. So I unhappily and wearily hung in there day by day with unending nights of insomnia welcoming me.
I thought if I only went to an inpatient place to be cared for that I would be healed and restored. The whole matter is in my book, but I’m at a dark place in the book, and being depressed right now means I can’t go near it. Yeah, it’s very dark. I will say going inpatient where I did was beyond awful. They took me off all my medicines cold turkey, so I didn’t sleep at all for the three four nights, and I started hallucinating. I dug my fingers into my skin to prove I was only seeing things.
My personal therapist didn’t address my issues, preferring to diagnose me with multiple personalities. I have one personality, and he proved to be an abusive counselor; so when I refused to see him one-on-one he would stand in my bedroom and wait. I just turned away from him on the bed and faced the wall, but he’d threaten me with not giving me meds to help me sleep and deal with the anxiety. I’d engage in every other activity, from group therapy to art to shooting baskets in the gym. I just refused to see the psychologist who told me I’d have to stay for another three weeks, because I wouldn’t meet with him.
The book deals with all that happened, but suffice to say I came out feeling hurt and feeling even worse than I did when I went inpatient. Hardly a decent place to be, but I had help getting out of that tight spot in my journey. Lots of good help, and that makes me certain that it’s worth it to fight back against the whispers of suicide, self-harm and even not eating. I have to find something to feed my body, even while I think I can’t possibly swallow it.
I’ve had my cousin kill herself just two years ago, and it’s not something people like to discuss; but I think it should be in the open. Far fewer people might try suicide if they knew they will eventually find relief. My son’s art teacher killed herself the night before his eight year-old birthday party, and word reached his ears. How does a parent explain that the teacher they saw on Friday went home and hanged herself in her garage (because one of his friends lived across the street and saw it all and talked about it at the party).
I had a friend kill himself five days before Christmas. It’s all around us, isn’t it? If young people only understood the awful mocking feelings that make them feel insignificant and a burden are lies, then they might be less likely to end their pain forever.
I fell into this latest depression inch by inch. Little stresses added up and overwhelmed me, and I still held out against hope. My last child left home for good this fall. I’ve been upset about the world news lately, and I should have stopped listening. I’ve added a new health issue, which is a big deal, to my usual lupus problems, and I have to friends who are dying of cancer. Three of my doctors retired this year, too. Oh, and my church is having big problems, and all of this put together was just enough to kick me over the edge. I’m here. Again.
My mom, who has suffered with depression too, told me to stay on my medicines rather than waiting for bad times. All my siblings stay on medicines, too, so I should have listened. I know there’s a whole new class of antidepressants out there now, but after watching someone I know get brain shocks, I’m a bit worried. But then again, I’m worried about worrying. So maybe I’ll have to place my mood disorder into a new psychiatrist’s hands and see what he/she comes up with as a plan.
My biggest message is there are many of us out here. We hurt inside with all sorts of mental illness, though I prefer the term “emotional illness”. Mentally I can still perform math and read, but I feel emotionally handicapped. It will pass. Yours will pass. I have a family member who’s tried magnetic therapy, and they’re going to give electric shock therapy a try next. I like having many options out there, in case one of us fails treatment plans. There’s so many options. Ketamine is another one to try.
Let’s not give up on ourselves. Let’s not make fun of people who suffer emotional disorders, since that’s about the cruelest thing we could do to them. We need help, and those who understand can offer to listen, to watch someone’s kids to give them a break, to bring them a meal or to just sit with them. I hope you never find yourself down or depressed. Clinically depressed. I can think of far more places I’d rather be at the moment, but I have to stay here. And wait. Would you wait with me?
I sure hope you do.
