A little survey - please help me out.

You've all learned a lot about me in the last month or so, so it is now my turn to ask all of you a question.  Why do you read my blog?

a) you know me
b) you can relate to dealing with mental health challenges (if you feel comfortable, please share what kind of challenges you face)
c) you read everybody's blog
d) other - please specify

Oh and if more than one applies, let me know that also.  Thanks for participating.

Drug effects

I was up at 4 am this morning, no not to see the royal wedding, but to shake off a nightmare.  One of the major side-effects from the anti-depressants I take is weird dreams.  For the most part they have been pretty harmless, although generally very bizaare.  Once in awhile, like last night, they are pretty scary.  Depression usually has the effect of making people either sleep a lot or not sleep much at all.  For me it sleeping a lot and not waking up much in the nighttime.  Now I wake up way more often and try to shake off dreams.  In some ways it seems counter-productive as getting enough sleep is one of the keys to managing depression.  However, the benefits far, far outweigh the crazy dreams.  If this is the price to pay for no longer living in a fog, I'll take it.

Sand Castles

This post is inspired by anonymous' comment from the last post.  I got thinking about being buried up to my neck in grief.  It made me think of the beach when people dig a big hole and bury others up to their necks and I was struck by the analogy.  (Ok, so while my sister and I are very different in a lot of way, we are the same in that we both like a good analogy).

Depression really can be compared to the process.  At first you start digging the hole and slowly it gets bigger and bigger.  At some point (the tipping point when depression starts to really affect your behaviour) you let other people help you dig the hole.  Pretty soon it is person-sized.  You then trip and fall and end up in the hole yourself, although you always thought it was for someone else.  You couldn't possibly be the person who is going to be buried.  Then the people that helped you dig the hole start to bury you with sand.  And you let them.  You just stand in the hole and let them pile the sand it because you don't have the energy to fight it and really you just think that it's only a joke and they'll stop soon.  The people come and go, but they keep piling the sand on top of you.

Next thing you know you are buried up to your waist and you aren't really sure you could get out.  The people continue and soon you are buried up to your neck.  And you start to wonder, how did you get here?  Why did you let them bury you in sand?  Why didn't you fight it, or try to climb out of the hole?  And now you are stuck.  You can't even get an arm out to try to help yourself.

The people then run away, but not before taunting you for awhile and making you feel like maybe you deserve to be buried and stuck.  In fact some of them even tell you that flat out.

Soon you are alone, utterly and completly.  You have no ability or energy to think of how to get out of the hole, how to become unstuck.  So you start to panic and then the anxiety sets in and makes it even harder to think or come up with a solution to the problem.  Then, really far away you see someone and somewhere out of the fog of your brain, you think, maybe they can help me.  So you call out for help.

The person walks over and you manage to ask for help, but not before you are extremely apologetic for bothering them and making them go out of their way.  They start to dig.  It's a slow and labourious process, but eventually they free one of your arms.  They also see other people around and ask them to help.  You still wonder if you deserve to be in the hole and can't ask for help yourself, but are glad the person will do it for you. 

Slowly, slowly the people dig the sand out, and you are able to help with the one arm, and then eventually with the other as well.  At some point you realize that the sand that is on top of you is pretty loose and you can move around.  The people around you pull you out of the hole.  But you are weak and scared still and need to lean on them for a long long time. 
At some point you are able to see it for what it really is.  The people who buried you were terrible, but you let them do it.  Some of those people are also the same ones that helped you out.  Like everyone, they didn't know that their actions were helping to bury you, but they want to help you more than anything.  You know that you will need to lean on people for a long time, maybe forever. 

But in the end you are able to use some of the sand to build yourself a beautiful sand castle (this analogies version of when life gives you lemons, make lemonade.  When life buries you with sand, make a beautiful sand castle).  You also know that between being in the hole and finding ways to get out, you are stronger and hope that you will recognize it the next time when you fall into the hole, before the hole starts to fill with sand.

Public vs. private

Funny where we draw the line between what we tell others and what we keep to ourselves.  That line for me has certainly changed in the last few months.  A few months ago all you would have seen from me was a happy face and unless you knew me well or looked really hard, you wouldn't have known that anything was wrong.  (Right in the middle of the crash you would have as I couldn't hide it anymore).  Now, I write this blog and tell you all that I have depression and that it is a struggle for me.  Amazing how different that is, and how helpful that is for me.

