Depression: Clawing out of the Pit

 

Writing about mental illness sucks, it fucking sucks. I've been trying to for a weeks now, and I haven't posted because I know it's the thing I need to write about and I just can't figure out how. I can't figure out how to do it without sounding cliche', trite, bossy, or preachy.

All I've figured out is that I just have to be honest and tell MY TRUTH, which is not anyone else's Truth.

By this this point, the story of Robin William's tragedy has been covered by all angles all over the media. Everyone has an opinion about it. Why did this happen? How could it have been avoided? No one knows these answers because no onen can be inside another person's head or heart.
Depression is awful. It's dark, cold, and terribly lonely. It can be debilitating. And it's everywhere- people struggling alone in that darkness. They may be smiling and happy, the life of the party. That doesn't mean they aren't suffering deeply. In college, I was diagnosed with depression, anxiety, and ED/NOS (Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified). 

I was in this dark, lonely, terrible place off and on for years starting around age 15 and hitting bottom when I was in college, then again when my husband deployed shortly after we were married. It was the worst time of my life, and very painful to think about. Had it not been for other people sticking with me through, I may not have survived it. My husband carried me through most of those hard times. I can never thank him enough for not giving up on me when I was so close to giving up on myself. 

Depression is not just extreme sadness. It's not something you can "buck up" and get over. Some days, merely getting out of bed was more than I could handle. There were debilitating panic attacks and many, many nights without sleep. Some days I spent 12-14 hours watching television. My anxiety would rise the moment a show was over- when my distraction was gone. Some days, I didn't get off the bathroom floor for hours. Food, alcohol, no food, pills, smoking, sleep, television- those were my coping tools. Unless you've felt depression and anxiety, it's hard to understand someone going through it. It seems so simple to fix. I heard so many times "just get up," "just eat something." Or my favorite: "I read exercise helps, go for a run." Yep, a run will cure me. There were doctors and therapists with bad advice, there were friends who didn't get it. There were days I didn't get it and didn't see an end in sight. Everything just seemed pointless some days.

Because depression is a mental illness, it's not recognized as a real illness. Depression is a real illness. But, unlike the flu, mental illness can't be fixed with just a pill- despite what drug companies tell you (though the can help dramatically). Chemical and emotional imbalances both play a role- it's the perfect storm. It often requires more than some Prozac and a "brighter outlook." 

I needed a lot of tools to cope with my mental illness. You can try to push a boulder up a hill by yourself. It's much easier with help. My husband was my biggest support- he would not allow me to give up. It was simply not an option. I went to therapy and looked at why I was hurting. I found a doctor who actually got it and she helped me find the right meds and doses to make my depression manageable enough to be able to get out of bed and do the work to get better- she refused to numb me so I could connect with my feelings. I had friends who checked on me and answered when I called, even when I ignored them and pushed them away. I had myself. The choice to get better had to be mine. I'm not saying it's that simple, I'm saying you can't force someone out of mental illness by saying to them "I've decided this is over." I had to say that to myself every day, every minute. 

Clawing out of a pit is harder than falling further in to it. I had to look at myself, my choices, and my past. I had to use my tools (and have people remind me to use them...). I got much worse before I got better. Clawing out of a pit can leave you with bruises and scratches. But they heal. I didn't have to do this just once. Mental health is part of daily life, not something you are just cured from. Going to treatment, rehab, therapy just once isn't enough for some people. Sometimes, things get hard again and you have to go back. When I tell people I had an eating disorder, some say "but, you're cured now, right?" or "you're over it now." Yes, I am in recovery from depression and my eating disorder. Most days, I don't even think about them. Some days, I have to chose not to go back there. I still have the battle wounds, the memories, and sometimes even the temptations. Sometimes my anxiety gets bad, my obsessive thoughts take over, and staying in bed sounds marvelous. It's part of how my brain works. I have to know how to work with it so that part of my brain doesn't take over and I can keep on going. This is how it works for me. When I found out my husband was supposed to deploy again, I made an appointment with my doctor and called a therapist, I prepared myself. That time, it all looked different.

 I did get out of the pit. Eventually. I had to go to my scary places. But I could go there one at a time, with help. 

 

I am not broken. 

Relapse happens 

but I can guard myself against it. 

And get back up when I fall. 

I know my warning signs and so do those who care about me. 

You are not broken. 

Clawing out of the pit is the hardest thing you may ever do. 

There are tools to help. 

Take your meds 

Talk to people 

You don't have to be another one claimed by the darkness, and neither do I. 

Being out of the pit is better than being in it, I promise. 

You are worth it.