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

The Door Girl, Part 30

She mailed me her journal after my stay at the psych ward. Maybe it was to help me understand. Maybe it was to remind me that she was still alive despite the absence of me. Maybe it was to hurt me. I don’t know why she sent it, but as I read the entries, my heart ached for her. My mother was not a monster, but she was mentally ill. My mother did the best she could and the best she could was all she had to give.

July 2, 1974

The thing is, I’m happiest when I’m not me. When I escape and hide behind whatever I can. I guess I never learned that lesson—to be a big girl and face my problems. I think what gets people is the monotony of the everyday. I wake up, make coffee, take care of my child, set my timer for fifteen minute increments just to make it through to bedtime. And during those fifteen minute increments, I feel lost. I don’t know what to do with myself that has any value. And so I sleep. I get high. I drink. I break things. And after, I feel so bad that Junie has witnessed yet another breakdown, but I can’t help the madness. It’s clawing at me to get out and all I know to do is shatter glass.

The Door Girl, Part 27

My mother was always hot and cold. Always a contradiction. Fire and ice. I blazed with her and froze to death with her, as long as I could stay close. We were a raging fire and a frozen marsh in the tundra, where it’s always too cold for anything to grow.

        That’s how my mother would remain for days, but all of a sudden, the clouds would lift and I would see the embers start to twinkle inside of her. The Magic Woman was coming to life. And she would be lit ablaze, everything around her smoky and on fire. She was lightning in a five-foot-two-inch body.

        And me, well…I just loved to watch her burn.