My depression an unguarded explanation/expression of the struggle

I remember when my depression really started. At first it was just episodes of fatigue and disinterest or lack of motivation.  Then it started to affect all parts of my life, my relationships, my friendships, I started losing interest in things I normally loved. I felt trapped in a hollow blackness. Like something dark and evil was wrapped around my heart. Making me feel cold and disconnected. Sometimes feeling completely melancholy, other times completely overwhelmed and able only to cry hysterically, screaming into my pillow, wishing someone would hear me and ask if I was ok. I don’t know what I would have done if someone had asked, but I wished I could express it, name it, instead of masking it with a cheery outward disposition. I stopped feeling strong emotions when they would be appropriate, and feeling them only in overwhelming waves of anxiety and sadness. I wonder if I’d been given a diagnosis in my second year (2007), when I first started having those bouts of hysterical crying, a lot of my friendships might have been salvaged. I let a lot of important, wonderful people drift away as I sought solace in a single person. It must have been hard to lose your friend, the instigator and motivator of hilarity, and watch her stay home some nights where all she could do was cry or hideaway, I was probably exhausting to be around. I wish I could have explained what was happening to me. I’d give anything to get that time back, those friendships.

I will absolutely never forget the month (January 2008) that I spent in my mom and dad’s bed, crying hysterically, screaming that it hurt, that I didn’t understand, that I couldn’t do it anymore, crying until I could cry no more. Not eating, not showering, the only thing that got me through was that they were there for me, listening even when I made absolutely no sense.  I watched all 10 seasons of Friends, too. Some may not like the show, think the jokes are lame and the romance cheesy, but that show, along with my families support, are what saved my life and got me through the darkest time in my life. Pure distraction mostly, and something that could make me laugh, without thinking.

Thankfully, after a couple weeks of this, my mom and I insisted I see a doctor and that they start me on anti-depressants, any kind, just get the process started. I remember sitting on the paper on the exam table in emerg, not even worried about how I looked, or that I was revealing a taboo struggle, just too tired to hold back, and I told him I just needed help, that the bad days were more than the good, and that even though sometimes I knew I had no reason to be, I would be bed bound with what felt like grief.

Now that I’ve been medicated appropriately for 8 years, I have normal, human, ups and downs.  I have good days and bad days like you’re supposed to, but I don’t feel like there is a darkness lurking. A weight was lifted on my heart.  I’ll never forget that January in 2008. Some people have asked, “Aren’t there health risks to being on medications for so long?” And my answer to that is, “Those risks are nothing compared to what my mind does to my health without them.” 

Teachers

I really appreciate that my parents were well spoken and well educated. And even though I complain about not being able to draw or maybe write stories, I am able to express myself in rambling posts like these pretty well. It's also a therapeutic way for me to focus my thoughts and it relieves some anxieties.

I love that when I was young they didn't simplify or dumb things down for me but made sure I could understand. If there was a word I didn't know, I was always encouraged to ask and when I needed a definition, I got the dictionary version and not the thesaurus version. I was explained what the word meant, how to use it, where it came from. So I could use it again on my own. I won't lie and say that I always appreciate this, or that there weren't times I rolled my eyes and snapped "just tell me what it means!" But I can absolutely look back and see where my talent, we'll call it, for expressing myself came from.

I was also encouraged to do just that, express myself, when I was angry and all I wanted to do was shout "Nevermind" or "Whatever" or "I hate you!" I was encouraged to take a deep breath and explain what was going on. What I wanted. When I wanted to go to a friend's house but this would require a drive into town, I didn't always get a yes right away. Sometimes I had to make a case for why my dad, on his Saturday off from work, one of 2 days of the week he didn't have to make the commute into town, why he should make that drive just so I could spend a couple hours dressing up and giggling at Emma's house. The poor man, I guess it was his desire to raise smart, well spoken children, but it must have been exhausting hearing "Oh my god, NEVERMIND, I'll sit in my room ALONE!" and still calmly (not always ;-P) explaining that he wasn't saying no, but that I had to make my case. ... Oh crap! Maybe he was trying to make lawyers out of us... and instead he got a teacher, an economist and a veterinary technician... oh sigh.

