How does Depression feel?

There are so many resources out there about the signs and symptoms of depression. Unfortunately, many of these sites are pharmaceutical companies looking to advertise their particular brand of antidepressant. Either that, or you can find websites like WebMd, with cold, impersonal symptom checklists.

If you're like me, you'd much rather read about a first-hand account from someone who's been there. Since I'm just recently starting to climb out of that hole, here is my account on what it's like and how I felt being depressed.

I only had energy for the bare minimum. Which meant that I could keep the house clean on the surface anyway, although the beds mostly went unmade, and areas not immediately visible (think closets) fell by the wayside. Home cooked meals? Forget it. I neither had the creativity nor the desire to try new meals or figure out weekly meal plans. Dinners were often what I could whip up at the last minute or I relied on my husband to cook or at least tell me what to make.

I went through the motions of taking care of the kids. They were fed, dressed, clean, and yes, even loved, cuddled, read to, played with, etc, but only because even in my worst funk I forced myself to be present for them, if only for them, because I know what it's like to have a depressed parent. I hope to God if I fooled no one else, I was able to pretend well enough so that they'll never remember their mom the way I remember mine.

As for physically, no matter how much or how little sleep I got, I was always physically and emotionally exhausted. Yawning all the time, sluggish, sleepy, inability to concentrate... it was all I could do to make it to my youngest's nap time, at which time the TV would go on for my oldest and I'd doze on the couch for an hour or two. Yet by the time bedtime came around, I'd lie awake, restless and uncomfortable, so exhausted yet unable to settle down and sleep.

I always had aches and pains, especially my lower back, my upper back and neck and severe headaches. Appetite was non-existent. I only ate to fill my stomach, and only ate things that took little to no preparation - such as cereal, crackers, chips and other junk. I never felt quite right and always thought that there must be something really wrong with me.

Concentration, memory and motivation fall by the wayside when it's all that you can do to keep your eyes open long enough to get the kids to and from school and the house reasonably taken care of. I'd constantly forget appointments, cancel plans with friends, pay bills late, or have to re-wash loads of laundry that sat too long in the washer.

For me, at least, depression didn't mean crying all the time or feeling sad. Instead, I was always on edge, had a serious lack of patience, and was very irritable. What little patience I maintained was reserved for my kids, and God bless my poor husband who took the brunt of my irritability.

I just wanted to be left alone. I often fantasized about hopping in the car and just driving someplace far far away where no one would know me and I could just sort of blend in with the scenery.

In writing this, I'm realizing that although I've come a long way since my "depths of despair" days, I still have a long way to go towards feeling healthy. I'm making progress, sure, but I can't wait for the day when I can go the whole day without feeling like I need a nap, or actually eating to enjoy my food instead of eating because I have to to survive. I can't wait to be able to get things done without literally forcing myself to get up off the couch and away from the computer. And it'll be nice to go a whole day pain-free.

Questions of the day

I think this is going to be another one of those stream-of-consciousness (or as classy-me likes to call it, "verbal-diarrhea") posts. Lots of stuff rumbling around up there in this head-o-mine this morning. Let's see if I can sort it out by writing it out:

Firstly, I know the other day I said that I can't get my hands off of self-help books. Normally, this is a good thing, especially when I'm reading something that my therapist suggested to me. However, me thinks maybe that I should stick to books that my therapist suggests from now on. The book I'm currently reading is really confusing me, or at least bringing up some questions in my mind about my intimacy "issues." I don't know though, maybe that's a good thing??

You see... sometimes I'm not sure if my issues around sex and intimacy are related to the "abuse" (inappropriate relationship, whatever I want to call it this week), or to the fact that as much as my mother tried when I was small, she was severely depressed herself, and often times emotionally unavailable. Her love was conditional. I never knew what was going to set her off, so I was constantly trying to please her and failing. That being said, this book I'm reading this week alludes to the fact that this sort of thing can lead to, "discomfort with connection and intimacy. If you are detached you can't be abandoned." The author's theory is that if you've never experienced real love as a child, you learn not to trust or believe in it. And if you keep your distance emotionally, you can't get hurt.

Then again, later in the book, in another case study involving a woman who was molested as a child, the therapist says,

When you were molested as a child your emotional boundaries were invaded. There was negative intimacy where you submitted which was not your choice or desire. A child is not ready for any kind of intimate sexual experience. You were left with some control and intimacy issues. Sex became connected with being in control of the situation, the one who decides. Because of the lack of trust or support in your family, intimacy is also affected. There is a difference between submission and surrender. Submission is no choice event and surrender to love and intimacy is a choice based on positive feelings.

