Chronic Depression: Living in the Abyss

 

Four days ago I went to the doctor for antidepressants. The past year, starting on February 11, 2013, has been particularly difficult for me, and coping with day to day living has became damn near impossible. This doctor visit was a last resort for me, because I despise going to the doctor. I despise it because she always (justifiably) asks me in her genuinely sweet and concerned way what is going on in my life. And I always go in there totally prepared for the question and just trying my best to hold my shit together. I then inevitably fall apart into a crying mess in her office with its paper thin walls, knowing that everyone out there can hear my sobbing to some degree. She knows it's going to happen and I know it's going to happen, but we both act as though it's the first time I've fallen into a million pieces in front of her. She has probably seen me cry more than anyone else in my life. She writes me a script for yet another antidepressant and I go on my way.

When I am in the depths of it, just getting out of bed is a struggle. The getting out of bed is only a necessity because I have a job and I have children, otherwise it simply would not happen. There have been a couple of rare days in the past few years that I didn't take the kids to school because I could not get up. Having a shower is another big deal. Having that shower actually sets me up for a semi good day.

I've heard of depression described as drowning while you can see everyone around you breathing, and that's exactly what it's like. It's like wanting to disappear, or sleep forever. I just want to be numb. Numb often seems better than feeling.

 

I get crazy short tempered with everyone around me because I'm so frustrated with myself. I'm frustrated that I can't just think like a normal person. I'm angry because I should be completely happy but I'm not, and I don't know why. I journal about how ridiculous it is to be so sad about "nothing". It's not that I'm never happy, because I do get incredibly happy about things, but it's fleeting.

Later that night (much later, after I had scooped all of the broken pieces of me off of the floor of the doctor's office), I was texting with a good friend about how much of a failure I felt like for turning to medication, even though it was my last resort.

His response was, "You need it. You've had issues with depression your entire life."
Ummm WHAT? My first reaction was one of the defensive "fuck you" nature. I kind of wanted to slap him for his asshole insight.

Then I realized he was right.
I have battled with this my entire life.
Three suicide attempts (two with medication and one with a razor blade), cutting way before cutting was a common thing (again with that razor blade), two psychiatrists (I didn't like either one), several psychologists and counselors (I liked one), and countless antidepressants (I can't even recall half of the names of them) say that this has indeed been a lifelong battle for me.

I have continually tried to cover it up because of the stigma of it. I've even openly judged others because of their depression, anxiety, or just plain old inability to cope, saying they just weren't trying hard enough. Maybe that was to take the spotlight off of me, or make myself feel like I was coping better than I actually was. In any case, I'm so sorry for extending judgment instead of reaching out with love.

Mental illness (and fuck yes I've come to realize it is an illness, thank you very much) is so negatively judged that it's no wonder people try to hide it. It can actually be easy to hide at times because it's not a visible problem. It's not like I'm missing a limb, or I'm carrying around portable oxygen. How many times, when I was on the online dating sites, did I read that guys were "not interested in crazy girls on meds....please be med free", etc. There's that "crazy" stigma, right in my face. Apparently those of us on meds are not worthy of love? Would the same thing be said to diabetic about their insulin? Of fucking course not.

I used to attribute my depression mostly to my situational issues. Living with an alcoholic who never came home at night, the stress of having two babies 12 months apart, going into my third year of university when my baby girl was 10 days old. But right now my life is realistically damn near perfect. I have my own house, I have a job with which I can support my family, I have amazing kids, I have a mom who I spend a ton of time with and helps me a lot, I've rediscovered my passion for writing and art. What's wrong here? Not a thing. This is not situational, this is me. This is an imbalance in my brain and it genuinely needs help.

