It’s been dark around these parts lately. Really dark. Mixed with moments of pitch black, fumbling through the hallways, hands patting down the walls, desperate to find a light switch. I’m not a stranger to the darkness, but that doesn’t make it any easier. In many ways, familiarity is more scary because then you know exactly what kind of trouble you’re in for.
I’ve been joking to people lately that I feel like I’ve had a personality transplant and I am still learning the ins and outs of my new one while really missing my old one. The very pieces that used to define who I am are suddenly not coming to me as effortlessly as they used to. Things that were funny no longer are. Tasks that I used to enjoy are now beyond irritating to have to complete. Hell, I don’t even like Shells & Cheese anymore. And that Velvetta goodness used to be a cornerstone of my diet. My ability to be creative isn’t near as easy to connect to as it used to be. And what’s worse, in the depths of my darkness, I didn’t really care.
This summer was rough and obviously there were several events that shook me to my core. I just didn’t realize that they would also permanently change me, my needs, and my views. But they did. In many ways I feel like one of those people that gets in a car accident and wakes up, not remembering anything about who they are but has to continue living this life that was already set in motion by someone they don’t even know. One night I went to bed, realizing I was in a rough patch and when I woke up the next morning, the rough patch had been replaced by a vile and ugly land of nothingness where I didn’t really care about anything. It gets said so often that suicide is incredibly selfish. Man, that pisses me off. Perhaps if you have never suffered from severe, debilitating depression, it would seem like someone deciding to take their own life is the most selfish act. Let me assure you that the majority of people who are in a situation where they are considering suicide are not thinking about themselves. They are thinking about everyone they love and how little they feel they can offer them. And what a drain they have become to the people around them. Hopelessness is an emotion unlike any other. And you either understand it or you don’t. And if you don’t, you should probably just shut up rather than offering platitudes and head tilts of sympathy.
In this dark place I wasn’t thinking about how much I am needed by those I love. I wasn’t thinking about the very fact that I am loved. I was thinking that if I am completely and literally unable to get out of this bed, what good could I possibly be to anyone. So, for 37 hours I stayed there……in bed. I didn’t eat. I didn’t feed my pets (boy, were they pissed). And though I wasn’t tired, I was exhausted. So I slept and woke up and cried and then fell back asleep. Rinse, repeat. Until the one person that I decided to answer the phone for told me I absolutely had to get out of bed. I was willing to do anything anyone told me at that point, so long as I didn’t have to think for myself. So I did. And an emergency dose of my old friend Cymbalta was called in for a date. And 8 hours later I didn’t want to jump off a bridge quite as badly as I had been planning out. I wasn’t happy by any means and I didn’t feel like “myself”….but I had desire to breathe in and out. And that was amazing.
Five minutes after I post this, I will question myself but I hope I will leave it here. If there aren’t people who are willing to talk about things like depression, these “off-limit” topics remain dirty little secrets that no one is allowed to speak of or even think openly about. And that’s when the darkness is replaced by total a black-out filled only with silence and loneliness. And that, my friends, is the most horrific place of all where no one should have to spend any time getting familiar with.
When I was in the ugliest part of my little private hell, the part where I was looking up information about my mortgage to see if we had opted for the insurance that pays off your house in the event of your death and listing out all of the things about the kids schedules that their father would need to know and trying to remember if my best friend had all the information she would need to handle all of my personal and business junk, I hopped on Facebook to find an email address for her and I noticed that a friend had just posted this link. And I swear to god reading this lovely post about people being nicer to each other saved my life. Rather than continuing to get the details of my life together for those that would have to handle it all when I was gone, I spent the next hour trying to decide what my sign would say. I decided on “I’ve run out of courage and breathing has become a huge effort. Please be kind as I don’t know how much more I can take.”
And it’s dramatic and awful and depressing and…..…true.
There is no big point to this post. While I am in a much better place in this exact moment, I’m not going to be able to bring it full circle for you right now or end on a note of happiness and rainbows. There is no magic pill or cure that guarantees that each day is going to get better from here on out. And I am certainly not so naïve as to think that I will never again revisit that fumbling-in-the-hallway-just-trying-to-see-in-front-of-you darkness. What I am going to humbly suggest is whenever you can, act with purpose marinated in kindness. Even the smallest things you do or say can have a tremendous effect on others. You’re not always going to be the person that throws the rope, saving the life of someone who is struggling to stay alive in a sea of crashing waves, but you just might be the random person that puts a whisper of hope in the ear of someone more desperate for it than you could possibly know.