Okay, re-reading and re-visiting these two theories has helped me make sense of them and I can already see that the second theory is more on par with my situation. I think that sometimes I try to down play in my own mind what happened and try to find other reasons why I am who I am and act the way I do. If it's less severe in my mind, I feel better about the fact that I really have no animosity towards my "abuser" (just the fact that I have to put that word in quotes speaks volumes, doesn't it?), or at least the person he is today. I have trouble even connecting that person with the person he was in my past.

And now that my husband knows, it's suddenly become very strange to me that I can disconnect that "past" person from the "present" person. Is it simply a coping strategy since I have to see this person from time to time? Probably. And is it a coping strategy to make less of the "abuse" and try to find other reasons for my issues? Most likely.

But I have to remind myself that no one theory applies here. Nothing is cut and dry like that. The person I am today is a sum total of all the pieces that made up my past. There can't be any easy answers to the questions I have. Maybe that's the biggest lesson I have to learn.

I just re-read that jumble and have come to the conclusion that there is no conclusion to this post. I guess that's the point of stream-of-consciousness writing - that you can start off in one direction and end in a completely different one. I'll just leave it at that, and refuse to apologize, because that's what I intended this blog for, after all. Until next time,

Fin. ;)

Anger Turned Inward

"The most difficult thing in life is to know yourself." ~Thales

I started a new book.

If you haven't gotten it by now, I love to read. I used to read to escape real life. Anything I could get my hands on - I was reading at a high school level in the fourth grade. My favorite place to spend recess was in the Library. Anne Shirley, Meg Murry, Ramona Quimby, Charlie Bucket and Rand Al'Thor were my best friends. I used to get in trouble in class - not for talking out of turn or passing notes - but for reading a book on my lap or inside my text book while I was supposed to be listening to the lesson. I much preferred fiction and fairy-tales to real life, as you can imagine. I'd let the story transport me to another time, place, or world - anywhere but here.

One thing this journey towards discovering myself has brought out in me, however, is a thirst for knowledge that cannot be found in a fairy-tale. So I find myself for the first time in my life reading non-fiction books - and enjoying it. I want to read every psychological/self-help/mental-health book I can get my hands on.

I think that I seek validation - knowing that the thoughts in my head are real and normal (whatever that means) for someone who has been through all that I've been through. I want to know that there's a light at the end of the tunnel. I want to know what to expect next.

And so, yeah, I started another book. This one is called Here We Go Again: Understanding and Dealing with the Unresolved Issues That Push Your Buttons and Impact Your Relationships and it's already uncovered a couple of gems that speak to me, one of which is:

"Depression is anger turned inward."

Wow. That is profound. I have major blocks when it comes to showing anger. My therapist mentioned just last week that it was something we are going to work on in future sessions. Anger was not an acceptable emotion in my house growing up. Especially not in a girl. And the only anger I feel to this day is anger at myself. And, guess what? I suffer from Chronic Depression! Doesn't that make perfect sense?

It does to me at least.

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I take this pledge because I'm becoming increasingly frustrated with wading through the fluff in blogs in search of real content. I want to read about real people and real experiences. There are far too few of these types of blogs out there.

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Another Thoughtful Thursday

Another week, another therapy session. I had a really good meeting with her this morning. First of all, she said that she could see a change in me... more a sparkle and a brightness to my eyes where a few weeks ago, there was a dullness and a sadness to my expression. I told her that I wished it wasn't the Prozac and it was just that I'm healing... but I'll take it.

Today we talked a lot about my fears and my indecision about where to go from here, in regards to "what I want do be when I grow up." I have two paths, two very different paths, that interest me. One is the "safe" path - a job in computers where I don't have to interact with people on a daily basis, and I know that I have talent there. The other is a path where I'd do something that I'm passionate about - psychology/counseling. This is not the safe path at all for me. It means putting myself out there and involves a whole lot of growth and fear facing.

Both paths would require me going back to school and would require a commitment of at least 5 years. My biggest fear is choosing the wrong path. The "safe" route both pulls at me and repulses me - because "safe" has such a negative connotation in my mind; it makes me feel like I'd be failing myself if I choose "safe." On the other hand, I'm very talented in regards to computers/web design, so something that comes easy to me really attracts me.

The "growth" path also pulls at me and repulses me - for different reasons. I'm pulled to it because although I have my own issues and dark sides of my past, I think I could be a tremendous help to others, and I think I'd be a good counselor. And it repulses me because, well, what if I'm a failure? Not to mention that niggling little voice in the back of my head that keeps saying, "The very idea of you as a therapist is laughable. How can you possibly help people live their lives when you can barely get out of your own way?"