And yet, there is still things that are private.  This is healthy I truly believe.  Some of the reasons I have a tendency to hide are very personal and I am not ready to share with the world.  I'm not sure that I ever will be ready, and that's ok.  I write a journal that is brutally honest, to the point that I am sure it would hurt others, but it's stuff I need to get out.  The thing is there are many avenues to the healing process and I am working on finding the ones that work for me.

Habits

Funny how depression becomes a habit after awhile, well sort of.  I have no doubt that there is something chemical about it as the anti-depressants sure made/make a different for me.  I also have no doubt that the process of healing is a challenge just because depression is a hard thing to deal with and to understand. 

But I can also see that is so many situations the way of depression is the way I am used to reacting and it takes a concious effort to change that.  For example, when depressed I would laugh so easily at almost anything, mostly out of desparation to feel good about something.  But then the next instant I was right back down in depression and wondering why I even thought anything was funny.  As I have been paying more attention I've noticed myself do that a few times.  At least now I notice it and can decide if I really feel up or down instead of habit.

It's tiring the healing process.  It takes a lot of care and attention to everything I do.  I am so used to reacting in a depressed way and I find now I am constantly watching myself to better understand what is habit and what is real.  Like all things, I suspect this will be easier with time, but for now it is challenging and takes a lot of energy.

Tuckered

It still amazes me how tired out I get these days.  I had a really good day today.  I ran some errands.  I went swimming and then I went to my parents for a Easter/Mothers Day/ Birthday dinner.  I enoyed the day. 

Tonight though, I am feeling drained.  After so long of feeling so down, now that I am starting to feel better I want to do it all.  Guess I still need to remember that I am not all the way well and I need to pace myself.  It's hard to remember that this is going to be awhile yet... 

Pressure

I've always put a lot of pressure on myself to live a certain kind of life; a fact that I knew but didn't really internalize until recently.  The thing is, it wasn't really about what I wanted, but more about what I thought was expected.  The biggest part of that in the last few years was being career focussed.  I graduated with an MBA (Masters in Business Administration) in 2002 and since then, for the most part have felt like I need to worry about the next career move.  Get a promotion, move up the food chain etc...  This attitude is really my perception of most people that have an MBA.  But, the thing is, it is not me (and maybe not others either).  I got caught up in it for awhile.  It wasn't all bad because it led me to the job I have today, which I enjoy and may not have gotten without the work I did beforehand.  But now, it is time to get out of that hamster wheel. 

Truth is I rather look for the next job move only when I feel ready for a new challenge, not just because the opportunity is there.  I am starting to really  look at my life and think about what I want, not what my perception of expectations are.  Who was I trying to please anyhow?  Who was looking out for me?  No one, which is one big cause of the depression for me. 

Only  I can know what I really want, and only I can make choices to get to that point.  I don't want to focus on career for the sake of focussing on career anymore.  I want to pick and choose what is right for me.  When the time is right for something different I will know. 

So, what is important to me?  Stay tuned.  I'm still figuring that out.

The Crash

My crash came right before Christmas this last year.  Well, really the bottom of the crash.  To me the word crash seems like a short event, one where you can pin point the time.  But really, for me, the depression crash was a much longer time frame.  It had been coming for a number of months.  I can't say exactly when it started, but there are moments that I can see that certainly were part of it.  Last April I was in Italy when the Icelandic volcano went and my return home was delayed by 6 days.  While, for the most part I enjoyed those extra days, my axiety level was through the roof.  It was one big long panic attack.  Over the summer I kept myself extremely busy, hiking, camping etc...  While I did this under the guise of fun, underneath it all I knew something wasn't right but I didn't want to admit to it.  In the fall I hurt my foot and couldn't hike anymore, and things were getting worse by the day.  In November I took a week off work to try and regain some semblance of balance.  This worked for about 3 days and then it was like nothing had changed. 

In the middle December I hit the wall.  I knew I couldn't live like that anymore.  I was barely functioning, and that might be generous.  My job was suffering, all I wanted to do was sleep.  I didn't want to see anyone, talk to anyone or do anything.  More than once previously I have contemplated suicide and I knew that if I didn't get some help I was going to end up there again.  I was so scared when I was thinking about before, and that was one motivation to seek help this time.  I wasn't really sure how often you can get to that ledge before you decide that turning around just isn't worth it. 

