Tuesday, September 16, 2014

Turning Inward

I love Fall.  I love how it slows down my life, as we stop scrambling to use all the daylight hours, complete outdoor tasks, travel and take advantage of all the things that are enjoyable in the summer months.  I love returning to the routine of "back to school."  Ask me in a few months, and I'm sure I'll be singing the praises of all things sunny, lazy and refreshing, but for now, I'm happy the seasons are changing.

With the change, though, I notice myself turning inward.  This isn't necessarily a bad thing.  There is much good that can come from slowing down, leaving the outside world outside ourselves, and focusing back in on oneself.  It allows me to revisit burning questions like, am I who I want to be?  Do the things in my life serve me or can I simplify?  Sadly, this self-evaluation always dissolves into an internal dialog of all the things I'm doing not well enough or downright wrong.

What starts out as healthy self-reflection quickly becomes a critical deconstruction of every matter I've ever undertaken.  It is in these moments that I feel the ground begin to fall from beneath me once again.  I am healthier than I have been in a long, long time and I am able to rationalize and to hang on, but I do get tired of the struggle.

And so today, and as long as I feel trapped inside my head, as the seasons change and the quiet of Fall sets in, I will hold on to these thoughts and work to challenge opinions that feel like truths:

"You're problem is you are too busy holding on to your unworthiness."  Ram Das

"Never forget that once upon a time, in an unguarded moment, you recognized yourself as a friend."  Elizabeth Gilbert

Tuesday, August 19, 2014

Practice what you Preach

Since I've been teaching yoga, I've had a lot of opportunities to impart "wisdom" on my yogi friends.  Here are some things that I've suggested that I really need to incorporate into my life for more than the hour a day that I'm teaching....

Don't take yourself too seriously.  We all fall down sometimes.  Just get back up.
"Take into account that great love and great achievement involve great risk."  (Dalai Lama)
Don't compete.  Start where YOU are.  Do what YOU can.
"Follow your bliss and the Universe will open doors where there were only walls."  (Joseph Campbell)
"Yoga teaches us to cure what need not be endured and endure what cannot be cured."  (BKS Iyengar)
Be present.  For the next [insert class length here], your sole purpose is to be here, doing this.  Nothing else.
"Yoga is the journey of the self, through the self, to the self."  (The Bhagavad Gita)
If it doesn't challenge you, it doesn't change you.

I need to learn to shut off my every day-brain and listen to my yoga teacher-brain.


Tuesday, August 12, 2014

Fallen Stars

It is immensely tragic to watch such a bright star fall from the sky, to see his light die as it falls into a space unknown but for its darkness.  For my part, I was already breaking in my own misery yesterday long before the Robin Williams news broke.  Often when my depression is deep and parasitic, I am drawn back to humanity by tragedy.  It hits me so hard that I am able to rise for the suffering of others.  I'm great in a crisis.

The news of the death, of the suicide, of Robin Williams, a man who by all accounts was so generous with his kindness and his gift for joy and laughter, destroyed a part of me that still had hope.  As the world mourns a man that so many loved, I can't help but slip a little deeper into my own world, most recently defined only by pain and suffering, a separate hell I share with strangers who suffer from deep, soul-crushing depression.  I can't say whether anyone else feels heartsick as I do.  But as is often the case with depression, there is a darker, scarier emotion resting just below the surface emotions and often it is fear.

Robin Williams wasn't the poster child for depression or addiction or recovery.  In fact, his battles were mostly fought much more privately than we often see in celebrities.  So why the connection between his fall and my own fears?  To watch someone so extraordinary and beloved, with the resources and the wherewithal to seek help, still fall to depression, leaves me without hope for my own battle.  Will I fight and fight just to lose in the end too?

I've spent the last year learning about depression, from my experiences, from my therapists and doctors, and from other experts.  I was immersed in it in the hospital, that education.  Over time, I've taken in useful bits and pieces of information.  Unfortunately, when the conversation gets bigger, because of a high profile loss, you hear a lot more opinions with a lot less understanding.  A psychiatrist speaking about Williams' suicide actually said that depression is curable.  They say depression has a root cause, insinuating that the root cause isn't the disease itself but some controllable factor.  (Why You're Depressed & Not Getting Better)  They say that depression is just a series of bad habits that can be broken with the right routine.  ("Undoing Depression: What therapy doesn't teach you and medication can't give you")  And those are the opinions of just a handful of "experts."  Imagine all of the things ordinary people offer!

They say, "Well, what makes you feel good?  Do that," which translates to, "if you're unhappy, do something about it," which presumes that YOU have control over your emotions and this "disease."  They say, "What could you have to be depressed about?  You have a roof over your head, food to sustain you and people who love you."  They say "Suicide is a permanent solution to an impermanent problem."

That's just the thing, isn't it?  Did Mr. Williams take permanent action to resolve an impermanent problem?  I don't think so.  I don't think it was "not so bad."  I think that when you've sat there and surveyed your life, the damage your depression has caused, the people it has hurt and will continue to hurt, you can logically see why stopping it, ending it, is a valid solution.   I understand it.  I have lived it.  When I see my daughter struggle because she knows that her mama is sad but doesn't understand why, I am wracked with guilt and confusion.  Am I really doing her more good than harm still on this earth?  My children deserve far better than me.  And those are just the altruistic reasons.   What about those nights when you've lain awake for hours, contemplating how horrible everything feels or how nothing feels at all.  When you look back over the weeks and years of your life and you wonder if it will ever end.  Living with depression is no way to live.  When you've sought help and you still fight year after year, day to day, minute to minute, breath after breath.  Why?  What could possibly be the point in continuing this doomed journey?

I do see the other side, the loved ones that are left grieving, wondering why they weren't enough to keep him here.  We think we know better than you.  We think that your perception is wrong.  We KNOW that we are all the terrible things that our disease tells us we are.  We KNOW that you will be better off without us.  We even know that it will be painful for you, but then all of the suffering our existences have caused you will end.  You fantasize that the people you love will move on and find some happier life than the tumult you brought to them.

Without knowing him, without even knowing much about his history before his passing became news, I think I can understand Robin Williams and his choice.  I ache for his family as I ache for him.  I desperately hope he is at peace because sometimes it feels like the peace of the afterlife, or at least no longer living this life, is all one can cling to in the darkest moments.  What a heartbreaking loss to the world, to the private world of those of us who suffer similar afflictions, to those who knew and loved him, and to those who didn't and still do.

As an aside, let me say that I entertain no thoughts of suicide at this place in time.  This piece, my words, come from a place that I think of as understanding.  It comes from my own experience, my soul, and the beast that resides within me.  I want to also say that I harbor no delusions of grandeur here.  My opinion is no more valid that anyone else's.  It feels kindred, somehow, but I know that I cannot truly reflect on someone else's suffering.  I can only offer my own perspective, cast it into the growing pile of countless other unsolicited opinions and points of view.

Monday, August 11, 2014

Cleaning Up the Mess

Today I am wallowing in sadness and regret.  Recently, I decided it's time to walk back toward the darkest time of my life and survey the damage.  I imagine it like the first time you walk back into your home after a fire.  Your whole life, everything you had worked for up to that point, sitting blackened, charred, almost unrecognizable.  In fact, you wouldn't believe it was your life except that you remember the heat of the fire and the scream of the sirens as you crumbled under the realization that you have ruined almost everything that ever meant anything to you.  And although you're not ungrateful, you know how lucky you are to have your people, your "health," and a future to rebuild, you feel as though you've lost everything.

I'm stuck between feeling completely and absolutely responsible for the wasteland that is my current state of affairs and feeling like it's just not fair that I suffer this.  I was good at what I did until my brain decided to scramble, create things that did not exist, and refuse to let me continue to participate in my own life.  That doesn't seem fair.  On the other hand, I can't shake the responsibility for the hurt I caused, albeit unintentionally.

There are so many small decisions I want to undo today.  There are so many times I want to go back and ask for help when I didn't.  There are so many times I meant to help when I hurt.  But I think what is most devastating is that I don't really get the opportunity to go back and undo.  I hardly get the chance to even provide an explanation.  Those who love me understand and those who I'd like to offer one to have already made up their minds.