I feel like I'm at a turning point in my life... where do I go from here? Can I live up to my own expectations, or will I continue to play it safe? And is playing it safe really a bad thing in the grand scheme of things? Do I even want a "career," or is a job just a means to a paycheck?

Face the Fear

I had a quasi-phone interview yesterday.  Two phobias you should know about me: 1) I hate talking on the phone, and 2) I hate talking to new people.  Also, here's a bonus phobia for you: I am terrified of returning to work and leaving my kids in the care of someone else.  There, I said it. phew!

So yeah, there's this person who knew that I was looking for a job and has an accountant friend/colleague that may possibly be looking for someone part time in May.  So this person told me to give him a call and talk to the accountant.  He also passed my resume along.  Geez, even thinking about this happening yesterday is making my heart race! 

Now, left to my own devices, I most likely would have "forgot" or "put off" calling until it was too late.  Then I would have either beat myself up for not calling and/or convince myself that it wasn't the right job for me anyway.  But the person that referred me to this accountant is someone that I greatly respect and I didn't want to screw him over when he just personally vouched for me, you know?  Therefore, I forced myself to make the phone call.  Before I made the call, I repeated the mantra "Feel the Fear . . . and Do It Anyway."

I'm not sure that it made the call any easier, but I allowed myself a pat on the back after I got off the phone because I did it.  The premise of the above book is that most people (and I'm most definitely one of those people) beat themselves up for the fear they feel, and let it control and limit their lives.  The key is to realize that feeling fear is a normal response, and even highly successful people feel fear, the only difference is how you handle it.  If you allow yourself the moment of panic, but let that fear-based adrenaline give you the push, you can move through it and move on. 

Sounds good in theory, but believe me, it's a lot harder in practice.  Especially since I haven't had much practice.  I'm hoping it's going to be one of those "fake it 'till you make it" situations.

Holding my own

I heard this song on the radio for the first time the other day (in fact, I was coming back from that run-in with my family, so it seemed even more apropo):

Jason Mraz: Details in Fabric

Calm down Deep breaths
And get yourself dressed instead
Of running around
And pulling all your threads and
Breaking yourself up

If it's a broken part, replace it
If it’s a broken arm then brace it
If it's a broken heart then face it

And hold your own
Know your name
And go your own way
Hold your own
Know your name
And go your own way
And everything will be fine

Hang on
Help is on the way
Stay strong
I'm doing everything

Hold your own
Know your name
And go your own way
Hold your own
Know your name
And go your own way

And everything
Everything will be fine
Everything

Are the details in the fabric
Are the things that make you panic
Are your thoughts results of static cling?

Are the things that make you blow
Hell, no reason, go on and scream
If you're shocked it's just the fault
Of faulty manufacturing.

Everything will be fine
Everything in no time at all
Everything Hold your own
And know your name
Go your own way

Are the details in the fabric
(Hold your own)
Are the things that make you panic
(Know your name)

Are your thoughts results of static cling?
(Go your own way)
Hold your own
Know your name
Go your own way.

Are the details in the fabric
(Hold your own)
Are the things that make you panic
(Know your name)

Is it Mother Nature's sewing machine?
(Go your own way)
Are the things that make you blow
(Hold your own)
Hell no reason go on and scream
(Know your name)
If you’re shocked it's just the fault
(Go your own way)
Of faulty manufacturing

Everything will be fine
Everything in no time at all
Hearts will hold

By the end of the song, I had tears in my eyes. I am learning my own name and I'm (trying at least) holding my own.

The last few days have been okay, in terms of the depression. I'm not sure if it's the change in meds, or the little "epiphany" I had the other day, or the old cliche that time heals all wounds, but I'm not complaining.

An Epiphany (of sorts)

I've kind of had a small epiphany (if you can call it that). Yesterday I was obligated to see my family for a short time - they were all there, my parents, my siblings, and yes, the person I had an 'inappropriate relationship' with (that's what I'm calling it this week, per the suggestion of my therapist. I'm not sure that sounds right, either, because it implies that it was a mutual thing, and at 10 years old, I'm not sure that 'mutual' is even possible).

Anyway, I had to see them for a 'family thing.' So I went, was hoping to be in and out before anyone actually got there, but shortly after I arrived, they all showed up, so what can you do? Yes, it was weird, uncomfortable, awkward, annoying yada yada yada.

But as I was standing there, making small talk and getting more and more frustrated that nothing has changed, that my entire immediate family seems hell-bent on sweeping all of our family dysfunctions under the carpet and pretending that all is fine-and-dandy, I kind of came to a realization:

I don't have to pretend anymore. No one is forcing me into that box that they've created. In the past, I was the only one who was trying to fit into that mold. And I've successfully started that journey, and as uncomfortable as it may be, I never want to go back to that box. Ever.