But really, it wasn't just my dad, I had a lot of incredible teacher types in my life, my mom was just as smart, and well spoken, and so easy to talk to. I had a wonderful care taker, Sandra, who always encouraged make believe, story telling and reading. Parents of close friends and extended family, too. Wow, how blessed I am to have been raised like that, in such a loving environment where education, whether in school or out, was so highly valued. I guess this may be sounding a little cheesy but its something I guess I don't think about too much because that was my life, I didn't know another kind. But I get annoyed with people on the phone, who ask questions I think they should know the answer to if they have a lick of common sense, and then I worry, "God, do these people have kids?" What are they missing out on because nobody taught their parents any better? Now, I know I sound judgmental and that's why I'll stop at that, but I am reminded on a semi-regular basis that I am who I am and where I am, because of the people who helped raise me, and to them I am forever grateful.

Falling Short..

Blagh, do you ever feel like despite your best efforts you always fall a little short... or maybe a lot short. I seem to be capable of dreaming big things, beautiful stories, awe inspiring images but when I attempt to bring them to fruition, I fall so, so short. I don't know that I find much else, more infuriating. On a daily basis I can't quite put what I'm meaning to say into words, but on a slightly less regular basis, I attempt projects that just fall short of what I was hoping for. Now, I realize this sounds very pitiful and a little like I'm whining, but it really does bother me on a pretty deep level. I do wonder though, if most of the time, the reason things don't look like they should, or when they don't on the first try, I give up out of laziness, and really, with a bit more patience I could make something half decent out of what I've started. But I also feel a little bit trapped by my lack of skill, I'd give anything to be really good at one thing, maybe drawing, painting, or even writing, to get across the things I'm thinking, not because I think they are earth shattering-ly profound, but because maybe it could help someone else understand what's going on in their mind, or help them understand what it is that's been eating at them.
One way I might convey the frustration, is I dream really vivid dreams, sometimes which play out like movies, and I wonder if they might have something to them that could make for a good story. But then when I try to write down what happened, or worse, try to tell someone, it just comes out lacking. Some movies have touched on fancy futuristic technologies that go into your mind and either link you to someone else, so they can move about in your memories. Or like in Start Trek with holograms, God I would give anything to have at my fingertips, some kind of program that I could slowly piece together ideas, talking it out, and it would lay them out in real form, and bit by bit, I could mold them into what it is I saw.
 Sometimes when I write like this it helps, but I still know, that all my life, I could write just fine, but my endings were always terrible. Even if the ending didn't matter, even if it was a summations of points already made... I could never get it flow just right... Maybe I don't want the discussion to end, maybe I want to leave it open-ended, or is it simply I just don't have the patience to bother.

A change of pace

Working really hard to not let this break my heart. Had to take the dogs on their first separate walks today. Ralph is just slowing down so much that it’s too hard to juggle them on leash and off leash he tends to get left behind. Instead of crying or fighting it, I’m reminding myself to enjoy the different paces. Lexi will help me burn calories and get invigorated by nature, while my walks with Ralph will remind me to slow down and smell the roses… or every smell ever in his case. This way too, neither will feel rushed or tied down, and get some one on one time with mom.

 I still find it so incredibly hard to imagine that my sweet handsome Ralphie, the same rascal who would leave us in his dust on walks on the marsh, where we would have to squint into the distance to make him out between the tufts of hay. Or who would run away from the yard as soon as you turned your head and then keep himself just out of reach as you awkwardly followed him through all the neighbours backyards. I suppose I don’t miss the frustration and anxiety of those times but seeing him so slow is hard. But his nose still works and he has an incredible joie de vivre that I envy!

Written Aug 2014 -

People always insist on calling me crazy or insane, so why can't i right now, do exactly what insanity is and keep repeating the same thing over and over and keep faith that i might very well get a different result.