It sucks pretty bad to be broken.  I knew that.  Sadly, having it reflected in the mirror, when you were hoping that maybe your version of things was exaggerated, is brutal.

Thursday, August 7, 2014

Worry

I don't think I used to be someone who worried a lot.  In fact, I likely took more than my fair share of risks over the years.  I wasn't afraid to try anything once.

I've noticed, particularly over the past few months although I suspect it's been a growing problem, that I have become incredibly cautious, paranoid even.  It started as little things, some of which most people might identify with, but most of which were not "me."  I started to worry about how I looked, what people must be saying about me, entering a room full of people that I knew well, but uncomfortable because I hadn't seen them in a while.  I'd be certain I'd horribly offended someone or done something that someone perceives as awful.  It wasn't anticipatory worry, which I think plagues a lot of people.  Rather, the minute I was about to leave the bathroom, step out of the house, make a phone call or enter that room, I have an immediate and overwhelming sense of discomfort that doesn't ease for hours, days sometimes.

Over time, that somewhat normal, not uncommon anyway, self-consciousness became more pronounced.  My fear over what people must think of me and say about me has spread from total strangers or at least mild acquaintances to people who are dearest to me.  I've stopped having "real" conversations with many people.  I have opinions on why that might be, but I hesitate to reveal them, ironically, out of fear of how they might be perceived.

Most recently, it's become bigger again.  There was a time that I was so paranoid that if a car followed me on the highway for more than a few exits, I could become convinced that it was intentionally following me.  Lately, that's manifested itself in that I don't like to let my children out of my sight.  I don't like them to go to sleep without me being there and if they have to, I need to peak in and see each of their faces before I can comfortably go to sleep myself.  I terrified of the idea of going away for a weekend without them, despite that I know that they would be in excellent care.  I'm terrified to send them back to school.  It's not that I think I take care of them so much better than anyone else, far from it.  And it's not that I think something terrible is bound to happen.  My logical mind remains intact.  It's just a "fear" for no reason at all.

It almost feels like they're the last good thing left of me and if I blink too long, they might disappear too.  Or worse, maybe they'll begin to see this version of me that I'm fighting so hard is just who I am.  I don't want to believe that and I certainly don't want them to believe that.  I don't even want the stranger on the street who has a two second interaction with me to believe that.  Deep down, though, I think that's where this crippling fear is coming from.  I think I believe it and the more time that goes by when I am not well, the easier it is to believe it.

Saturday, August 2, 2014

Awareness

I have been familiar with depression since the time I was a teenager.  I learned the term from a therapist I began seeing when I just couldn't stop crying.  Nothing was wrong, but I cried and cried.  That's one of the tip-offs for most people with depression and one of the most misunderstood hallmarks of the illness.  People always want to know what is wrong or what has happened to that person to cause their depression.  Certainly there is "situational" depression, where a situation or set of circumstances sends someone into a prolonged period of sadness, but that's not the depression I experience.  For me, one day I can be fine and the next, without any change in my external life whatsoever, I fall apart.

So with all of this experience, history, and, since I've become an adult, education, how is it that I miss the onslaught until I'm so deep in that I'm convinced I must be losing my mind?  How can it go so far that I've lost weeks before I recognize that I'm buried in uncontrolled anguish?  And why, oh why, can't I simply manage it?

To that end, I've started seeing a psychiatrist again.  As part of my treatment, I will be seeing a therapist regularly again as well.  I will begin a new medication.  I will try again to wrangle the beast that hides in the dark places in my mind.  I have fallen hard back into a place that sucks the breath, the life, out of me.  I have a new diagnosis.

In the hospital, as I have been before, I was diagnosed with depression.  The anxiety that went along with it this time was new.  Depression has become a rather recurrent nightmare in my life, particularly since I have had children.  The pressure of keeping up with their needs, coupled with my desire to be a whole person for them has been a struggle.  I'm not sure if it has truly exacerbated my depression or if it has simply made me more aware, but I vow over and over to get better for them.  So, as I slip deeper into a place of alternating pain and numbness, I went back for help.

My present working diagnosis is bipolar II.  It is not a DMS-defined illness.  My psychiatrist referred to it as "baby bipolar."  Tell that to the two sides of my emotional train wreck of a brain as they shriek at each other.  As suspected, he recognized symptoms of both depression and mania, with depression being the far stronger of the two.  With that said, because I don't report at least a week of mania (ever), I don't qualify as bipolar.  Fine with me, except it still leaves me in this place in my head.  Hence, the "softer" diagnosis.  It's on the "spectrum."  I didn't know bipolar had one.

In fact, I learned all sorts of new words relating to the bipolar spectrum, many of which may or may not define the madness that is my life at the moment:  dysphoria, hypomania, manic depression (something I thought had been re-termed bipolar, but which is actually its own thing).  I thought my head would be spinning with all of the new information, but mostly I'm just tired.  I'm tired of being yanked from one version of crazy to the next.  I'm tired of feeling anything and so mostly I am numb.  Numb and tired.

For those of you not familiar with bipolar, you may assume that it is simply "being moody" or "up and down."  It's more complicated than that, of course.  For me, depression has always been the obvious, more dominant mood.  My depression is fairly classical, low mood, withdrawal from activities that I used to enjoy, lack of appetite, requiring too much sleep, sometimes alternately not being able to sleep, crying without reason or control, thoughts of hopelessness, suicidal ideation.  My mania has been more elusive.

I started to notice patterns, starting with drastic differences in my energy.  I'd be scrubbing the floor on my hands and knees while jam was setting after having reorganized the hall closet, when just four days before I'd dropped the kids off at the babysitter and gone back to sleep for four hours, skipping lunch so I could sleep 15 minutes longer.  Then I started to notice the more subtle shifts.  I'd go from cuddling on the couch with the kids for hours so I didn't have to pretend to get up and do something to being able to sit still with them for 3 minutes before their intermittent movements made me so agitated that I would jump off the couch ready to claw my own skin off.   I'd go from calling landlords to check on studio spaces for my someday yoga studio, creating color palates and picking out decor, and ordering business cards to being nervous to teach my weekend class.

Taken individually, these things did not seem significant.  Even now, they seem insignificant until I line them up in a row and then add the chatter that's constantly in my head, a non-stop list of hyperbolic "to dos" or a barrage of self-deprecating commentary.  Rarely do I just feel okay.  I feel tightly-wound, anxious and irritable or I feel horribly empty and broken.  Some people's mania is euphoric.  They feel awesome, invincible, like the world is at their fingertips!  That comes with it's own dangers because often their judgment is horribly skewed.  For me, mania presents as severe irritation.  I am so agitated that I feel like I'm on fire with it.

I also learned that as you get older, episodes of depression and/or mania tend to get more intense and more frequent.  So it made sense that I had sought help for depression first at 17, then at 25, then at 29 and 32 and 34.  It had all been happening and right under my nose.  So, why have I struggled so much recently?  And why didn't I see it for what it was?  I suspect that it's so many things.  I suspect I wasn't aware enough.  It isn't something we talk about and that has to change.

Although I am afraid of the idea of a "mood stabilizer," I do hope to even out.  I'm terrified of side effects.  I have had some pretty terrible ones in the past.  I'm terrified of being "altered," of being recognizably different to my children.  Then again, I don't particularly want them to remember this version of me someday.  So what's the difference?   I know I need to do something different.  Everything has lost color again and I miss it.

Thursday, July 3, 2014

Metaphors

I imagine my life in a series of metaphors.  That habit has grown as I've kept this blog, lived the last year of my life and had to explain a lot more than I used to what happens in my head.  To share with someone who doesn't understand mental illness, even well-meaning people who just can't wrap their heads around it, a metaphor can neutralize buzz words and offer a more relatable explanation.

As I delve into this next level of my . . . I struggle for a word here.  Recovery?  I've accepted that recovery, for me, is not a reality.  Treatment?  I suppose this fits, but it sounds so clinical and the path of my life, of my "treatment," hasn't been sterile the way that those words connote.  Perhaps I will just say care and hope that the remainder of my words are able to better convey my feelings.  As I delve into this next level of my care, I'm stuck feeling like I'm starting from scratch but with a history that belies truly beginning.