I can let go of the frustration and realize that the distance I'm beginning to put between me and my family is healthy and good for me. That is a little hard to swallow, I have to admit, but it also gives me a feeling of empowerment, if that makes any sense. My family, I hate to admit it, is toxic for me, and I'm going to be selfish (in the best sense of the word, dammit!) and break away from that so that I can finally start to grow as a person and not get sucked back in.

For the first time in my life, I almost feel as if I have control over my own destiny.

Control is a weird word for me, by the way. Because one thing I've realized in this journey of self-discovery is that I was a control freak in terms of my own thoughts, feelings and emotions. What I was feeling and what I showed to the world were two completely different things.

But in typing this, I'm think that in this case, these are two different types of control. Before, I carefully controlled my self, my inner child, to coin a phrase from one of my favorite self help books. Now, I'm figuring out that I have control over what happens from now on. The first type of control restricts growth, and the second promotes growth. There is a huge difference there.

Wow, that was profound.

Thoughtful Thursday

God I'm so flighty! All week I thought that my therapy session was cancelled because my therapist has a once-monthly meeting at our regular time. However, knowing myself and how I am, after I dropped the kids off at school, I called just to be sure that I didn't have an appointment. Um, yeah, I was supposed to be there at 9:00. It was ten past. Lovely.

Luckily, I live right down the street so I was headed in that direction anyway, and was able to make it there in under five minutes.

But I tell you all of this because there's this thing that I've been struggling with all week, since my appointment with my psychiatric nurse practitioner. See, I just started seeing this lady about a month ago. Prior to that I received my antidepressant prescriptions from my primary care physician. My therapist, however, thought the dose of Zoloft I was on was way too high, making me numb and sometimes almost manic.

Anyway, my therapist referred me to this nurse practitioner, and I've seen her twice now. I've successfully swapped out Zoloft 150 mg for Prozac 40 mg, and I think that it's going well so far. I'm starting to feel better. But here's the problem: The NP said to me last week, "Have you ever considered that you might have Adult ADD?"

Whaaaa??? I mean, I'm flighty, I'm forgetful, sometimes damned near irresponsible, but hyper? I don't think anyone has ever described me as hyper. I literally started laughing.

Apparently, though, you can have ADD without the "H." Go figure. I fit almost all the criteria for "Adult ADD, Inattentive Type."

"Adults who are living with the condition, and especially those who are undiagnosed and untreated, may be experiencing a number of problems, some of which stem directly from the disorder and others that are the result of associated adjustment patterns.

Current symptoms of an adult with ADD may include:

•Distractibility
•Disorganization
•Forgetfulness
•Procrastination
•Chronic lateness
•Chronic boredom
•Anxiety
•Depression
•Low self-esteem
•Mood swing
•Employment problems
•Restlessness
•Substance abuse or addictions
•Relationship problems"

Also:

• Often making careless mistakes when having to work on uninteresting or difficult projects


• Often having difficulty keeping attention during work, or holding down a job for a significant amount of time


• Often having difficulty concentrating on conversations


• Having trouble finishing projects that have already been started


• Often having difficulty organizing for the completion of tasks


• Avoiding or delaying in starting projects that require a lot of thought


• Often misplacing or having difficulty finding things at home or at work


• Disorganized personal items (sometimes old and useless to the individual) causing excessive "clutter" (in the home, car, etc)


• Often distracted by activity or noise


• Often having problems remembering appointments or obligations, or inconveniently changing plans on a regular basis

So yeah. Everything except for the "substance abuse" fits me to a T. However, and here's where I have a problem with the initial diagnosis: 1) I don't want to add yet another medication to my list. I'm taking enough thankyouverymuch. 2) All of these "symptoms" can also be explained away with all of the juggling and pretending and acting I've done over my life time. Not to mention, people would say that I was in my own little world when I was growing up. My therapist said today that of course I was, it was a means of escape!

But long story short, it was nice that when I brought up my concerns today with my therapist, she agreed with me that she was surprised to hear "Adult ADD" used to describe me. She said she'd give me a good six months to a year to work through everything else that's been going on, then revisit the diagnostic checklist and at that point, maybe consider medication.

More 'Cheese,' less whine

I've started a new book. It's called Who Moved My Cheese? by Spencer Johnson, M.D. It's written as a parable - a story about two mice and two "little people" who are trying to navigate their way through a maze (life) in pursuit of "Cheese" (happiness), and the different way the four characters deal with the trials and tribulations thereof. It's cute so far. Maybe a little over-simplified, but I'm willing to give it a chance. Once I actually settle down and start reading it, I'm sure it'll take me less than an hour to get through. It's not a very big book. But, as you know by now, the subject matter is one that is near and dear to my heart: change and the pursuit of happiness.