I have been med free for the past five years and have done marginally well for the most part. The past two and a half years I've spent using positive affirmations, positive thoughts, reading positive books and basically just infusing positivity into my life. This is one of the best moves I've ever made, super helpful, but I didn't know why it wasn't working as well as it "should". Thoughts become things and how you think shapes your world, but no matter how hard I tried it didn't quite measure up. It was recently pointed out to me that some of us need medication to raise ourselves up to the same starting point as everyone else in the first place. The imbalance needs to be corrected initially so that all of the affirmations and positivity can work on the right level, and I need that first in order to move up even further. I've come to grips with the fact that my medication is a necessity for me.

Much love and light to everyone out there who is struggling right now. There is help, please reach out for it...xo

Let Me Heal, a poem for the broken hearted

Don't cry because it's over,
Smile because it happened
So the saying goes
And those that care
Tell me
Over and over

How can I be happy
When it's so fresh
I can still taste his lips on mine
Still hear his voice,
Still feel his touch
So fresh
That when I wake
I think he is beside me

No one can understand
The recesses of my heart
Or my mind
Let me grieve for what I lost
Before telling me to rejoice for what I had
I know there is a lesson
And sweet memories
But it's blurred by the veil of sadness
Let me heal
Before I move on

Nurse as Teacher: AKA the Worst Idea Ever

As a nurse, part of the job is to teach other nurses, whether they are students or the new float nurse being oriented to our floor. I am admittedly not a very proficient orienter, and I try to avoid it at all costs. I don't really like my nursing approach, honed by experience, being hawk-eyed by those (especially students) who are learning all of the "by the book" techniques. It's easy for them to critique when they haven't actually been out in the real nursing world themselves yet. I don't tolerate the judgy glances very well. But I digress. My whole point is that I try to delegate the impressionable newbies whenever possible. I must stress that I don't refuse them, I just look around to see if it appears anyone else needs a special follower for the day.

About two years ago a float team nurse came to our unit for orientation. The float nurses are exactly what they sound like. They float around the hospital helping on whichever floor happens to need assistance that day. The difficulty in orienting nurses to our area is that it is a specialty paeds/NICU area with lots to learn, and you simply can't squeeze all that into two or three shifts. In addition, some nurses are just plain scared of sick and fragile kids and babies. The orienting nurse on our floor that day was very young, very fresh and crazy enthusiastic. Enthusiastic about her upcoming wedding, and her impending post wedding babies that is. That day she just really, really, really wanted to hold some babies and coo over them. After explaining that while the babies needed bonding time, preferably with their parents, they were sick or premature or both and honestly just needed to be left alone.

Now, remembering me and my track record with the newbies, imagine my reaction when this fresh-faced young thing turned to me and this conversation ensued:

Newby: "Do you have kids?"
Me: "Yep. Three of them."
Newby: "Oh wow, really?? I can't wait to have a baby!"
Me: "The novelty wears off."
Newby (undaunted by my reply): "Doesn't working here just make you want to have another baby??"

Now I'm thinking this girl is certifiably nuts. I have three children that I love dearly. However, I am raising them 100% on my own....well maybe 75%....(thank God for my mother) and it's truly hard work. And at this point I was 38 years old, I felt that I'd paid my dues and had absolutely no interest in starting at square one again.

Me (after thinking all of this in my head and giving this girl a long, pensive stare): "I'd rather shoot myself in the ovary than have another baby."

Awkward silence.

Another time I had four nursing students who were in their second year (out of four) of nursing school. It was a slower time on the floor, and they were not a particularly motivated bunch. As they stood around gabbing about their weekends, I decided they should learn something useful, and I was just the person to teach them. I laid out some supplies, sat down on one side of a table and called the girls over. I told them they were all going to start IVs on me. The mix of apprehension and excitement was immediately apparent. Of the four, two were able to hit the vein and get blood back. I was just demonstrating how to reposition the IV catheter so as not to blow the vein when their teacher walked around the corner. The look of horror on her face was unmistakeable. She rounded her students up and herded them quickly up the hall and away from me. Who knew that second year students weren't allowed to start IVs??

And situations like that are the very reason I try not to train the newbies.