You see, I'm about to see a psychiatrist for the first time in more than six months.  I'm also seeking a new diagnosis.  Seeking?  Yes.  Although I have suffered the same, obvious symptoms of depression for years, when I stopped rushing through my life and started living with some awareness, it became clear to me that a diagnosis that I once greatly feared for its stigma may very well provide me the relief that my several stints in therapy, in the hospital and on various anti-depressants have failed to.

I have to take a deep breath before I type these words.  I have said them to many close friends, but those people support me and won't judge.  They won't stereotype me when even I have stereotyped.  I believe I am bipolar.  I think it's been missed for years because I have only sought therapy in the midst of my very worst bouts of depression.  Once I feel better, I stop treatment.  It makes it difficult for a professional to recognize the ebb and flow of the cycles of mania to depression and back.

I won't pretend it hadn't weighed on my mind in the past.  In fact, when I first started the longest stretch of therapy that I've ever received, my first explanation was that I thought I might be bipolar.  It was quickly dismissed because, admittedly, I was living a very stressful, unsupported life with a history that explained a simple diagnosis of depression and anxiety disorders.  It was readdressed as I started my hospitalization and I simply said I didn't know.  I acknowledged to my psychiatrist there that I certainly fit the criteria, but that I wasn't sure.  It's easy to find something you relate to in a list of "symptoms."  Everyone could.  So, we watched and waited.  Unfortunately, I stopped watching and waiting.  I obediently took medication that didn't do enough for me, until I decided it wasn't doing enough and then I quit taking it.  I made massive changes in my professional and personal life, all of which alleviated a lot of daily stresses I was previously experiencing.

When I stopped with the medication and ultimately with any therapy at all, I stopped being present with my mental illness.  I was focused on other things, celebrating unrelated victories, growing my life in other ways.  But for me, that meant ignoring what was happening in my mind.  Then I started crying again.  I spent too much time sleeping.  I started to pay attention again.

So I'm heading back into this variety of self-exploration.  I need some relief from the mess in my head again.  I'm going to give it more time and see it through.  So what's with all the metaphor talk?  What's the big deal?  I imagine it like a broken bone that didn't heal right.  It feels better than it did when you broke it.  You can walk on that leg again, but every time that you do, you notice it's just not quite right.  You have some pain, and you've lost some of your range of motion.  It's not unbearable, but you know it will get there eventually.  You know that to fix it properly, there going to need to rebreak the bone.  And you know that it's going to really hurt to go back in.  You're starting from scratch in that you've got to start at the beginning (with the broken bone or the life stories) and yet you've got scar tissue and baggage and all that plays a role in this starting over.


Wednesday, June 25, 2014

Reflecting

When I considered the title of this blog, I was thinking in terms of looking back.  Ironically, as I've been contemplating my feelings as this anniversary arrives, I think the reflection refers to that which I see in the mirror.  I'm looking at the same face, the same fears, the same darkness that I saw a year ago.  I have made changes and grown stronger, but I'm still so totally broken.

I've cycled back through depression, to recovering, to healthy and back to depression.  I did well when I worked at it constantly, which required that I step away from my life constantly.  As I drew back together again the pieces of my life, pieces of that recovery, the tools, fell by the wayside.  I have slipped back.

As always, I will keep fighting.  I will stay brave.  I will try very hard not to hide, not to retreat, although it is against my baser instincts.  I want to hide and to sleep and find a safe corner to bury myself in.  Thankfully, I have a good life and that life will continue.  I hope to continue to move forward as life moves forward.

Saturday, May 17, 2014

Fear

I received a certified letter in the mail today.  I nearly threw up.  It's been a very long time since I've had to face my past.  As I have cocooned myself in beautiful, positive, supportive people and experiences lately, much of the negativity in my life has naturally fallen away.  Although I remain me, deep to the core, much of the cynicism that plagued me has also departed.  I have embraced what feels like a whole new world and it has been cradling me in this wonderful space of comfort and, dare I say it, trust that things not only will get better, but are better.

Then I walked in the door tonight from another transformative day of yoga and friendship to find this glaring piece of mail.  I was horrified that my husband had to sign for it.  I felt violated that the separation of my former business' post office didn't protect my home from this stuff invading it.  I cried and I paced.  My husband offered to open it for me.  He says he doesn't care what it says.   I know he knows, he has always been here, but I didn't want him to see it on paper, the accusations of an entity that knows nothing of me or my struggles.  And while I have come into this place that I know is a better, righter place for me, I know that whatever it says, it will shake me loose again.  I don't want him to see how far I have fallen.

So, in a moment of blind bravery, I opened it, like jumping over the cliff knowing that there's deep water there, but not quite sure how badly it will hurt when you break the surface.  Although I am not surprised by it, the harsh language and threats, meant to spur my action, were still devastating.

In this journey that started now nearly two years ago, I've found what is often most painful is what everybody doesn't know.  I'm not offered the opportunity to explain my past, my pain or my deep, deep regret.  Instead, I am judged on my face with little inquiry and less understanding, and the oversimplification of the words "dishonest conduct."

No part of me defends the impact my past year has had on those near me.  But I can't help but be a little bit broken at the characterization of what has been an incredibly painful, but never dishonest period of my life.  Tonight I feel like my safe space has shrunk and I'm trying so, so hard not to let this topple me back into oblivion.  I had no idea how still totally wounded I am and how easily my happy could be penetrated and attacked from the inside out.

I hope I will be brave and strong some day.  I hope I will truly and completely overcome not only this mental illness that still lurks in the dark corners of my soul, but also the year that I lost to all of this, the year that came storming back into my life tonight.

Sunday, March 23, 2014

Yoga :)

What a weekend!  I've already described my struggle to surrender and while I certainly haven't mastered such a momentous lesson, I have wholeheartedly embraced the intention.  In fact, after a difficult night Friday, I have had the most incredible weekend.  While I hesitate to call it a transformation, because that might suggest that the journey is over, I am experiencing what I have to call the start of one.  

I returned to my yoga mat on Saturday and had an amazing practice on Saturday morning that challenged me, strengthened me and reminded me both that I am capable and deserving.  This morning, we worked on a series of poses, breaking them down and practicing them.  Then we taught each other, thirty-two sun salutations in all.  For those of you who don't practice yoga, that's roughly twelve poses repeated thirty-two times in a row.  It was both brutal and absolutely beautiful.  Working my body and my mind in that way brought so much joy and peace.  

I had some wonderful conversations with some women who are fast becoming friends whose insight I so admire.  I had some realizations about my body, that I carry my stress in my shoulders and that I don't really even know how to let it go, and my mind, that when I harness joy and actively cultivate it, I can maintain it, even if the face of darker moods.  I also committed this next two weeks toward surrender and yoga.  If you're looking for me, I'll be at the studio.  

Saturday, March 22, 2014

Surrender

So much has happened in these last two weeks, emotionally, that I'm not sure where to start.  I've had a difficult time.  I'm enrolled in yoga teacher training at a fantastic studio, with an incredible master teacher and a wonderful group of fellow students.  The last time we met, our master teacher walked us through an exercise and meditation that was supposed to help us overcome a suffering.  Because it is the area of my life that feels most unsettled, I chose "career."  We were to write "I feel" statements on the left side of the paper that reflected how this area of our life was causing suffering.  For example, "I feel disappointed because I'm no longer practicing law."  Or "I feel ashamed that I am not contributing financially."  

So, about halfway down my first sheet of paper (I completed five), I began having a panic attack.  It's the first I'd had in months, unfortunately, it wasn't the last for the week.  I had to leave the studio and go outside because I was gasping for air and gagging.  Thankfully, I didn't throw up and, after a few minutes, I was able to return to the exercise, with the shakes and the sweats being the only outward signs left of the episode.  

Once we had completed the exercise on the left side of the page, we were to oppose those "I feel" sentences with their positive counterparts.  So, for example, "I feel satisfied that I've chosen to pursue my passion for yoga" or "I feel proud that I am able to pursue my dream and my family does not need my financial contribution."  After that, we meditated as a group, performed a burning ceremony and went on our way.  Unfortunately, despite the support most people felt during the meditation, all I could think of was how I couldn't believe I was back to having panic attacks and that I hadn't realized that my feelings about the situation were still so raw.  Perhaps more unfortunate than that, the result of the exercise was to rip wide open a gaping wound that I had forgotten was there.  I spent the rest of the week sobbing on and off.  I had two more panic attacks.  I slept and sulked and accomplished nothing this week, which only makes me feel worse.  