Getting to the point of this post, what grabbed me about this book was the inscription on the dedication page at the beginning. It's a quote from A.J. Cronin, an author of -ironically enough- Catholic fiction, considering much of the issues I have can be blamed in part on a liberal dose of good old-fashioned Catholic Guilt, and I'm not even sure I even have faith in the religious sense of the word anymore... But anyway, I digress.

The quote:

Life is no straight and easy corridor along
which we travel free and unhampered,
but a maze of passages,
through which we must seek our way,
lost and confused, now and again
checked in a blind alley.

But always, if we have faith,
a door will open for us,
not perhaps one that we ourselves
would ever have thought of,
but one that will ultimately
prove good for us.

That's what I hope for.

Unfathomable Pain

Sometimes something happens to one of your best friends that kind of makes you take stock in what you do have. Something awful, something unconscionable, something no mom should ever have to even think about. I don't want to go into too many details here, because this blog is supposed to be anonymous, but suffice it to say, I don't think my friend will ever be the same after this, for good reason. My heart goes out to her, and where I can sympathize with the pain and suffering she must be going through right now, I almost feel like she has every right to feel that way, and, well, I don't have good reason to suffer the way I do. My pain is all inside, in my brain, and most people, including myself, wonder why I just can't shake it off and move on, especially since I have so much to live for, and for all intents and purposes - on the outside at least - the perfect life.

It also makes me wonder - what if something like what happened to my friend this weekend had happened to me? Would I possibly be able to be half as strong as my friend is right now? I doubt it. I think something catastrophic occuring in my life would send me right over the deep end. Maybe I'm wrong, maybe I don't give myself enough credit. But when I try to put myself in her shoes (which is something that I tend to do often), I can't imagine how she's not curled up on her bed with the covers over her head.

But I digress... the events of this weekend have made me take stock in what I have - an amazing husband, two beautiful, happy, healthy kids, awesome friends and in-laws, and I have my own physical good health (if not mental - yet). I have to try to focus on that, yet not let it lead me down the path of sabotaging myself with guilty thoughts like, "how dare I wallow in self-pity when there are others out there who have it so much worse?"

I'm trying, I really am. And in the meantime, I also have to figure out how to be there for my friend. Because even though she has been blessed with a wonderful, supportive family, it's going to take every ounce of strength from everyone who loves her to get her through this terrible thing that has happened, and prepare her for the days to come.

Thoughtful Thursdays

Fragile.  That's the word of the day.  Just returned from my weekly session... My therapist suggested it's like I'm sinking in quicksand right now.  Don't worry too much, readers, I told her how I've been feeling these past few days - almost suicidal, but not really, and really hating myself and how I'm treating my husband, how I have no idea which way is up lately and feel like I'm out of control of my emotions.  Apparently it's all fairly normal. 

You see, up until a month ago, there was this secret that I kept from my husband - that between the ages of 10 and 12 I was sexually abused by a family member (you have no idea how long it took me to even just write those words out "sexually abused" - breathe girl, breathe!).  I thought I was going to carry that secret to the grave with me. I'm still trying to convince myself that it was not my fault - wrap your brain around that one! - so again, I was never going to tell him.  Turns out that life and it's circumstances forced my hand a bit and I managed to force the words out to him one morning about a month ago, only because I thought I had no other choice. 

Since then, these gossamer walls I've been building up around myself for 20 some odd years are starting to crumble.  I never realized how precarious they were until now.  It's like everything I've convinced myself was true about my life, my family, my relationships, my very sanity, were nothing more than fairy tales and I've awoken to a nightmare.  My house of bricks turned out to be a house of straw and all it took was one puff...

The delicate dance that was my relationship with my husband (he pursues me, I push him away, he becomes distant, I panic and try to draw him back in, he then starts to have hope, pursues me, and I push him away again), now seems to be to us both a sick and twisted game, but it seems like something neither of us has the power to stop. 

I am so terrified that one of these days he's going to get so tired of me and all my issues that he's going to up and leave.  And I'm terrified that I think I deserve nothing better than to be alone.  That I don't deserve happiness and love.

My therapist keeps reminding me to just keep breathing, that things will get better, and that my life will be miles and miles above where it was when I was holding on to those walls.  She reminds me that it's only been a month since my life came crumbling down around me and that I can't expect miracles. 

I realize that this post has been all over the place, but I really wanted to get all that out while it's still fresh in my mind.

