In the wake of Robin Williams' passing, depression has been on everyone's tongue. Is it really that bad? Is help available? At what point does a person decide that life is no longer a good option for them?
I have not been blogging lately. Still writing, but not blogging. But I've been thinking about blogging...when I could and would be forthcoming about my struggle with depression.
My friend, Janet, sent me a link yesterday:
http://www.ted.com/talks/andrew_solomon_depression_the_secret_we_share?utm_source=facebook.com&awesm=on.ted.com_q02jb&utm_campaign=&utm_medium=on.ted.com-facebook-share&utm_content=awesm-publisher
In this candid talk about depression, the speaker talks about how he would come home and see his answering machine blinking and instead of being grateful that he had friends and was cared about, he was overwhelmed at the thought of having to call people back. In my own experience, it's not only the act of picking up the phone, but the act of feigning happiness and contentedness with life.
The toothpaste falls off the edge of the sink and there is a pit in my stomach that I will never have this house picked up.
The kids are fighting and I want to hide under the covers.
The kids are laughing and playing and I want to hide under the covers.
The sun rises and I grieve the turning of night in to day...the absence of sadness that sleep bestows on me is my only respite.
Noise hurts...physically pains me.
I isolate. Friends tell me they are hurt by my lack of reaching out to them, making plans with them, breaking plans with them.
I fold up in to myself.
I wake up in the morning and count the hours down until the day has finally passed and I can climb back in to bed. “I didn't want to wake up. I was having a much better time asleep. And that's really sad. It was almost like a reverse nightmare, like when you wake up from a nightmare you're so relieved. I woke up into a nightmare.” ― Ned Vizzini
If I had to give a visual image of what each minute feels like when I'm battling depression, I would tell you that it feels like I'm lying on the hard ground, barely propped on my elbows, army-crawling my way from one moment to the next through the gravel of life. There are days, where I see that picture of myself in my head and wonder how I will make it through the day.
I feel like a buoy in the water being thrashed by the waves. And every damn thing feels like a tidal wave. Every. Damn. Thing. A buoy is an object that floats in the water to show areas that are safe or dangerous. The water feels dangerous...when I desperately want it to feel placid.
For years, I did my best to present myself as flawless. Happy always. Constantly trusting in God. Accepting difficulties with grace. And it was exhausting. Because I am anything but flawless. And the more I grow in to myself, I'm okay with that. I would much rather be authentically broken than inauthentically perfect.
SSRIs have been helpful during the hard times and I have no shame about saying that I have needed the help. Therapy (frequently) has been a tremendous help. At one point, my therapist said, to me, "Y'know, Kendra, you need to get off your high-horse. You seem to have this perception that you are supposed to be perfect. Do you think you're perfect and not allowed to struggle? Do you think you are set apart from the human race? And more than that, do you think that you are above God's grace?" And that metaphorical albatross was set aloose.
All of this to say, that I don't have the answers. I don't know why some of us suffer with depression and some of us don't. But I will say that I am certain many suffer in silence and complete isolation...never confiding in anyone about how painful life feels. And if you are one of those people, you are not alone.
“Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.”
― Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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