I went to see my psychologist and she suggested anti-depressants.  That was not unexpected, and yet it was one of the hardest things to hear.  It meant that I would finally have to really 'fess up to depression.  Somehow the next day I managed to phone my doctor and make an appointment, 8 days later.  Those 8 days were brutal.  I was existing and that's about all.  Things got worse daily and I wasn't sure I was going to make it.  I anxious, agitated, sad, down etc... and no longer able to hide it.  The decision to take medication was so difficult for me.  It was made more difficult by the fact that the depression was impairing my ability to see life clearly, to see solutions, to put any kind of rational thinking to what was going on. 

And I knew, not only was I going to have to take them, I was going to have to tell my family about it.  As it turned out I ended up also have to tell more than my family as my doctor also put me off on medical leave for 3.5 weeks. 

In hindsight, starting on the medication and taking some time to be away from it all were the best things I could have done and completely the right decision.  In the moment though I couldn't see any of that.  I can also see now that this wasn't the first time I have crashed.  It was the first time however that I was willing to do something about it, admit to it and try to find a way through it.

The importance of taking care

One lesson I am really learning is that taking care of myself, both physically and emotionally, is critical to healing and feeling better.  If I have a day where I don't eat right, don't sleep right, don't exercise, am too busy, take on too much, don't have time to just be me... then I notice I feel worse and have a much harder time coping.  It takes work, effort and a real commitment to always taking care.  One day of not being so good I seem to be able to handle ok-ish, but if I have 2 or 3 in a row then I really start to notice the depression creeping back in.

The small things

I didn't realize how much depression was affecting everything in my life.  I can see it now as things start to change.  The other day I was doing crossword puzzles with my mum.  Now this always ends up as a silly and hilarious process (not sure how, but every time).  I was laughing and adding to the goofiness and just enjoying myself.  Then I noticed myself enjoying myself.  When I was in the depths of the depression I could laugh at a joke, but in the next instant I was feeling down and crappy again and not really enjoying the moment.  I have cooked myself a couple of very tasty meals this week and again have noticed that they are tasty and that I really like them.  Before, eating was more of a chore than a pleasure. 

These are just a couple of examples, but it affected everything.  I was never happy, I didn't enjoy anything, or if I did it was very very fleeting happiness.  I am glad that I am starting to be able to enjoy the little things in life.  This is where life is, in the everyday moments and I was miserable through all of them. 

You know it's spring....

You know it's spring when:
 - you have to avoid a lot of goose poop while walking to and from work
 - you recognize people outside without knowing what their coat, hat and scarf looks like
 - you can no longer remember the colour of your car
 - crossing the street without getting wet up to your knees is a challenge
 - you walk through a foot of snow to get to work (well if you are in Calgary anyhow)
 - when you shake out the carpet by the front door you have enough rocks for a rock garden

Ok now, I know you all have more of these to share, so let's hear them.

Rediscovering dreams

For as long as I can remember I have wanted to be a writer, probably since I learned how to read, although my mum says it is since I was 2 (apparently I was a strange child...).  But I gave up that dream in grade 8.  My language arts teacher that year told me I wasn't a good writer and should give up the thought of ever becoming a writer.  And that thought has stayed with me all these years, from a woman who's name I can't even remember.

I have decided to take back my dream.  Frankly I am writer because I write.  There is something in me that loves writing, that loves the creativity it takes to but ideas together in a way that is interesting to readers, that loves to share ideas and spark discussion and thought.  And I know I am a pretty decent writer also.  Should I study literature and write papers on that, probably not, but that doesn't interest me anyhow.  I like to write about my observations on the world.  Right now that is a lot about my world, but at some point that will broaden.

And so I will write.  I will write this blog, I will write essays, I will write a journal,  I will write.  I was talking to my mum yesterday and she was brainstorming ways to make a living from writing.  For me, right now, that is not even important.  I am writing for me right now (well and all of you).  If someday that turns into something, fine.  If not, at least I get to do what I love to do.

Anyone want to share their dreams that they abandoned?  Or didn't abandon?

Grayness and Stairwells

I read a book not too long ago by Chonda Pierce (a Christian comedian) about her journey with depression.  She starts the book by saying that depression is like being in a hotel where everything is gray.  I love the imagery of it.