Hating myself

I'm really hating myself right now. My husband is trying so hard to understand and to be there with me but I just keep pushing him away. Normally at night after the kids are in bed, he sits on the recliner and I sit or lay on the couch and we watch TV or read or he plays Wii while I search the 'net. That's where my comfort zone is. To coin a phrase from Dirty Dancing: "This is my dance space. This is your dance space. I don't go into yours, you don't go into mine. You gotta hold the frame."

I'm all about the frame.

Well, like I said, the husband has been trying really hard to be there for me lately. So now, instead of sitting on his chair, he wants to sit on the couch with me. He's much more affectionate. He rubs my feet, takes good care of me, sends me texts during the day to ask how I'm doing... I could go on and on. There are a million ways that he's trying so hard to show me how much he loves me and just wants to be there for me.

Great, right? Every woman's dream, right? Well, not so much. It's like a visceral reaction. Animal instinct. Fight or flight. I really don't know what the hell to call it, but all I know is this: all I've ever wanted was someone to see me. Someone who'll take care of me and love me. And when I get that kind of treatment, I feel anger. I feel annoyed. My skin crawls. I get panicky. I immediately jump to the defensive. Last night I shot my husband down and probably made him feel like crap, then I got even more annoyed when he became frustrated. I was thinking to myself, "he only cares about himself. He's after one thing. He doesn't understand me after all. Why doesn't he just leave me alone?"

So last night, after he tried to cuddle up to me in bed and I pushed him away, I went downstairs on the couch and hated myself with a passion I didn't know I had in me for the next two hours.

I just don't even know what to do anymore. How to act, how to behave, how to stop thinking, because I really feel like I'm going insane. And then I think to myself that I'm only in my thirties. I have, theoretically, half my life left to live. And if I have to go day in and day out battling for control - every minute of every hour of every day - for the rest of my life, no end in sight, I just don't know if I can take it.

Where are the Mom-Bloggers with Depression?

I started this blog - in part, anyway - in the hopes that I could reach out to other moms (or at least other women) who are suffering from chronic depression or other mental illnesses. I figured there had to be other women out there who were willing to share their first-hand experiences, and how they were able to climb out of the black hole. There's comfort in numbers after all - that I'm not alone, that my thoughts aren't that crazy, that there is a light at the end of the tunnel. Problem is, I've been looking for a month now; I've signed up at different blog-sharing platforms and lists and communities, I've searched the web high and low... and what I've found kind of surprises me a bit. There are blogs galore on how to get the best coupons, how to get the best deals, how to raise your kids, how to cook, how to clean, how to organize, how to get rid of clutter, how to lost weight. There are photography blogs and scrapbooking blogs, and craft blogs. There are Christian mom blogs. There are so many product review blogs it almost makes me sick. But search for blogs by women dealing with depression or other mental illnesses in their day to day lives, how they cope, and the like, and I guarantee you that you won't find much at all.

Why? Is there such a stigma around depression? Why do mothers hate to talk about it? Is it because we think people don't want to hear us complain? Why do we all (and I say "we" because I've been guilty of it too) try so damned hard to appear perfect? Why do we feel like we have to prove to the world that we have it all and can do it all, with a smile on our face and a bounce in our step? Why can't we talk about the fact that life isn't all peaches and cream all the time and that sometimes life just plain sucks?

So here is my challenge to my readers: Prove me wrong. Prove to me that there are other "Mommy-Bloggers" out there that have blogs that deal with this subject. Simply enter the blog title, a brief description, and a link to the blog. My only ground rules are: 1) it has to be by a woman, 2) it has to be about her personal experiences dealing with mental illness (so no advice columns by health-care providers or church ministers or the like).

Need to stop thinking

Having a bad day. Well, a bad weekend, really. I'm feeling just really depressed and down. Kind of feeling sorry for myself. I know, I know... I seemed to be doing so well. And I was... and probably will be back to feeling better soon, but for now, I've taken a step back. Something happened Thursday that sent me in to this depression. I told myself I don't care, that I shouldn't care, that the people that hurt me shouldn't have that kind of control over me, and yeah, that works for about an hour, then I start to feel the bad thoughts creep back in.

Ugh, I'm obsessed, I know. I'm trying to focus on the positives... the fact that I have an amazing set of in-laws that epitomize the definitions of unconditional-love and support. That I have an amazing husband who is trying so hard to "get me." That I have two amazing children. I have so much to live for and be thankful for.

