The Door Girl, Continued...

The crickets chirped from inside the bushes. I stood there, five-years old, hiding with the car keys. My mother's boyfriend at the time was banging her head up against the wall. They had both been drinking and somewhere in the frenzy, my mother grabbed the keys and told me to hide outside until she came out.

It was dark and the needles on the shrubs scraped my skin. I could see the streetlights glowing on the building where I went to kindergarten. I listened to the sound of my breath and I knew that I was still breathing...I was okay.

I wasn't new to this. Mommy gets drunk. Mommy fights. Junie hides in the bushes with the keys. I knew this game well.

When she finally ran out of the house, she was clutching a white garbage bag full of clothing, I presume. We got in to the car and drove two and a half hours to my grandfather's trailer in Detroit.

The next day I started a new school. New classmates. New lunch ladies that didn't know my name. I didn't mind these escapades much. They usually only lasted a few days and I got to swim in the pool at my grandfather's trailer park. There was Vernor's to drink which you can't get in Indiana where we were living.

I was oblivious and full of wonder, like any child. I had no idea of the weight being thrust upon my bony little shoulders. Hiding in bushes, starting new schools, making new friends only to leave them behind. Watching my mother be beaten. Driving down dark roads and back alleys in the middle of the night. It was all a part of the games that my mother played.

On those days, mom was fairly peaceful and semi-present, which was better than usual. She wasn't drinking as much. She sat on the couch and talked to my grandfather a lot. I was just happy to be there...in a place where there were no blackouts and no glass breaking.


Within a few days, we were back in Indiana--and we continued to play the game again and again, like Candyland on a rainy day.

I Will Rise...

Many people have reached out to me since my last post to see how I'm faring.  More people have reached out to say, "You're not alone." Thank you to all of you.

I wish that depression was linear. It's not, unfortunately. It's more like a graph of Michigan weather--unpredictable and all over the place. One day I'll feel "good." 

Let me define good for me right now: good is staying out of bed, making dinner, feeling quasi-normal. It's getting out of my comfort zone and making a phone call. Good is making sure I'm taking all of my meds and spending time in prayer. It's writing in my journal with a hot cup of coffee. Good is getting shit done and not obsessing about what doesn't get done. It's looking my beautiful children in the eye when they are telling me a story because I want them to know they are more important than anything else in the world. It's being vulnerable with my husband. It's going to my therapy appointments and working really hard to heal old wounds.

I will have a good day or even two and then the bad days come in like someone sneaking in my back door while I'm asleep. Sometimes there are triggers, and sometimes there are none. 

The bad days are embarrassing to talk about. All I think of is sleep and how I can escape these feelings that just took up residence in my heart. I can't seem to find the energy to read a recipe to make dinner. I hear my kids, but I'll admit that sometimes I don't really see them. I don't make a concerted effort to cuddle with them because I am so focused on just breathing in and out. I set my timer for 15 minutes at a time and think, "I can make it through the next 15 minutes." And then I set it again and again. I feel all of the walls inside of me rising up and cutting off any measure of affection or joy. Those days are dark.

And so I fight. Because it's all I can do. I don't know why I have this cross to bear and it sucks. But my choices are to succumb to it or continue working as hard as I can to get better--even though the days aren't linear and I never know what I'm going to get.

Some people may read this and think, "My God, she shares her shit with everybody." And I do--and I'll tell you why. Because I want to live an authentic life. I want other people who are suffering to know they don't have to be ashamed of it or embarrassed by it. 

https://www.vevo.com/watch/katy-perry/rise-(nbc-olympics-video)/USUV71602005

On Depression

To write is to be vulnerable. You bleed your soul out on paper for others to point and laugh. But maybe you find that one person who gets it-who gets you.

"Who in the world am I? Ah, that's the great puzzle." (Alice in Wonderland)

I fell down the rabbit hole without knowing how I got there. One day, I found myself in bed and didn't get up until six months later. The storm had been raging for about two years before that, and then the rabbit hole just grew deeper and deeper.

Depression is a mean bastard. It creates noise in your head that you just can't shut out and a deadening silence all at once.

I thought about all the things I should be doing as I laid in my bed, but my legs wouldn't work. My mind wouldn't work, or it would be screaming at me to just do something and that was really overwhelming, so I just went back to sleep.

I begged for death. I didn't care how. I prayed for a car accident so my family wouldn't have to deal with the awful burden of my depression. I had suicidal ideations.

"Who in the world am I?" I was a shell. Broken and feeling as though I would never be anything more.

By the grace of God, I have a loving family and amazing friends who supported me and got me the help I needed.

Every step, every action is a victory. Yesterday, I ran outside in the sunshine and cleaned my house. The medicine I take causes me to shake, but I journaled in my kindergarten handwriting. And I was thankful. I still lay on the couch and tell myself that in fifteen minutes, I am going to get up and do something productive, but I do it. Another victory. I haven't cooked in months. Friends brought us food (God bless them!) and my dear husband cooked almost every night. But I cooked yesterday which still feels like a giant task, but I did it. I picked up my kids from soccer instead of my husband taking off work because I couldn't get out of bed to drive there. I'm getting stronger everyday.

You might wonder why I've chosen to write something so personal, and it's because I believe people suffer in silence. I have never felt so isolated or ashamed of the way I was feeling and I was too scared to reach out.  Reach out. To someone. Anyone.

"The bravest thing I ever did was continuing my life when I wanted to die." -Juliette Lewis