Very rarely am I willing to sacrifice anything that might lead to my feeling uncomfortable, but for some reason when it comes to love/ relationships, or mainly I think, the feelings of others, I let myself be compromised. Even when I knew for some time, things just really weren't going to change no matter how many times we discussed it, no matter how many times i cried, it was just never going to be what i wanted or needed.. Honestly too, maybe i didn't let it be enough, maybe i just wanted to get away from it, not even let myself compromise even thought i knew that was the nicest thing to do. i think i just know myself far too fucking well to try to play tricks on my self and let myself believe everything is ok and i'm happy. I've written this before but maybe i'm not meant to be part of a duo, maybe sadly (in society's eyes), i'm just supposed to be me, rescuing pets, focusing on them, their upkeep, their health, focusing on my job, my house, my family, and not seek the same things everyone else says we are supposed to. I've always, always dreamt of being happy like my mom and dad, but maybe my happy is different, i mean, some people love little poodles, i like big huge, snuffly, drooly dogs. That doesn't mean my love, my happy is any less right, or that theirs is any less valuable. Damn! societal strongholds constantly confusing me, making me think i want the same things. I don't, at least it really doesn't seem like i'm meant to enjoy them. Now Dan was pretty awesome, with flaws no doubt, but i didn't want to move past the flaws to see the loyalty and potential of a decent forever, I want to strive for the right thing for me, the right happy. God I sound so fucking cliche but I mean it. I guess it has to do with my fighting depression, not wanting to let sad rule me but knowing i have to always be mindful of it and keep working at happy. maybe that's why i don't let ok work for me, why i just have to have it my way. And oh my god i know I must sound selfish but sometimes, I mean really, who fucking cares , I can care about all the starving babies but if I end up walking off a cliff or driving off the road because i'm so caught up in the sad that is around me and ignoring my own... what good am I to any cause at all.

My mind is getting flabby

I want to feel like I’m being educated. Like I’m actually learning something on a regular basis. I see new things and I try new things but it’s always just another version of the same, or something I don’t get to completely understand, just treat, or assist. I don’t have teachers and I don’t have a real classroom. 10 years ago I went for the social aspect, and because that’s what my family did, I didn’t hate it but god it didn’t feel natural. And now I find myself wanting to be the thoughtful and wise person my dad always asked me to be and I’m surrounded by unused minds.

I almost don’t bother wanting to join a group or seek an outlet because I worry I’ll only be disappointed at the depth… I would love to be in a choir but I don’t want to be stuck singing Christian rock with a group of people trying to prove how groovy and into God they are by singing some hymn with a beat. And I don’t want to be singing with a bunch of old ladies who don’t really bother… I would love to find some young people who just have talent, and have drive to learn something new, to experiment with their voices and make something beautiful, or awkward and different.

I don’t know that I can really say when I last had this kind of conversation, not since I’ve been in NF. Who can I have those conversations with, certain people I might try to  show off, or impose too much, I just want that feeling of sitting on a balcony on a hot summer night as the sun has set and the neighbourhood is hushing, and you toke a joint or sip your beer and in the first hour of meeting you discuss religion and abortion, but you haven’t offended anyone, you haven’t harped on personal experience you’re just talking about stuff. You’re discussing the world and what’s going on without belittling it with your life, your crap.

Thoughts about thoughts

I want so badly to find that person who can think at the same speed as me, stay on the same thoughts path as me, as random as it might be. Not to be told im so crazy or woah where did that come from. Someone like Emma was back in the day who knew where I was coming from how I got to a certain point and found the same random shit funny. Its not random babble its philisophical thinking its expanding its not being afraid of being wrong but challenging myself to get it right whether I come about it by the same conventional methods as others or if its by messing up rambling on and maybe sounding like im lost, all the while stumbling to an answer. An answer that suits me, that expresses my thought, my opinion, my feeling.
I miss not caring how much time ISpent on thinking but thinking because I loved the feeling.of challenging myself, of getting that exhilarating feeling of finally expressing what it is I was thinking whether it be to anyone or just the tree I was sitting under. I didnt care I found the satifaction in just having the thought and making it conrete.
I hated sometimes that when I finally went to write it down I'd lose it again, sometimes my grasp was only   fleeting, and maybe that was only because the thought only had that long to be and by the time I got the paper and pen I wanted to expand it again, think deeper about it or further about it.