But then again, sometimes all those things in one corner make me realize the glaring emptiness on the other side. There's this whiny little-girl side of me who's sitting in the corner, pouting, saying, "Why me?" Wondering why she's so undeserving of love from her own family? Then my mind wanders further and I start thinking, "Maybe it is me. Maybe I'm just as selfish and bratty and dramatic and just a general disappointment as a daughter as my parents seem to think I am... What then? Maybe I have my in-laws and my friends and my husband all fooled and my parents have it right. Haven't they known me longer than any of those other people - since I was born?"

Why do they have such control over me? Why do I feel worthless? A failure? Not good enough? Unfit to be loved? I'm so frigging annoyed with myself right now.

This is going to sound unbelievably stupid, and it was, in fact, probably the dumbest thought that has ever crossed my mind, but in the interest of being honest in this journal of mine, I have to admit that I actually had the thought(s) Friday night that, "maybe if I just attempted suicide - winded up in the hospital getting my stomach pumped and had a few weeks in a psychiatric ward - would they take me seriously then? Would they love me then? Would they finally see me?"

Please know that I would never actually go through with that sort of thing, but I wanted to at least record that that's where I'm at mentally these last few days. That's where my mind was going. I'm not proud of it, but there it is.

Homework

I'm reading Lifeskills for Adult Children now and at the end of most chapters there is a homework assignment.  The one that struck me as relevant for today is this:

Homework: The first step to take in tackling the problem of lying is to become aware of it.  You can do so by keeping a diary for the next week in which you record the times lie about your feelings.

The theory is (and it's certainly true for me) is that "Adult Children" are great at lying.  Woititz explains,

When you lie, very often it's because you're afraid of being rejected.  You think that if people knew you were as you are, they'd abandon you... While it's true that if you are open, you may be rejected, it's also true that being honest about your feelings is the only path towards true acceptance.

I was actually immediately able to put this homework into practice this afternoon, when I picked my children up from school.  Several people I know, including one potential BFF (more on her in another post), asked me how I was doing today.  These are people who are at least aware that I have a lot going on in my life at the moment.  My first instinct would be to say, "Great! Never been better!" 

On this particular day, however, that would have been a bold-faced lie.  Instead, I was honest, especially to the woman with whom I know I can trust not to reject me.  I said, "I'm having a tough day, but I'll get through it." It was hard, but the support and validation from my friend that I got in return made me feel so much better than if I had just pretended to be fine.  And for the other people, I was surprised to see that they offered me compassionate looks and offers of help, but didn't expect to me to elaborate, and that was good, because sometimes the last thing I feel like doing is talking about it. I realized that I don't have to go into minute detail about everything that's wrong with my life in order to be honest. 

Another bonus is that you have no idea how liberating it is to stop trying to act perfect. No one is "great!" all the time.  Everyone has bad days from time to time.  And that's okay.

Thoughtful Thursdays

Thursday mornings are generally when I have my weekly therapy appointments and they usually leave me feeling pensive, so at the risk of being a cliche blogger-type that has corny little weekly posts, I hearby dub this post "Thoughtful Thursday" because it's my blog and I can call it what I want damn it. {stomps foot}

Ahem.

Anyway, like I said, this morning's therapy appointment left me feeling really thoughtful. Towards the end of the appointment, she asked me today if I feel better about myself or worse since starting therapy. I had been telling her how I've broken out from behind the mask and how uncomfortable that feeling is, almost like feeling naked and raw. So I gave her question some thought, and I answered that if I had to go back and make the choice over again, to go to therapy, divulge my dirty little secrets and bring up all this crap from my past, or to continue to numb the pain with hefty doses of Zoloft and denial, I'd pick the pain and rawness any day of the week and twice on Sundays.

I definitely think I'm more "real," more grounded, more congruent (to use a term my therapist used). I feel like I can stand up for myself more than I used to; I'm not as afraid to share my opinion (when I have one) and I'm getting better about confrontation. I used to seek happiness outside of myself, based on what other's thought of me, and based on whether I was able to make other people happy. Now I'm learning how to find that happiness within myself. I've learned to step back from unhealthy relationships, both with members of my own family and with friends with unhealthy boundaries. Slowly but surely I'm growing a backbone and learning that it doesn't mean that I'm a bitch because I have one and use it. For the first time since my husband and I started dating, he knows all of my secrets, even the abuse in my past, and God that's a huge load off of my shoulders, not to mention the fact that I now know that I had nothing to be afraid of and he still loves me just as much if not more from the knowing.

I know I still have so much more work to do, so much more to learn, so much growing to do, but it doesn't scare me half as much as it used to. I will continue on this journey and I know I'll come out whole and strong on the other side.