I walked into yoga last night and it was palpable how wrong I was feeling.  I couldn't sit still or focus.  I couldn't look anyone in the eye.  In yoga, we talk a lot about energy.  There was no doubt I was emanating self-loathing, sadness and fear.  I shared my experiences of the week prior through tears that threatened to choke me at times.  As always, I had the support of the group around me.  I felt better to get it out, but still broken by all the intimacy and honesty.  My master teacher, who inspired my two wrist tattoos, "vulnerable" and "powerhouse," suggested a third:  "Surrender."  

She is right.  I grasp so tight onto this life I thought I cared about leading.  It was a life that made me miserable, that bordered on self-abuse.  There were weeks at a time where I slept only 3 hours a night and sustained myself with Red Bull and coffee.  I was so far gone in my own head that I barely remember anything.  We didn't even really celebrate my son's birthday last year, and I usually go all out with handmade invites and homemade cakes.  What am I holding on to?  It is fear that drives us to hang on to what we know even when we know it isn't right.  So my intention this week is to explore surrender.

The irony about surrender is that it is the opposite of what I thought my life was about, never giving up, never saying never.  I could do everything, and for a while I did.  But that's not a life and it didn't last.  So instead, I will be working to let go and surrender to where life that is trying to lead me.

Sunday, March 16, 2014

Deeper waters

I've been treading water lately.  Although I hadn't been feeling like I was getting worse, it has become clear to me that I'm no longer getting better.  I am getting substantially worse.  I've slipped back into deeper waters.

I find myself wrapped tightly in negative emotions.  I can't let little injustices go and they eat me from the inside out.  I can't take normal, childish behavior from my children in stride.  I can't stand noises, whether it's several at a time or a single startling noise.  Every time one of my children knocks something over, falls down, bumps into me or nearly tumbles, I practically leap out of my skin.  I can't stand to be around people, almost anyone.  I don't want to leave my house.  I don't want to cook.  I don't want to shower.  I don't want to move.  

But for the endless string of stay-at-home mom obligations, work and teacher training, I might not move.  I have stopped enjoying any of it.  Even snuggling on the couch with my children has become a chorus of complaints because they can't sit still, agree on a cartoon or be quiet enough for me to tune out completely.  I spend the days aching for bedtime to come and the evenings lamenting the day past, all its failures, and dreading the next day, knowing I won't manage it any better.

Today I spent most of the day sleeping, yelling or crumpled in the corners of my house sobbing.  My children are frightened and even my dog is wary.  The adults in my life don't know what to say.  My kids lend support like, "I still love you when you yell at me, Mommy," and offering a beloved toy.  They are such selfless and honest gestures and yet it doesn't help, which makes it so, so much worse.  

I'm sinking and the water is deep.  

Wednesday, March 5, 2014

Victim

I'm super mad right now and although the thing that precipitated my absolute frustration is a totally "normal" thing to get upset about, I'm on the verge of a panic attack raging.  In trying to get my head around why I would be SO mad about something that, ultimately, has resolution, it's because, frankly, it's just not fair.

Today I was involved in a car accident with an individual driving across the parking lanes of a parking lot, while I drove, properly, down the aisle.  Because I was watching for cars backing out in front of me, I didn't see the driver come barreling toward me from my left, that is, until I ran directly into the passenger's side of their door.  This person was in the wrong.  Right?  That seems fairly clear.  Three other things aggravated the situation.  First, it was the end of Kaia's day of celebration for her fifth birthday.  We just wanted to get home, enjoy some cake and relax and we ended up stuck for over an hour.  The stress wasn't welcome.  Second, the driver didn't have a valid license.  Last, the car and driver were uninsured.  To top off the frustration, the officer couldn't ticket the driver for the driving error because we were in a private parking lot.  The driver later called me to ask for my insurance information.  Really.

So, yes, this is one of those things that all well-meaning people love to call "normal."  You freak out about how you treat your kids?  We all do that.  You're normal.  You don't love being a stay at home mom/work outside of the home mom?  We all feel that.  You're normal.  Not only does this accomplish the opposite of supporting a person struggling with these questions, as it minimizes the importance placed on them, but it suggests that everyone walking around has any idea what it's like to live in my head.  That was an off-topic rant, but in my defense, I admitted that I was pretty angry already.

So as I've rolled this over in my head tonight, because sadly, I can't shake it, it occurs to me that it makes me feel like a victim with no recourse.  Not only has this driver forced me to pay a deductible to my insurance company under my uninsured motorists coverage to pay for the damage their actions caused, but they come after me trying to get my insurance to pay for their damages?!  I have the sick feeling that a lawsuit is brewing and I hate accepting the stereotype that the kind of person that would drive like an idiot, without insurance or a license would also be the kind of person who would try to get anything from anyone they think they could....victimize.

I've worn the victim shoes before.  I am not brave enough to walk through that story in this kind of public forum.  I know that sounds dramatic, but it was and when I recalled it for various therapists and psychiatrists and friends, it has been.  What's left behind is an ember and, given the right environment, a twinge of similar feelings, regret for my role in the matter, for not having stopped it or not having been able to, frustration at the price I paid for their action, disappointment that people can be so unfeeling, it's like a fire fed with gasoline.

I'm not really that mad about the accident.  That's what insurance is for, right?  And frankly, my car doesn't even really need to be fixed.  But I didn't have insurance for some of the lessons that life has taught me.  I wasn't prepared for the losses I've suffered at others' hands.  It makes it very difficult to trust and it amazes me how quickly I can be thrust back into a state of terror at the control others have the ability to exert over my world.  There are beautiful and inspiring quotes about how people only affect you in the way that you let them, by reaction, by behavior, etc.  It's just not true.  Sure I can control whether I'm angry or sad, but I can't undue damage, neither physical or emotional, simply by having a good attitude.  I rarely feel like a victim.  I'm strong and I don't care to let others impact my life, but sometimes something bigger than your inner strength can handle happens and it leaves a permanent scar.  Those marks resurface now and then and this is one of those times.

Tonight is the first time I've taken a fast-acting, anti-anxiety medication since I stopped taking my daily medication.  I feel weak and I feel out of control.  I'm frustrated that I feel like I let someone drive me to this (ha ha, pun sort of intended) space where I'm recalling old wounds.  I can accept and live with the choices I've made, but I really struggle to accept the actions of others that have changed my life so deeply that I can't just let a simple fender bender go.

Tuesday, February 25, 2014

Tangled

I'm having such a hard time focusing and understanding lately.  I keep bouncing from one perceived failure to another.  I say "perceived" because I can't, frankly, recognize what is true failure and what is simply self-criticism.

Here are some truths I think that I know.  I am incredibly short-tempered.  I would rather be alone than with anyone most times of most days.  I have so much that I want to do and I accomplish so little.  I am angry at almost everything and everyone.  I seem unable to stop myself from looking back at all that I used to be able to do and regret how useless I feel now.  I cry a lot.

I feel tangled in a web.  Every time I struggle to better my position, I become more entangled, trapped.  It's hard to keep struggling.  It's hard to bother when I don't see a solution to the problem.  It's hard to do anything other than just succumb.  

Sunday, February 23, 2014

Humbled

I don't keep a blog to air my complaints to the world.  Even my Mommy blog, which is largely complaining, isn't to complain.  Each serves its own purpose.  The Mommy blog makes light of the often tedious task of parenting, while this blog has allowed me to shed layers and layers of facades to reveal what is true to me.

Yet tonight I am humbled by the struggle of another and feeling a little guilty about what feels like complaining when recognizing what he is going through.  Rarely are those facing a struggle deserving of the suffering they endure.  Whatever we are presented with, we can choose courage and grace or we can cower.  Truth be told, no one escapes the cowering completely.  I certainly feared and floundered and fled. But I try to stand tall, to be brave, and to be honest, and I know he will do the same.