For me depression is like a hotel where everything is gray, there is no definition to anything, no colour to life.  And to top it all off, you can't find the exit doors.  You're pretty sure they are there, but they aren't marked and you can't see them because everything is the same colour.  Eventually I tripped on the step in the hallway, without even seeing it, and landed flat on my face.  Stuck there for awhile.  It's a bad place to be, but by then my senses were so dulled by all the gray that I hardly cared.

Starting on the anti-depressants meant I could start to see some definition again.  All of a sudden the step had a black rubber strip on it so I no longer fell flat.  I could see a window in the hall.  The light coming in was still gray and outside there was only grayness.  I could also see a picture frame on the wall, but the image inside it was fuzzy.

With time the anti-depressants had a stronger effect and eventually I found the stairwell that had brought me to where I was.  I could start to see the steps I had taken that had led me here.  Some of them were very recent.  With some counselling and help from friends and family, I started to be able to see those ones very clearly.  Then some other ones that go further back started to come into view, way at the bottom of the stair case.  And I realized that they are the foundation of the stair case.  I also realized that to get out I needed to see all of the steps more clearly and then rebuild the stairs on the other side of the building.

As things there started to come into view, I noticed that outside the window the world was starting to have some colour and defintion.  I also noticed that the picture wasn't a picture at all, but it was a mirror.  And that my image was fuzzy, but at least I could tell it was me.

At this point I am still staying in the hotel, but the in stair case is getting much clearer and the out staircase is being built.  Sometimes the upper steps get some work, sometimes the lower foundation steps get the work.  Periodically I find myself outside the hotel looking in.  Mostly I am inside looking out but I can see the world again and I see so many people outside there to support me.  It gives me courage and strength to keep working on my stair cases.  Somedays the image in the mirror is fairly clear, other days it is hard to tell it is me.    Someday I will build enough stairs that I don't have to stay in the hotel anymore.  But, I may find that I visit it for the rest of my life, or maybe not? 

Recharging

As I plugged my cell phone in to recharge today, I got to thinking about how people recharge.  With the cell phone it is easy, you take the cord that came with the phone, plug it into the phone, then plug it into the outlet where it gets it's electricity.  Then I had an image of people walking around with plugs on their backs so they could be plugged in and recharged (yep the wacky sense of humour is returning).  Wouldn't it be nice if it were as simple as plugging into an outlet.  But maybe it really is.  All it takes is finding the cord, which would be something we came with, and then figuring out what it needs to be plugged into to recharge.  I like the thought, but for me these days it does seem easier said than done to figure those things out.

On a lighter note

I woke up this morning to lovely wintry fairy land.  My inner (well if you know me you'd say not so inner) 7-year old is screaming to go out and play.  I am going to walk to work and possibly throw a few snowballs on the way.  The flip side of pain and sorrow is joy.  I am slowly working on letting myself feel happy, feel joy, to realize the pay-off of all the hard work and all the hard experiences.  For me the first step is having some fun, so bring on the snowballs...

Exhausting

I  wasn't planning on posting today, but here I am anyhow.

Dealing with emotional demons is exhausting.  Crying is exhausting.  But after months, perhaps years, of feeling numb, feeling nothing; sadness, pain, sorrow, hurt, as hard as they are, are welcome as at least I am feeling something.  And maybe, just maybe, by feeling them I can move past the things and events that are triggering these emotions.

Amazed and words

I have 2 topics floating around in my head today and can't decide which to write about so I shall write about both.

The first...
I am amazed at the stories I have been hearing since I told people that I am dealing with depression.  For instance the couple of post-partum stories, or the attempted suicide, or the son of someone who drank too much while on anti-depressants and was on the rail of a second floor balcony, or the suicide of the son of someone.  That's just the direct stories.  So many people are touched by mental health challenges, either themselves or someone they know.  There is so much pain, and courage and determination and hope in these stories and I am grateful to those who have shared.  For me sharing my story is so helpful, I hope that in some small way I can help others share their stories as well.

The second is a slightly lighter topic...
Vocabulary.  What words do we use when describing depression, or mental health.  I have heard so many, mental illness is one.  This one is descriptive and in so many ways accurate.  I have heard a lot of people suffering from depression or battling depression.  These do not accurately how I view this.  For me it is a journey with depression.  Honestly I am trying to learn to live with it, or deal with it, or manage my life in a way that makes it easier.  I don't want to feel like my life is a battle or that I have to win.  To me this brings up an image of only being ok when I no longer feel depressed or am "cured".  The thing is there is no guarantee this will happen.  For some people it is short-lived, for others it is chronic.  At this point, I don't know where I fit. 
I heard someone describe it all as mental fitness.  This is my favourite image so far.  To me in conjures up an idea that we need to pay attention to our mental well-being and figure out the things we need to do to be healthy.  I think the parallels to physical fitness are many.  We all have to figure out what kind of exercise we look, can commit to doing, makes us feel good, isn't too tiring etc...  All of these things can apply to the things we do for our mental fitness as well.