Lost Soul

I've been thinking a lot lately about the progress I've made, in terms of finding my true self and setting healthy boundaries.  In the past, my happiness and peace of mind was largely influenced on outside forces. I didn't have a single original thought in my head.  If you asked me what I thought about any given subject, I'd try to guess at what you wanted me to think, and give that kind of answer.  I used to be obsessed with what others thought of me. My dress, my expressions, my tone of voice, my activities - all of these things reflected the fact that my personal emotional boundaries were virtually non-existant. 

As a child, my parents had an enormous amount of control over me and I was constantly trying (and most of the time failing) to please them. As much as my parents claim to love me (and I'm sure they do, in their own way), their love was and still is a very conditional love.  My mother was often severely depressed when I was growing up, and I lived in constant fear that it was something I had done, or failed at, that caused it.  I went to all lengths to prove that I could be the perfect daughter, never making waves, always being what they wanted me to be.  But I always managed to fall short.  And gradually I lost myself.

I think it's so sad that at the age of 33 I'm finally learning to set healthy boundaries for people and I'm learning what it means to be 'me.'  My therapist disagrees - she says many people go their whole lives not knowing who they are and living to please others.  She thinks it's a miracle, given my past, that I was able to recognize that something key was missing in my life and had the courage to stand up and face it.  She thinks I'm stronger than I give myself credit for. I really want to believe her.

It's not that I hate myself.  How can I hate myself when I have no idea who I am? It's like this - all of these years I've had all this outside crap floating around inside me.  Junk that others filled me up with, garbage that I ate up to fill the void inside.  Six months ago, I began to clear out the crap.  Now I feel like I'm an empty vessel.  Kind of floating through a giant void, calling out to my inner self, only to hear a hollow echo.  I'm desperately grasping at nothing, trying to figure out what to do now, where to go from here. 

Growth

I finished reading Janet Geringer Woititz's Struggle for Intimacy (Adult Children of Alcoholics series), and it's conclusion in particular really spoke to me:

Dysfunctional family systems have dysfunctional relationships.  Your behavior is based upon what you learned as a child, but you don't want it for yourself.  Knowing what you don't want does not mean you know what you do want.

You need to learn what a healthy relationship is.

You need to learn how to achieve one.

You need to change habits that do not work.

Struggle is inevitable.

Mistakes are inevitable.

Discouragement is inevitable.

However, so is - sharing, loving, enhancement, joy, excitement, companionship, understanding, cooperation, trusting, growth, security and serentity.  The choice and the challenge are yours.

Everything I strive for in my growth as a person is contained in that last paragraph. And Woititz's wording there - "inevitable" - gives me hope. It makes my journey as I see it a valid one and one that is ultimately attainable. It will certainly be a challenge, but I have no doubt in my mind that it's a necessary one for the sake of myself, my kids and my husband.

Vulnerable

One of my biggest "things" is that I am a very shy person.  It is very uncomfortable and downright terrifying for me to feel vulnerable.  I "handle" this in several ways:

• avoidance
• hiding
• not allowing myself to get too close
• pretending I don't "need" anyone
• sabotaging relationships (which is indirectly related to the rest of the above)

Now, don't get me wrong, when I say "sabotage," I don't mean vicious or catty.  I don't think I have a mean bone in my body to be honest.  I just mean that I do things subconsciously that make potential friends wonder what the heck is up with me.  For example, someone will suggest an outing or a playdate between my kids and theirs and I'll act all gung-ho about it at the time, but will find an excuse not to go at the last minute.  A few times of this happening and that person will simply stop calling.  And then I'll protect myself by convincing myself that I don't need them anyway. See the vicisous circle I've created for myself over the years?

Not to mention that I suck with small talk.  I either say nothing at all, leading to uncomfortable silences, or I give away way too much information, blurting out all the pent up crap that's been going on in my life lately (and there has been a lot).  This really scares people, especially those that don't know me very well.  And as I'm writing this down right now, I'm starting to think the above is just another subconscious method of sabotaging potential relationships - I scare them away with too much information and then convince myself I don't need them anyway.  Well, crap. sigh.

What about your old friends, you may ask?  Well, I've been avoiding them, too.  See, I'm afraid that since I've starting breaking down this "shell" that surrounds me, they're going to notice the new (old) me and not like the changes. I'm no longer the bubbly, optimistic, carefree actress that I used to be.  At least I'm trying to let go of those habits, anyway.  The few times I've gotten together with old friends, they've either literally asked me, "Are you okay? You look tired," or I've felt (or imagined) the looks of confusion and/or concern.

They say that knowledge is power... but knowing that I've been behaving this way and the reasons behind them doesn't really help that much if I don't know what the heck to do to break out of habits that were formed almost 25+ years ago.   And so, I keep reading self-help books, I continue therapy once a week and I hope for the best.