Next post I promise butterflies and “i”s dotted with hearts.:)
I’ve been joking to people lately that I feel like I’ve had a personality transplant and I am still learning the ins and outs of my new one while really missing my old one. The very pieces that used to define who I am are suddenly not coming to me as effortlessly as they used to. Things that were funny no longer are. Tasks that I used to enjoy are now beyond irritating to have to complete. Hell, I don’t even like Shells & Cheese anymore. And that Velvetta goodness used to be a cornerstone of my diet. My ability to be creative isn’t near as easy to connect to as it used to be. And what’s worse, in the depths of my darkness, I didn’t really care.
This summer was rough and obviously there were several events that shook me to my core. I just didn’t realize that they would also permanently change me, my needs, and my views. But they did. In many ways I feel like one of those people that gets in a car accident and wakes up, not remembering anything about who they are but has to continue living this life that was already set in motion by someone they don’t even know. One night I went to bed, realizing I was in a rough patch and when I woke up the next morning, the rough patch had been replaced by a vile and ugly land of nothingness where I didn’t really care about anything. It gets said so often that suicide is incredibly selfish. Man, that pisses me off. Perhaps if you have never suffered from severe, debilitating depression, it would seem like someone deciding to take their own life is the most selfish act. Let me assure you that the majority of people who are in a situation where they are considering suicide are not thinking about themselves. They are thinking about everyone they love and how little they feel they can offer them. And what a drain they have become to the people around them. Hopelessness is an emotion unlike any other. And you either understand it or you don’t. And if you don’t, you should probably just shut up rather than offering platitudes and head tilts of sympathy.
In this dark place I wasn’t thinking about how much I am needed by those I love. I wasn’t thinking about the very fact that I am loved. I was thinking that if I am completely and literally unable to get out of this bed, what good could I possibly be to anyone. So, for 37 hours I stayed there……in bed. I didn’t eat. I didn’t feed my pets (boy, were they pissed). And though I wasn’t tired, I was exhausted. So I slept and woke up and cried and then fell back asleep. Rinse, repeat. Until the one person that I decided to answer the phone for told me I absolutely had to get out of bed. I was willing to do anything anyone told me at that point, so long as I didn’t have to think for myself. So I did. And an emergency dose of my old friend Cymbalta was called in for a date. And 8 hours later I didn’t want to jump off a bridge quite as badly as I had been planning out. I wasn’t happy by any means and I didn’t feel like “myself”….but I had desire to breathe in and out. And that was amazing.
Five minutes after I post this, I will question myself but I hope I will leave it here. If there aren’t people who are willing to talk about things like depression, these “off-limit” topics remain dirty little secrets that no one is allowed to speak of or even think openly about. And that’s when the darkness is replaced by total a black-out filled only with silence and loneliness. And that, my friends, is the most horrific place of all where no one should have to spend any time getting familiar with.
When I was in the ugliest part of my little private hell, the part where I was looking up information about my mortgage to see if we had opted for the insurance that pays off your house in the event of your death and listing out all of the things about the kids schedules that their father would need to know and trying to remember if my best friend had all the information she would need to handle all of my personal and business junk, I hopped on Facebook to find an email address for her and I noticed that a friend had just posted this link. And I swear to god reading this lovely post about people being nicer to each other saved my life. Rather than continuing to get the details of my life together for those that would have to handle it all when I was gone, I spent the next hour trying to decide what my sign would say. I decided on “I’ve run out of courage and breathing has become a huge effort. Please be kind as I don’t know how much more I can take.”
And it’s dramatic and awful and depressing and…..…true.
There is no big point to this post. While I am in a much better place in this exact moment, I’m not going to be able to bring it full circle for you right now or end on a note of happiness and rainbows. There is no magic pill or cure that guarantees that each day is going to get better from here on out. And I am certainly not so naïve as to think that I will never again revisit that fumbling-in-the-hallway-just-trying-to-see-in-front-of-you darkness. What I am going to humbly suggest is whenever you can, act with purpose marinated in kindness. Even the smallest things you do or say can have a tremendous effect on others. You’re not always going to be the person that throws the rope, saving the life of someone who is struggling to stay alive in a sea of crashing waves, but you just might be the random person that puts a whisper of hope in the ear of someone more desperate for it than you could possibly know.
Next post I promise butterflies and “i”s dotted with hearts.:)
1 comments:
Thank you for sharing your raw and real emotions, thoughts and truths! I love how real you are and love ho you brought it all together sharing about how each thing you do makes an impact in someway or to someone....summed up so well.."act with purpose marinated in kindness!" so well said! May there always be a candle burning in your times of darkness and that candle be a sign of hope.
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