Tuesday, February 18, 2014

The Heaviness

My mind feels heavy.  It's too thick to feel, to reason.  I watch the hours of the days tick by waiting, only to realize that nothing is coming.  I am either in a state of complete defeat or desperation for change.  In defeat, I sit, silent, wishing "it" would be over.  I don't have the capacity to focus on what "it" is supposed to be.  Sometimes, in defeat, I grasp onto desperation.  What can I do to stop feeling this way?  I make pages and pages of lists:  things to do, habits to change, things that inspire me.  I frantically clean the house, rearrange my closet, work on my book, DO something, anything, but nothing makes me feel better.

It's like there is a disconnect from my mind to my body to my soul.  My mind has ideas and feelings it wants to instill into my soul, through use of my body.  Sadly, my mind can't convince my body to be consistent enough to impact my soul, which sits hollow.  Something broke in me, probably a long time ago, probably as a result of a thousand hurts and disappointments and betrayals.  Without realizing it, I think I wrapped my soul up tight, locked it in safe, and lost the combination.  Absolutely there have been times where its light has burst through the cracks and I have felt whole and alive.  Lately, my mind has missed the completeness that an unbroken, free soul brings to life.  

I know I'm missing something, I just can't find it.  And, to tell the truth, it's so much worse than those darkest days when I didn't realize that it, that I, was broken.  

Wednesday, February 12, 2014

I'm Listening

Although I'm starting to write, for the first time in my blogging history, I haven't come up with a title first.  That might sound dramatic, but I think it's rather significant.  Of course, there's a title now that you're reading it, but as I'm writing it, I'm letting it come to me.  In fact, the same is true for the content of this blog.  I'm letting it come to me.  Oh, I have a general theme or two I'm thinking of, but we'll see what comes of those.  Instead, I'm going to share a narrative and see where that leads.  

I started my new gig at the yoga studio today.  In what seemed like absolute fate, or as my master yoga teacher would describe it "a hole opening up in the universe," shortly before my teacher training was about to begin, my studio was looking for new reception staff.  I applied, despite the express warning from loved ones that I should prepare myself for disappointment due to my "over qualification."  It's true, of course.  Someone might look at my background and wonder what on earth happened to me that I'm seeking a reception position.  Fortunately for me, though, the studio owner already knew my deep dark secrets because she'd interviewed me for my training and, let's face it, I can't really explain why yoga is so important to me these days without an explanation of where I've been.

I came in for class on Saturday morning, a week after submitting my resume, and she greeted me with a huge smile.  She conspiratorially uncovered my resume from a stack of paperwork and confessed that she'd been meaning to call me.  She shared that the position would be nights and weekends and that she wasn't sure if I would be interested in light of my family obligations.  I was.  She said she'd call to set something up and off to yoga class I went feeling light as air.  

Sunday, Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday went by and I started to panic that maybe I hadn't shown enough enthusiasm.  Just when I was starting to give up hope, I heard from her!  (Turns out I transposed two numbers on my resume and she had to track down my phone number.)  She confessed that she'd had a lot of applicants and the work was largely grunt work.  But she had an idea.  She had some projects that would better utilize my skill sets.  She still wanted me for the studio!  The work is so right up my alley.  It's like a hole opened up in the universe.

So, back to the beginning, I started today.  The first thing I noticed was how laid back things were.  When you're used to working on billed time (and expensive billed time), there's no room for chit chat, niceties or basic human consideration.  I once had a client ask whether he would be reimbursed for the time another attorney stopped in to say hello while we were waiting for a mediator to return after talking to the other party.  I was introduced to anyone that came in the studio.  I was given background on some of the cool people I'll be working with.  We talked about our families, our pets, our health.  Because there is only one computer, I had a bit of time to wait.  I picked up a few of the holistic and natural-themed magazines.  As I read them, I settled further into the state of relaxation and peace that began the minute I walked in the door.

As I sat there, immersed in that environment, I felt led.  Although I'd contemplated my next career move and how I might incorporate yoga, as something I feel passionate about, I hadn't yet tried to listen to what just felt right.  As I was reading, I wandered into my emotional self.  What have I done that feels good?  What do these significant, painful experiences reveal to me and how can I use them for good?  How can I incorporate a yogic lifestyle into my work, not just the hour a day I practice yoga?  How can I maximize the time I feel truly inspired?  

I'm a very closed person, or at least I have been these last few years.  I've felt so trapped by the individual masks I've been wearing:  lawyer, mom, wife, neighbor, daughter, sister, friend, woman.  I got so lost trying to do things right that I never considered what "right" was to me.  I might have mastered textbook right or magazine spread right or expectations of others right, but none of it fit.  

As I slip into something more comfortable with this very different path, a new, stronger me is emerging, an empowered me...the only "me" I have to be.  Pursuing these next steps in my life, I will remain aware of being authentic.  I will embrace me, even when my McDonald's coke habit doesn't jive with the vegan ways of so many yogis.  :)  It's who I am and I'm starting to believe that when I decide to be exactly who I am, no adjustments or apologies, good things will come.  

I have some big ideas about my future and while I'm not quite ready to share the details, or maybe they're not clear enough yet for me to piece together, I'm starting to recognize that letting things come to me, like blog titles, career paths or mentors, will yield happy, fulfilling results for me.  

Friday, February 7, 2014

Get Uncomfortable

So I started my yoga teacher training tonight (yay!).  On Fridays, we practice sangha, which is a sanskrit word meaning "community," getting to know each other, discussing our struggles and triumphs and understanding how those affect our yoga practice, with the support of our community.  Cool, hippy idea, right?  In theory, it's right up my alley.  On the other hand, it expects a lot of intimacy.  Four of the fourteen of us cried while making introductions tonight.  Many of us have a painful past that draws us to the practice of yoga, myself included.

I was a coward tonight and shared the PR-ed version of my experiences and the crash that drew me to this self-reflective journey.  In the end, I shared the less air brushed version of the truth with a woman who talked about her own mental health struggle and I felt better for it.  If I could go back, I'd put the whole thing out there.  Alas, there is time and these people will most certainly get to know me better.

Although I don't want to detail the experience too much, partly because that's not what this blog is about and partly because I don't want to publicize the mystique of what I'm doing, but I did have some pretty intense observations tonight and I'm thrilled by that.  It means that this training, this journey, will be exactly what I'd hoped it would be.  Self-illuminating.

We did a walking meditation exercise tonight.  We started out walking slowly, looking at the ground.  I walked too fast.  I didn't leave the circle until another student did.  I knew where the instructor was at all times.  I barely breathed, despite that this was a meditation exercise and breathing is fundamental in all things calming.  I couldn't shut my spinning thoughts up.

After a time, we were to look at waist level, but without making eye contact.  Then we moved to shoulder level without making eye contact.  Last, we were to continue this slow walk, while making eye contact with another and moving toward them.  We stood across from each other and simply looked into each other's eyes.  This may sound silly if you've never done it, or if you don't have any issues with confidence and intimacy, but it was difficult for me.  A feeling of almost embarrassment washed over me, like M might see right into my dark, broken soul.  I flushed.  After a moment, we were instructed to tell the person the first word that pops into our head to describe the other.

I am disappointed to admit that I was most interested in what the two instructors said to describe.  Why?  It's about pleasing.  They are the ones in charge, so they are the ones to please.  I seek their approval above that of my peers.  Of course, I think that both instructors would suggest that no part of this exercise should have been about approval from anyone, but in the support of the community around me and learning to bond with those I will travel this path with.

My instructor, who is a psychic and intuitive medium, said I was vulnerable and a powerhouse.  I love to hear that.  She's right on, of course, with the vulnerability.  I was practically cocooning myself while I walked.  The assistant instructor said I was unpredictable and unexpected.  I like the idea of not meeting expectations, surprising, despite my innate desire for approval.  There were a few others, but over and over I heard "strong."

There is a very real part of me that believes those folks are wrong.  There is a growing part of me that hopes that maybe they're right and it's me who has been wrong.  I've felt so weak throughout this process.  I haven't felt strong or brave, two words that my wonderful, supportive friends have used over and over.  The tiny, evil voice in the back of my head instantly responds with "fraud" when I hear that kind of accolade.

 Tonight, though, in the warmth of the circle of new friends of my yoga community, not only did I feel the kinship that the exercise was designed to inspire, but I felt the tiniest spark inside.  In true yoga fashion, which I affectionately refer to as "hippy," I'm visualizing that spark into a raging fire.  That spark is hope and it's burning.

Wednesday, February 5, 2014

The Roller Coaster

I've had a fair number of slow climbs and lightening fast plunges over the last year.  I have incredible, sunny days with a great outlook and so much hope, only to be followed by a stretch of days where I have to talk myself out of bed.  It's maddening and so hard to know what is real.

I've slipped back into a dark spot, although I'm determined not to let it become a place of isolation.  I've learned so much, in the past year, about my illness, my reactions to it, and some of the things I can do to combat it.  I don't believe I will ever fall so far as I did this last time.  Instead, I find myself in the torturous circle, questioning every mediocre day as attributable to depression and every bright moment as recovery.

I am aware of my changing moods and that is learned behavior.  Even when numbness creeps in, as I have noticed has happened over the past weeks, I can recognize it.  I'm healthy enough to ask, "What can I do?" rather than to simply succumb and shut down.

The things that make sense for me to do require more motivation to accomplish than I can muster.  This is a common complaint among those with depression.  We know what to do, we just can't manage to get it done.  For example, I know that getting up before the kids and exercising every morning would improve my motivation throughout the day, but getting up before I HAVE to (because my kids aren't yet up to badger me out of bed) seems like an insurmountable chore.

I know that if I could exercise more patience with my children throughout the day, the whole day would be more enjoyable . . . for all of us.  I want to, but I just have such a short fuse.  I want to wake up in a good mood.  I want to play with my kids.  I want to feel satisfied that what I do on any given day is enough.  I want to know that when I have a bad day that it's either just a bad day or it's depression reemerging.

I just don't know and it's a roller coaster.

Friday, January 31, 2014

Frozen

Every once in a while, there's something that touches my soul a little.  When I was younger, it happened all the time.  I remember leaving movies with my skin tingling, feeling like my life had changed for good.  I used to pore over song lyrics to find just the right reflection of my emotions at that moment.  Those experiences made me feel alive, which is probably why it's been a long time since I've felt that way.

I've had moments where I forgot all that goes on in my life while I spend two hours with characters in a movie or play.  I've fallen in love with a song here and there.  Unfortunately, now, most of those activities are distractions, more than experiences.  I'm so locked up inside that I'm either in my head, fretting, or I'm doing anything else, avoiding.  Sure, I laugh and cry at movies.  Yes, I sing along with music I listen to.  I enjoy them, but I haven't felt them, in a long time.  I've been frozen.

Imagine my surprise when all of this awareness was unlocked by the newest Walt Disney feature, Frozen.  I saw the movie with my kids last week.  It was done as well as Disney always does.  I laughed and cried and smiled at my children's joy during their first theater movie!  Because they are such big Elsa and Anna fans, pretending to be Elsa running away and Anna chasing, I bought them the soundtrack.  Kaia loves, "Do You Want to Build a Snowman" while Mikko's favorite is, "Let It Go."

I sing my littles lullabies before they drift off to sleep.  I have a wide repertoire of show tunes, from Les Mis to Chess to Lion King.  I'm always eager to add to the list and looked to the lyrics of "Let It Go," so I could sing it to their delight.

The first time I listened to all of the words of this song, I got choked up.  It's not a particularly amazing song, but it is powerful in its meaning when I applied it to my life.  "Couldn't keep it in / Heaven knows I tried . . . Don't let them in / Don't let them see / Be the good girl you always have to be / Conceal / Don't feel / Don't let them know . . . Well, now they know!"  "It's funny how some distance / Makes everything seem small / And the fears that once controlled me / Can't get to me at all."  There's more, but it's silly to share the whole song.  It won't mean the same to you as it means to me.

While the lyrics moved me, what was more important about the experience for me was the feeling.  I felt, and it was deep, and it changed me.  This isn't quite earth shattering stuff, but I got goosebumps and a shiver, and I felt something that wasn't fear or panic.  It was also an awakening.  I so often miss these things that I am emotionally capable of.  I feel so lost and dark so much of the time that I forget that I have these moments of great aliveness.  It was good to be reminded and in such a simple, easy way.

Thursday, January 30, 2014

Hovering

I'm hovering just below the surface of okay and just above the depths of disaster.  It's my very own purgatory.  I go through spurts where I stay in bed for hours and then get up and "accomplish" for hours.  This is where it started for me before.  Things look fine from the outside, but I'm struggling every moment on the inside.

I'm aware of it this time, whereas before I just felt out of control.  I know that when my mind starts to spin in circles, it's okay to just let that drift around me, that I won't be able to sort it out and solve it all.  At the same time, I am questioning every thing that I do again.  Am I too lax with my kids' behavior?  Is my house unreasonably messy?  Did I spend two days in bed because I was really that sick or was it an excuse not to have to live that day?  What else should I be doing?

Every time I give myself a break, I think it's related to strength.  I'm too lazy to parent my kids better.  A better person would keep a better house.  Three years ago, when I was working my ass off, I wouldn't have taken two days off of work; I've gotten soft.  I do nothing anymore.

I'm back there.  I do have some cognizance, so it's not so dire yet, but it's pretty devastating to be here again and so soon after things looked so bright.  (Dialog in my head:  "Maybe you're just moody.  If you just made a little more effort, you could be back there.  Nothing has changed, just stop mooning over yourself."  Sigh.)

Sunday, January 26, 2014

Those days

There are always those days where you think you have it together.  Then you go through moments of chaos and think you've fallen apart completely.  The aftermath is unknown.  On the one hand, you've always known what is rational.  On the other hand, what feels rational feels crazy, in the moment.

So tonight I am grateful for those brave souls that listen to what's really happening, honestly reflect and let me be on my way.  Friends are amazing .

Saturday, January 25, 2014

Patching the Cracks

Yesterday, I succumbed to a very, very dark mood.  I felt like there were cracks in the foundation of my recovery.  Well, today I'm patching those cracks.

One of the hardest things for me when I was in the depths of my depression was not slipping deeper day after day.  So, my first step I'm taking with my mind over matter attitude is to fight that with everything I've got.  I got up today and went to yoga.  As often seems to happen, when you take one happy step forward, happy things follow.  I was greeted warmly by my yoga teacher training instructor and reminded that training starts in only two weeks!  I came home to sort through my Wildtree order and prep for my three parties this weekend and was reminded that I really enjoy doing this and that it's going rather well.  Then I got an email in my inbox for a class I'm taking through Coursera called Soul Beliefs:  Causes and Consequences.  I figure the best way to figure out my life is to immerse myself in rediscovering it on all fronts.

I'm filling my recently empty and broken life back up with teacher training, work, Wildtree, learning, staying at home with my loves.  Filling up feels really, really good this time around.  I haven't enjoyed my down time nearly as much as I do when I'm busy.  So, busy is a good step for me.  I just have to make sure I'm busy with the right things and I feel like I'm on the right path to succeed at that goal.

So there's a little sunshine after yesterday's stormy day.

Friday, January 24, 2014

Cracks

My children just snuck into my office and apologized for jumping on their beds.  See, I'm in here sobbing after I shouted at them and slammed the door and they think it's their fault.  I asked them to stop jumping on their beds and they ignored me.  Then I raised my voice.  Then I shouted as loud as I could.  Then I gave up, told them to do whatever they wanted and slammed the door.  This is not the reaction of a mother who has it together.  This is the reaction of someone who is still broken, still marred by depression.  They think it's their fault.

I was short with them all day, all week really.  It's like I don't know what to do with myself if they won't listen the first time.  I used to be patient and creative.  I used to talk to them until I was sure they heard me.  Now I scream thinking that the neighbors must be hearing me too.

I want to be better so badly.  That's why I'm crying.  It's not because I yelled once.  It's not even because I yelled all day.  It's because I don't want them to remember this version of me as who their mom is.  I don't want this to be who I am.

The Struggle

Ugh, I remember this.  I remember the internal struggle when I'm not sure whether I'm having a rough day, if I'm being moody or if my depression is seeping back in.  If it's a rough day, there's nothing wrong with wallowing in it.  I can read a book, drink some Coke, eat some junk food and call it a day.  If I'm being moody, I should knock it off.  I have a good life, a great family, wonderful friends, the flexibility, support and means to pursue my dreams and not stay in an unhealthy place.  I must practice mind over matter.  If it's depression, I have to be very careful.  I have to reconsider my decision to stop taking anti-depressants.  I have to practice the skills I've learned to combat the negative thoughts.  I have to accept that it is an illness and no mastery of mind over matter will make a difference.

The struggle is that, like so many illnesses, depression mimics normal, day-to-day maladies.  I can pretty easily rule out a rough day.  I woke up with my sick baby girl snuggled against me and feeling better.  My little dude has been happily playing trains all morning.  My oldest and her friends kept me company while I made them breakfast.  We have plans to take the kids to the movies this afternoon.  There's nothing rough about this day.

So the real question I am grappling with is whether this is mood or depression.  Have I forgotten to be grateful for all of the wonderful things in my life again?  Am I simply succumbing to boredom?  Am I the kind of person that gets cranky because everything isn't perfect?  What could it be if it isn't depression?

That's the scarier question because I think the answer is "nothing."  There's nothing going on in my life that would cause the kind of agitation I've been feeling over the past few days.  I'm taking things personally that aren't phrased in a personal way.  I'm feeling inadequate.  I'm crying.  That feels to me like depression and while I know I wasn't cured, because you're never really free of depression, I thought I was better, stronger, stable.  It's crushing to think that it's all lurking so close to the surface that three weeks without medication could drop me back where I was.

Okay, not where I was, exactly.  Recent relapses aside, I'm no where near where I was.  I won't ever let my depression get that bad again.  I have taken medication to get over the hump before and I am willing to do it again.  But how long do I fight on my own without the support of psychotropic medications?  I'm going to give it a bit of time.  I know so much more about combating depression than I did.  I want to believe that I'm stronger.  I want to believe that I know more.  Sadly, I'm not convinced.

So, I will do the things I've been taught.  I will keep lists of the happy things in life, starting with my supportive husband, my beautiful, loving children, my sweet puppy, my wonderful family and my incredible friends.  I am about to embark on a new journey with my yoga teacher training.  I'm working on a business venture that doesn't make me want to poke my own eyes out, in Wildtree.  I get to spend days with my children.  I am writing again.

I will practice cognitive behavioral therapy and challenge myself when I think I'm worthless.  I will reconsider words like "failure," "disaster," and "miserable."  I won't dwell in my disappointments, but focus on the positive.  I will remember to trust those who love me and question my own thoughts when mine are negative and theirs are not.

Most importantly, I will continue to pay attention.  Awareness was what I was missing in the beginning of all of this.  I was so far gone that I felt nothing, noticed nothing and wasted so much time.  I won't do that again.  I will continue to write, which enlightens me to my own emotions.  And I will always fight.

Tuesday, January 21, 2014

Lurking

I have this nagging feeling, like a lurking shadow, that I'm not yet well.  I have been feeling good.  I felt like it was the right decision to go off of my medication that was providing only moderate help.  I have been optimistic.  Yet the shadow is there.  Am I really better?

I have had a less than stellar few days.  I notice it in my unwillingness to undertake the effort of a shower.  I see it in the number of days my kids go without a bath.  I recognize it in my complete disinterest in what to eat.  I don't really feel like going anywhere.  We don't have any milk or cat food.  I have piles of work that I want to do on my desk.  And I really don't care.

I have been moody.  Any yelling or disobedience sends me into a frenzy, trying to control my own frustrated temper.  Crying children make me want to cover my ears and hide in the corner.  I am shouting again.  Am I not better?

I cancelled plans with a friend last night.  Is that a telltale sign or is it simply that I wanted to watch the video I had started?  I've been reading a lot.  Do I love the plot or am I avoiding my feelings?  Is there really any way to tell?

Each of these questions strengthens the sense of doom that shadows have always brought me.  I so desperately want to be better.  I don't want to believe that I need medication to be normal.  Maybe this is just the aftermath of going off of a progressive medication.  That's the trickiest part of mental health.  There's no real way to measure health, except by how one feels, and I feel this complex web of feelings that just won't unwind enough for me to tell and the worry is lurking.

Monday, January 20, 2014

Interpretations

I had a dream last night that left me uneasy and stressed.  I couldn't figure out what exactly about it bothered me until I spoke it out loud to another person.  In the dream, I was studying abroad with several other students.  Six of us were in a car driving to or from a wedding, I don't recall.  The driver declared that she was drunk just as we passed an unmarked police car.  She panicked and I took the wheel from the back seat.  I could hardly reach, much less see, but I maneuvered the car until we were pulled over, as expected.  Everyone hopped out of the car and I was left sitting in the backseat, although I expected to be fingered as the driver, since, technically, I was driving.  I suppose it protected me from prosecution because it was clear I wasn't the "driver," yet I felt responsible for the safety of the passengers and protecting the driver from trouble.

When the officer questioned us, I kept my mouth shut.  The rest of the group said more than enough.  He decided not to charge the driver, but he did take me aside.  He questioned why I hadn't said anything.  I was put on the spot and scared.  I said that, in my experience, it's best to speak only when spoken to when talking in terms of authorities.  I think I've grown to believe that involving myself on the behalf of others will do me harm.

I think I've lived a lot of my life feeling responsible for fixing the errors of others.  To a large degree, it's what lawyers do.  It's why we are needed.  Just like the nice girl who made an error in judgment to drive a car when she was impaired, many of these people are not horrible people, but when put in a position of fighting for themselves, they forget that I meant to be helping.  And maybe, while meaning to be helping, I'm doing no one any good anyway.  Maybe I'm simply allowing others to get away with making a mess of things and having someone to charge with the cleanup.  Maybe this world is just a little to hard for the likes of me.  It's very unnerving to feel like a victim, to feel like I've suffered "trauma."  Yet that's what they call it when I speak to therapists, psychiatrists, and social workers.  I am warned not to subject myself to too much, lest I re-traumatize myself.

So I've made the choice to seek softer avenues.  It still makes me feel weak and I still feel responsible for so much that I have no control over.  It has been, without a doubt, an overriding theme in my downfall.  On the other hand, I'm taking back some control by removing myself from scenarios like those I've walked away from and those that mirror my dream.  Here's hoping for more soothing dreams tonight and less trauma moving forward.

Friday, January 17, 2014

Bursting

I don't know if I'm feeling a greater range of emotion because I've stopped taking my medication or if I'm just prone to feeling  at all because I've removed the highest stress-producers from my life, but I am nearly bursting with . . . happiness.  I hesitated to write that.  Is it really true?  Am I happy?  Is it that simple?  I got through it?  Is it over?

I've said it before, but it bears repeating.  Depression is like alcoholism, in my opinion.  It never really goes away.  You have the risk of "relapse."  The things that cause depressive episodes always reside in you and can rear their heads when you least expect it.  But for the first time in a really, really, really long time, I'm optimistic that I'm past this episode.  It was a year and a half of my life lost, but perhaps I have my future ahead of me again.

There are still things about me that frighten me, especially when I'm feeling hopeful, because there is so much to lose when things are better.  I still, occasionally, fall asleep fighting thoughts of my professional failures.  I still stumble to explain that I'm a "lawyer by training, but I'm not practicing right now."  Most of the time, that feels like sugar-coating, as does the "I am so happy to be spending this time with my children," argument.  I still struggle to shower on a daily basis or to bathe my kids as regularly as seems expected of me.  I still get up every day and feel like I should be doing something, going to a job, contributing in some way.

I see bright spots too though.  I spent an hour rolling around on the floor tickling my son this morning.  That joy has to be worth something.  I've been making dinner from scratch, without recipes, with things we have around the house - something that requires a creativity that I had completely lost for some time, and that I missed.  Parenting, taking the hard, right road, has gotten easier.  I'm engaged.  I make decisions based on what is best, not what is easiest, more often than not.

This balance, this dark countered by light, is recovery for me.  I'm bursting with hope, with happiness and while that is countered by caution, I'm going to turn my face toward the warmth of this optimism.

Wednesday, January 15, 2014

Fake it 'til you make it

I've heard this, or some variation of it, a lot since I started this journey.  One of the hardest things about depression is that you feel awful, so you mope around and do nothing, which makes you feel more awful.  Therapists, family members, supporters, and well-wishers all say the same thing...do it anyway.  Get up, take a shower, get dressed, put on make-up, do your hair, have a cup of coffee, eat breakfast, even if you have no where to be.  Live like nothing is different.  Unfortunately, depression saps you of all motivation, so things like doing your hair and putting on make-up are simply nagging chores that you don't really have to do.

I suffer from this version of depression, especially now that I'm home.  I don't really have anything to shower for, to put real clothes on for, to eat anything before noon for.  I don't really have the motivation to do these things without specific consequences, which I don't have.  So I try to fake it.  I pretend that I have to be ready by a certain time in the morning.  I consider K's bus pick up my "event" for the day and try to be together by then.  It feels pathetic.  Sadly, I'm still faking it.  I haven't gotten better enough, yet, that I am doing these mundane things without them feeling like they're unnecessary chores.

In a very different context, though, I had a fake it 'til you make it breakthrough!  Last night was my first non-family Wildtree party.  While the hostess is a friend I have known most of my life, it was still my first official, not-completely-a-favor party and I was excited.  One of the things I always want to do is to voice why I'm doing Wildtree.  I have a juris doctor, for heaven's sake.  I feel the need to explain myself.  Under most circumstances, I'm pretty honest about how I landed where I am.  In this group, though, and at a party that was supposed to be fun and enjoyable, I didn't think the "I had a breakdown and couldn't continue to practice" was a welcome topic of conversation.  So my explanation went something like this:

I was working 50 hour weeks and no one was satisfied.  I was missing out on my life, my children were missing out on me, and it still wasn't enough time to satisfy my clients.  All true.  So, I decided to try and go more part-time, which was actually harder.  True.  So I quit.  I wanted to do something that gave me more time with my family because these early years will never come again.  I'll never get missed moments back.  As a happy side note, my kids are thriving.  Where we used to have weekends, while I was able to be home, that they were maniacs and I could hardly move without them clamping onto my legs and torso, I now have days on end with them and they KNOW I'll be here, so they don't need to cling.  I can actually clean my house with my two children at home.

There was laughter in all the right places, knowing looks when I spoke about how quickly childhoods pass, and a general sense of good feeling when I finished.  It was then that I realized that, although I had always seen that explanation as "spun," it was all true.  I focused on the positive aspects of what's happened and  the whole thing felt positive.  I expressed it how I wished it looked and realized that that's exactly how it looks, and I think I've made it.

I drove home last night feeling warm and happy.  Proud, even.  The party went well and I realized that this doesn't have to be some cautionary tale.  I can enjoy this new life and not feel like it was thrust upon me.  Let's even argue that it was thrust upon me, I can still like what I'm doing.  I truly love being home with my kids.  I really like selling Wildtree.  I don't mind having left the stress of my old work behind.  I'm settling in and I'm happier than I've been in a long time.  I'm so thankful that I don't have to fake those feelings.

Sunday, January 12, 2014

Love me for my mind

As a young woman in college, then law school, and then again forging my solo practice in the still male-dominated field of law, I have always given special value to my mind.  In fact, I gave it so much value that once I left the practice, there was little left about myself that I valued.

Today I read an article, aimed at young women, encouraging them to find someone who loved them for their minds.  This article focused on mind versus physical body.  Let him love you for your mind, your mental agility, your thoughts, rather than your physique.

I'm struggling with a different battle.  I valued my analytical mind and I have no real need for that at present.  I can still make articulate points, be wisely skeptical, and present a strong argument in favor of some position, but to what end?  What does that lend to my present life spending precious time with my gentle children or selling organic food products?  What is my mind's worth?

And worse, without the value of that mind, what is left?  What is MY worth?  It's been a difficult question for me.  I am realizing, though, that what is left is the head that is lead by my heart, rather than raw intellect.  I don't have to dissect complex problems to have a worthy or beautiful mind.  My mind is now full of whimsical concerns like how to introduce my children new things while out in the every day world.  I have room for imagination, to think about what I want my life, my space, even my expression, to look like.

Once again, I have the chance to contemplate what is joyful to me.  It's a question I had long since put aside for more "important" things like being sure I could make a worthy argument.  I'm thankful for my education.  I will likely use it again in a more traditional sense someday.  For now, though, I am grateful for a clear mind to explore what my heart and soul have to say about my life, rather than barreling through my existence because my mind was occupied by something other than living.

Saturday, January 11, 2014

Medication update

So I have been off medication for a week and a day.  My thoughts are clearer.  Depression creates a fog in your mind anyway, but upon adding medication to the top of that, I was losing a few hours a day to complete nothingness.  I was doing things, but I had little recollection of those things, particularly as I got tired toward the end of the day.  It's very hard to appreciate your life when you hardly notice what constitutes "your life."

I'm very pleased to have come to a place where I no longer need daily medication and weekly therapy.  I will also say that daily therapy in the hospital, group support and medication all saved me.  I might not have survived this experience but for the people and the advice they shared with me.  I am grateful that medications exist and I will rethink my strict "no medication" policy as I move forward in my life.  With that said, I am glad to be free of the altered state that, although not dramatic, was always what I had feared about taking medication for the depression I've battled throughout my short life.

I'm mostly feeling thankful for my life, for my family, for my friends who are family, and for this clarity that has allowed those things to come back to the forefront of my recognition.  The decent into deep depression took me months, almost a year..  The rebirth from that place has taken months as well, but looking back on those dark days and these brighter ones, I am happy to be where I sit today.

Wednesday, January 8, 2014

Mantra

“Courage does not always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, 'I will try again tomorrow.'” - Mary Anne Radmacher


The days keep coming, I keep getting up and sometimes that feels courageous enough.  

Tuesday, January 7, 2014

Disappointment

It's been a while since I've delved into my thoughts to determine HOW I was feeling.  This is a recurring theme for me, unfortunately.  I have a tendency to move through life without thinking.  On the one hand, it makes dealing with life's emotional experiences more palatable when they are bad.  On the other hand, I miss some of the most beautiful moments because I'm not in the moment.  In either event, it isn't how I want to live my life.

Today, I met with a new therapist.  My old therapist, whom I loved, recently went on maternity leave and isn't coming back.  While I think it will be beneficial to have new eyes on a situation that has grown stale to me, trying to explain the last year of my life is nearly impossible.  I tried.  I gave some of the "highlights."  I explained why I've ceased taking my medication and why I am still seeking talk therapy.  I talked about how I ended up in Rogers and why I don't feel like I'm all the way better.  And I surprised myself.

When talking about leaving my practice, what I want for my future and what I do see as positive in myself, I was surprised and disappointed to find that it is still raw...like, can't keep myself together in front of a total stranger, raw.  It occurred to me that I haven't cried since I last saw my previous therapist.  Although I think about it in terms of logistics regularly, I haven't come to terms with my realities yet.

I am disappointed to see where I really am when I actually think about it.  I don't think about it.  It's sort of my MO.  I keep moving, but I'm not moving forward.  I thrash in the water, but I'm not approaching the shore.  I experience disappointment, frustration, anxiety, sadness, and emptiness, but those emotions bring me no closer to resolving all of the bad things I'm feeling.  What's the point?

I'm pleased to be med-free and working toward a better tomorrow.  I am sad to realize how little I recognized about how much disappointment I am still feeling.  But tomorrow will come and I will still be here.

Friday, January 3, 2014

Winter

Lots of people out there suffer from Season Affective Disorder, aptly referred to as SAD.  Not this kid.  This weekend, I embark on an adventure in loving even this season's outdoors.  My husband and I and our two crazy friends will spend the next three days camping in the frigid Wisconsin winter.  When I say frigid, I mean it.  The lows will be fairly well below zero, with Sunday's high topping out at a whopping zero.

Why does this information belong in this blog, of all places?  Nature soothes me.  It always has.  There's no place I feel more alive and more myself than quiet and in the forest.  I love running water.  I love fallen trees.  I love the silence of the woods in winter.

I'm starting a new path too, today.  I am slowly going to stop taking my medication.  While it has proved helpful to get me through the worst of all of this, I have never liked the idea of it.  Medication alters my body in a way that I am not comfortable, chemically supplementing what I should be getting from my food, lifestyle and mindset.  So, while I will be cold, I will be exploring, feeling alive and embarking on the next step in this journey toward wellness.