2020 is stupid. 

A virus globally. Racism nationally. Depression personally.

Hey, I know I’m not alone in this. Many, many people are struggling right now: I see it at work; our units have been filled to capacity. Work has honestly been my salvation of late. It’s my distraction. It stops all of the other thoughts that have been rattling around in my head. For that, I am grateful.

I thought I should write because writing usually helps to clarify my thoughts, and right now those thoughts are gray and jumbled and disjointed and dark. This is the first time in probably fifteen years that I’ve actually seriously considered going into the hospital in order to (1) keep myself safe, and (2) titrate meds more quickly than I could do at home.

When I think about it, I’m not sure that I ever completely recovered from two years ago.  It was just one year ago that I headed back to therapy and literally went three times in one week because the therapist was so concerned about the depth of my depression. I stopped seeing her when I went to night shift & started back to school – but I just left a message to get back in to see her. I don’t believe it will help, at all, but my family/friends/doc need to know that I’m trying, here.

The spiral started probably in May. The extrovert in me struggled mightily with the stay-at-home orders, especially since my girls had been staying with Jake as they each have their own rooms there, and online school was easier that way for them (my place is significantly smaller). Family vacation was in early June and several family members commented on my behavior that trip, that I seemed “off.” I hadn’t felt particularly “off,” but I know enough about psych/depression to know that often those closest to you notice changes before you do (both good and bad). So I started to pay attention.

Then, a week after being home, I gave myself a concussion.  I’m such an idiot sometimes.  I’d like to tell you a great story about a bar fight and “Well, you should see the other guy!” but, alas, I just hit my head on the corner of my kitchen counter. Honestly. Who does that?! Anyway, that sidelined me and mentally those weeks of recovery were difficult. 

 

In the midst of that, my dad was diagnosed with lung cancer. From his diagnosis to his death was about four weeks, and he passed away on July 6th. After having only my dad for thirty-five years, his loss has been shattering. Logically, I know parents have to die. I understand that. But the profound void his death has left in our entire family (remember, he had seven kids and 20+ grandkids/great grandkids) has been ineffable. 

So swirl all of these things together: pandemic, unrest, brain injury, death, and you have the recipe for the worst bout of depression I can remember. Even with my overdose, I hadn’t been feeling this bad beforehand (which is why that is still such a mystery to me). Right now, E V E R Y T H I N G is a struggle. My house is a disaster. Showering – ha! That’s funny. I can make it to work (my saving grace right now), but am on the couch at all other times. The energy to engage in my life has vanished. Suicidal thoughts are frequent. It’s humiliating to me to say this, but all meds have been removed from my house because after that stupid overdose, I can’t trust myself. 

Before you freak out, I’ve been in constant communication with my doc. I’ve been transparent with my family. If I need to go into the hospital, I will.

But.

But part of me wonders what the point even is. I keep telling myself that I have to stay alive for my family, my GIRLS … but then I wonder why I have to keep living through this hell for other people. Why do other people ask that of me? I don’t know that anyone can understand that thought unless you’ve been in this place. 

I have been dealing with CRIPPLING depression since I was 16 and had my first suicide attempt. I know at some point I’ll feel better, again. I also know that at some point after that, I’ll feel like this. Why do I have to keep doing this? Why do I have to keep enduring this? Do you understand what this pain is like??? It takes my breath away. 

I’ve got a great “happy/normal” mask. I wear it well. I’d bet that most people in my life had no idea how bad my depression had gotten. I understand Robin Williams and Kate Spade and Anthony Bourdain. I GET that, deeply. I don’t want to burden others with my pain – what’s the point of that?! No one wants to be around Eeyore all of the time. He’s cute, but damn, does that drain a person.

I’ve written a lot about what depression feels like in an effort to help people understand. I think it’s nearly impossible, if not completely impossible, to grasp the pain of depression unless you’ve been there. And, my friends, I have been here SO. MANY. TIMES.

I’m tired. I’m so tired of it. I’m tired of all of the work I have to do just to feel “normal.” It’s exhausting. LIfe feels so hard to me all of the time. And then I feel like such a tool because I’m acutely aware that I do not have a “bad” life. I’m not starving. I’m not being abused. I have a home. I have a job. I have an amazing family. How can it feel as hard as it does? Other people have it so much worse and thrive! What is wrong with me that these feelings keep coming back and back and back and back?

People keep asking me what they can do, asking how can they help … and I sincerely appreciate the offers – but, with depression, there’s literally nothing that anyone can do that will alleviate the pain. Nothing helps. Nothing lessens it. 

My brother texted me today and asked me, “What do you tell your patients who are going through this?” and I told him, “That’s a good question. Mostly I just say, ‘You’ve felt good before; you’ll feel good, again’ … There’s not a lot you can do but sit with them, hold their hand, and remind them of the good stuff.” But I also remember my patients who had been on medication after medication, with no relief. I remember really struggling with what to say to them, because I know how this illness goes. I know that it can keep coming back. I know that sometimes medications don’t seem to help at all. I know that even with therapy, even with really trying, sometimes it just feels like too much.

And that’s where I’m at. I’m currently living for other people. I’m staying alive because, at this point, it would be cruel to put my family through any more right now. Personally, I have no interest to “keep on keepin’ on” … but I will. I’ll keep going. I’ll keep studying for this stupid NP test that’s coming up. I’ll keep opening my eyes each morning (or afternoon if I’m working!). I’ll keep going to work. I make no promises about showering or chores. I only have so much energy, you know. I do promise to wear deodorant, though. You’re welcome.

I have a magnet on my fridge: “If you’re going through hell, keep going.” 

I am. And I will.