Too much

Tonight I am tired, emotionally tired that is.  This comes not from dealing with the hard, sad, painful stuff, but from when I push myself too hard to be upbeat, cheerful and a-ok.  Especially when that is not how I feel.  I didn't realize I was doing that today, but looking back I certainly was.  This evening I shall not pretend.  I'm tired out.  I feel down and sad.  This, however, is usually a good time to start looking at some of the tough stuff as I am more receptive to it.

A new perspective

As the clouds of depression are lifting I am starting to be able to see just how much they affect how I see the world.  It is really making me start to question my perception of a lot of the ways I see some of the hard stuff that has happened to me.  This is turn is helping me find ways to let some of those things go.  It's not a quick or easy process, but it's amazing how much being depressed can put a spin on what the world looks like.  Depression is really like an out of control negative spin doctor, or the tazmanian devil of negativity.

Changes

Funny how you don't really see incremental changes in yourself.  I knew things were getting better and that I am certainly not in the same head space I was all through the fall and into the New Year.  However, watching other peoples reactions to me is more informative.  One of the ladies I play dodgeball with has really started reacting to me differently, smiling more, daring to joke around with me etc...  Then I went back to my doctor today to refill the anti-depressant prescription and he remarked on how different I am from when I went to see him in December, he said I have a sparkle in my eye and a smile on my face.  It's so good for me to hear those things sometimes as there are lots of days I still feel down, or frustrated, or discouraged.  Those kinds of different reactions are the kinds of things that give me confidence that all the hard work of digging through pain and hurt really is paying off.

The good stuff

Not all days heavy and full of hard stuff.  Today was a pretty normal day.  Went to work, that was a little nutty, but nothing too out of the ordinary.  Then I went swimming.  I was feeling a bit tired so only 72 laps in an hour.  Came home, had dinner (which was really good, and I cooked it, I must add), and now a bit of relaxing before bed.  Nothing dramatic, nothing really interesting.  I am learning to really appreciate these days.  They give me time to relax, rest and recharge before I once again take on some of the heavy, painful things that are so much a contributor to my depression.  I think now I shall make a cup of tea and work a bit on the afghan I am knitting.

Being human

As humans we are made to feel the whole range of emotions from horrid to bad to good to great.  When depressed all I felt was numbness or panic.  By denying ourselves that range of feeling we deny ourselves the chance to really be alive and really experience life, and that is all we really have.  It is hard to be open to feeling the challenging and difficult emotions, but without that we miss out on all the good ones.

Things that amaze me

1. How cathartic it is to write.  It helps to articulate my thoughts and often when I write just what comes to mind I can follow the string of how one thing leads to another, to another etc....

2. How long I was suffering from depression without really knowing or at least admitting to it.

3. The more I reveal to people what is going on with me, the more I realize how many other people are affected by mental health challenges.  They are either dealing with depression themselves, or anxiety, or did at one point, or know someone who is or was.  A friend of mine put it this way: It's like there is this club that a lot of people belong to, but no one talks about the club until you say that you are in it also, and then you find out that it is a very popular club.  Wouldn't it just be easier to have the club out in the open?  This would help the people in the club already and would help those who have recently joined or been forced into the club.

This to me, speaks the importance of removing the stigma of mental health challenges, removing the stigma of taking anti-depressants or other medications, removing the stigma of talking to counsellors, psychologists, psyciatrists etc, remove the stigma of talking about how we feel.

In the spirit of removing the stigma, today is the day I am revealing to people I know that I have this blog and encouraging them to read and be a part of it.  This is a risk for me because not everyone knows about the depression, but I am rather tired of hiding and it's time to let people know me, all of me.

Learning to live with it.

Is depression ever cured?  Will mine be?  Does it matter?  Learning to live with it more constructively is the goal right now.  Learning more about me, what it is that makes me tick and what it is that leads me to depression.  If this leads to complete healing fantastic, if it doesn't then I will at least find a way to live my life in a way that honours who I am, depression and all.