Let’s talk about depression. Mine has been exceedingly brutal lately. Part of it was not taking my oils when I was traveling, part of it is the general mood of the world in general, and part of it was accidentally running out of my meds and going nearly a week without any. I’m back on all meds and oils now and have improved dramatically over the last week, but it was rough going for awhile, I’m not going to lie.
I once described my depression as “walking in caramel thru life”. What can I say—I’m a visual person and it’s the best way to explain it. I want to move forward, but it’s not warm caramel, it’s cold, and it’s SO hard to move one leg, let alone both of them. It’s laying in bed knowing that I have things to take care of, responsibilities, kiddos that want to spend time with mommy and still just turning over and going back to sleep because it’s easier.
Admitting I was SO depressed at that time was hard for me—especially when the response was that I was making my friend Martha Ryce, making her suicide all about me. And that’s a direct quote that I can back up with the original conversation. It was quite possibly THE most hurtful thing any person has said to me in my life. And I’ve had some real shitty stuff said to me over the last 40yrs. I was appalled that someone I was so close to would accuse me of being a selfish twat rather than have a conversation about my mental state following the unexpected suicide of a good friend. At the end of the day, my issues are mine, and her issues—well, that’s her circus, not mine.
For those that are wondering, I am here to tell you that it isn’t someone being selfish. It is a raging argument in your brain of what you NEED to do, and what you are physically are able to do. It is constantly berating yourself–that voice in your head–telling you all the things you are NOT doing, what you are lacking, and how you are never going to get your shit together. It is tiring. Exhausting, actually. You can’t stand to be around yourself, so you assume no one else does. And in today’s social media bullshit, it’s even easier to assume people don’t like you because they didn’t like a post. Or they are mad because you send a text and never get an answer. On any given day my brain(STILL TO THIS DAY) tells me about at least 17 things I do that could lead to death. That voice, that VOICE is so goddamn melodramatic and I hate her and love her at the same time because I want to help her. I want to help myself–be better, stronger, smarter, but some days I just can’t. This is how I have always been, so I don’t know a different way to be or to think. I can reprogram my brain, I AM reprogramming my brain and it’s hard. And slow. It is SO slow.
And then you throw in whatever shit is happening in our country, and it’s hard to not leave work every day in tears. Children crying for their Daddy, meanwhile on FB I have people saying “well if they didn’t want to lose their kids, they shouldn’t have tried to cross illegally”. OK, BUT—-that means it’s ok to take away the kids? IT’S NOT OK. I look at my daughter, at my son, and think about what they would do if someone took them away…..not from MY perspective, but from THEIRS. That fear, that terror….I know that feeling—I grew up worrying every day that something would happen to my mom and dad. Not for any reason, mind you—-it’s just one of the gifts that depression/anxiety has given me.
So when it comes to depression and suicide…..Kate Spade, Tony Bourdain—it’s hard for me to watch. I’ve gotten this far, but how long until the dark gets me for good? How do I keep it at bay until my daughter gets married and I’m a gramma? How do I make sure I’m here to see my son graduate from college? The truth is, no one knows jack shit—-about ourselves, about each other—we offer pieces of ourselves, chunks of our heart and pray that the recipient won’t shatter it. We hope that we’ve made the right choices and we can just get to that next lifegoal. Nothing is perfect and all we can do is be ready and look always forward.
It’s ok—here is a palate cleansing kitten: