personal narrative

Marking Time

~ storm257 ~ 1 Comment

Another year. Today, like last year on this date, I reflect on where I have been and where I am now.

Last year, however, I was in California facing the real possibility that a person I love and admire would lose her life to cancer. It felt completely unfair, because disease does not care about fairness, and that piece of her experience, discussed in private moments, over tea and toast with Marmite, that part of us that wants there to be reason and rationale for the horrible things that occur, struck me then, and now, as the element of my own path with depression (oh, and life generally) with which I struggle.

Deep gratitude to my family, my partner, and most of all my friends, who have listened and helped me through the darkest moments, or the times when I was stuck in a loop of pointless thinking, unable to get out of my own way, unable to release worries that cannot serve me. Deep gratitude to my therapist, who has seen me through times when I could not articulate complete thoughts, through blind rage, tears that do not stop, and sees me now, as we move into a new place where I may actually find some understanding, not of my reactions to various things (we work on that all the damn time), but what is at the root.

What I know about myself is that I do believe there are reasons for most things in our lives. I don’t mean in a transcendent sense, though perhaps that too, but in that sense that we all have things we choose not to or cannot face, and those experiences, relationships, or memories, do impact how we live. Maybe you are someone for whom this does not apply, however, I’ve yet to meet someone with that much clarity or unity to their life. We’re all imperfect and life gives us some scary shit to bear. Leonard Cohen said it best, ” There is a crack, a crack in everything (there is a crack in everything), / That’s how the light gets in” I feel I am ready to look at those cracks a bit closer and maybe find where they begin.

This last year has held so much change and letting go. I am not living the life I thought I would be; I’ve had to accept that some things will not be. I have pushed boundaries for myself. I have been intolerant and patient. I have been angry and have felt my heart open in unexpected and welcome ways. I have faced moments when my mood has dictated my actions and others where I have exercised control. Most importantly, I have felt all of these things and faced my life with strength that I did not possess two years ago.

This is me today:

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Is it me?

~ storm257 ~ 1 Comment

It has been a year since I sat on the couch (most of the day, everyday), a pattern broken only by  the arrival of a mental health worker coming to make sure that, while I waited to be assigned a therapist, I didn’t harm myself.

It has been a year since I felt too shattered to be humiliated by the acquiescence of this ritual; the surrender in waiting for something that I was only receiving now because I had been deemed too sick to be left to my own devices, but not quite sick enough for an in-patient program. I had tried to avoid being in that place, where I was not advocating for myself because I no longer saw the value in that fight. I had tried and not succeeded for many months. For better or worse, these daily check-ins with my Diversions counselor were moving me toward something I was not able to do on my own. The value of this is not lost to me.

In this year I have worked to let go of many things. I have fought my way out from the hole where depression put me. I have battled against the snares and dark seduction of believing I would lose.

In this year, I have accepted, sometimes bitterly, that medication does help, that I am more productive, that I do not feel paralyzed as I did. I have accepted that many of my feelings of powerlessness and alienation are directly related to my “mood” and not my character.

This latter part is a daily struggle.

I ask myself, “Is it me?” I search my memory for a time when there was something definitive, when I truly knew what I wanted, what I am capable of, could answer questions about desires and dreams. I’ve lost a good deal of memory over the years. Sometimes it is hard to recall who I once was, before I felt like this. Sometimes it is difficult to believe I every felt another way. So that’s the me part.

Today my therapist asked me if I think perhaps that I feel so lost, so incapable of finding purpose, something I want to do with myself, not because this is always who I’ve been but due to depression. It is hard to know, if there is a line, where that line can be drawn.

I know because I have had this conversation with other people who suffer depression that this is a common question. There are many of us who try to find the place where we begin, authentically, and where disease ends. Sometimes it is impossibly unclear. Sometimes it feels that there is no separation.

I don’t have any answers. I can only look at where I am today and know that this is a better place than where I was last year. Being here is better, and I have brought myself here.

Try to celebrate the small victories when possible. This is me today: FullSizeRender(11).jpg

Reminder: Love

~ storm257 ~ 1 Comment

I have been trying to put pen to paper since I learned the hard truth of what is happening in your life right now. When I picture you it is always your kindness I recall first, and your beautiful smile, and what a good friend you were to me almost twenty years ago when we first met. You were brave then, and like me, growing braver, as you learned to manage and release the things which had made it necessary to be brave, early in life.

So I know that you are brave now and I know that you are strong. But when you are not, please know that you are always loved — and within that love — you are brave and strong when you cannot be.

Life gives us reminders sometimes, with difficulty and heartache, which help us to see that there is more to be thankful for, in drawing breath, in shedding tears, in grief and love, because we are given another opportunity. The chance to feel again, and more.

Depression takes away the awe that these momentary reminders inspire by removing the variation, robbing one of the grief or gratitude, greying the love and dulling the joys.

A year ago, had I received news of a friend’s battle with cancer, I don’t know that I would have been able to feel everything that I feel now. I am not sure I would have been able to rise out of the dark void depression created, to feel fear, and shock, and deep gratitude for the community we have cultivated these last two decades.

The fact that I can feel now, and that these feelings come in waves and are true, and hard, makes this living I am doing very precious. I will take this welling and difficulty all day long.

Things that are hard

~ storm257 ~ 1 Comment

One of the reasons some people, myself included, disdain medication has to do with diminished capacity. Feeling less, thinking less, understanding less. It is likely true that medication doesn’t actually do any of these things – but when one has become accustom to a sustained experience of fear or sadness or rage, which paralyzes and makes the possibility of other emotions – gentler ones – rare or impossible – feeling indistinct emotions, mild unhappiness for example, feels like feeling nothing at all.

And if, like me, one has spent her or his creative life producing out the dark places, where thoughts are often racing, colorful, and frightening,  it is very difficult to make anything when medicated. The stillness in my brain mirrored in my hands. In part, I have begun to ask fewer questions. This isn’t entirely unwelcome. Many of the queries my brain likes to make when I am depressed are not answerable, and not in interesting ways. Asking unanswerable questions can make one pretty miserable – and crazy – both of which I already have covered, thanks.

Medication blocks the loop which functions inside my brain to cause hours or even days of fruitless questions and self-doubt. Medication slows down the descent into meaninglessness which, especially this time of year, threatens to drag me down. But medication does not cure depression. And, medication does not destroy the capacities I have worked to grow. I can still write, I can still make things, I can still question the trajectory of my life. Those last things are hard to know.

For those of us who find value in our lives through what we make, or think, or write – it is hard to be convinced that we can do those things when we are working toward being well. It is exceedingly difficult to do what you have not practiced. And while logic would dictate that practice is a healthy part of the getting well process – it is hard and can feel artificial.

I’ve tried several medications in the last month – one failure, one I refused to take, and one that seems to be helping. This is the first time I’ve written anything aside from lecture notes and cover letters. And it’s hard. And maybe good. I’ll keep trying.

This is me today: 2 15. jpg.jpg

The Wait

~ storm257 ~ 1 Comment

I have an appointment tomorrow with a psychiatrist. It has been several years since I last accepted that medication is necessary for me to function, but I am again in a place where I face this choice. It doesn’t feel like a choice.

Sometimes I try to remember what it was like, what I was like, before depression. I try to recall how I coped with emotions, related to those I love, faced stress, felt love. Part of what I know is that depression would like to believe there never was a time before now. Sometimes, I succumb to this possibility. What is the point really of looking back? Depression denies me access to many of the tools that I know can help me, even when I know exactly where and what they are.

Yesterday, I was with my family, whom I love and trust. I sat among them and felt millions of layers removed, like transparent walls erected to keep me unable to touch them, to receive the love they offer, to ask for anything at all. It is infuriating and demoralizing to be unable to feel balanced, to always feel incomplete, defeated, incapable of normal emotional responses. I don’t want to be like this. I really don’t.

So tomorrow, I’ll try again to find a way to help my brain. I’ll hope for some relief. I’ll hope my appointment isn’t cancelled (again – the major downside of being on Medicaid is there are very few psychiatrists and many people seeking assistance). And perhaps, sometime soon, I won’t feel the distance, but will be able to traverse what is now hard and far.

Recognition

~ storm257 ~ 1 Comment

I’d asked her to hang out for a few minutes to talk. She had bolted the first time, but seemed willing to wait for me to talk with some other students, for which I was thankful.

Normally a thoughtful student, she’d stopped participating in discussions and had neglected homework as well as a paper, which was now a couple weeks overdue. I’m not strict about deadlines (obviously), but I try to make sure my students are aware that I do expect updates on their progress, if not actual assignments turned in, or some idea of when I might expect to see writing.

She was clearly nervous, which I anticipated. After apologizing, she hinted that things are home were standing in the way of her completing the work for her classes. She left this statement hanging in the air between us, so I pressed a little.

“Are you alright? Can I help to clarify what is expected for the essay you are still missing? Can I help at all?”

The deep breath and barely suppressed tears were too familiar.

“I’m having a hard time. I have bi-polar depression…” A searching glance assessing me for judgment. I held her eyes. I nodded.

“I understand how hard it is to be unwell. Overwhelming.”

Surprise and then release. “Yes. Being a full-time student is a lot. I thought I could handle it…I wasn’t sure how to tell you.”

“I know how difficult finding a balance can be, but you are an insightful person and I know you are trying. If you need more time, I can work with you.” It isn’t more than I would say to any other student, but, at the same time, this was much more.

We talked for several minutes. She thanked me for understanding, for not misunderstanding her struggle, for offering to help and accommodating her needs. Without giving more information than the situation allowed, I was able to let her see that what she described was not strange to me; her struggle was familiar, and more than that, not in any way a reason for her to feel she should give up being the smart, thoughtful person she clearly is, regardless of what she feels presently. She was relieved and I, I was elated.

The mirror we can provide for those around us, learning to articulate what it is like to live with mental illness, is powerful. At twenty-three, I do not know that I could have been as honest as my student, but at thirty-eight, I no longer have any confusion about the necessity of clarity. We cannot live in the shadows, though illness makes us feel we should. Life wants us to be brave and ask for acknowledgement, even when what we request is compassion. Perhaps, especially then. The way out of feeling buried by the loneliness and invisibility that mental illness creates in our lives is through moments of recognition. “I see you. You are not alone.”

If there is one gift I am granted by disease, which otherwise causes me exhaustion and confusion, it is this ability to see this shared need, and speak in order to break through. If I can do this once, and experience the power contained within this recognition, I can nurture a light which offers comfort. And I can do this again. That’s hope.

This is me just after talking to my student yesterday:

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Forward & Back

~ storm257 ~ 3 Comments

It’s a dance on the edge of a cliff I cannot trust will stay beneath my feet and yet I do nothing to move back.

Yesterday I had a deeply dissatisfying first session with a therapist who realized, due to a conflict of interest (we know people in common), that we wouldn’t be a suitable match. I had, even without the added knowledge, figured out it wasn’t going to work for me. Because therapy is like dating – it is generally evident in the first 5-10 minutes if there will be a point in moving forward. For me, if the therapist is either too stiff or regimented, or conversely too saccharin, things are going to come to a halt pretty quickly. Better to just move on and waste no more time on niceties.

And this point is important for a few reasons: These things happen. We are humans and there are only so many ways we can communicate which are satisfying and honest. When we are depressed, or like me currently, in an upswing – feeling better, cautiously optimistic about recent changes to employment and in the best season of the year- it is important to keep the momentum going. Because stumbling is a real possibility and stumbling leads to falling. So that’s the edge I am talking about. It is always there, sometimes easier to ignore, but there, and I remain at varying distances, nearby.

The fear of moving too close, coupled with the inevitable approach of winter (sorry to say, but we all know), can be easier to manage when one feels secure. Security comes in many forms – work, love, family, friends, routines, medication, meditation, exercise, practice – also in our society – reliable access to mental health services.

I am fortunate to have some of these things. I am fortunate to be working toward strengthening some of these things. I have been in a position of greater access to mental health services before (read as: private insurance) and I know how good access can look and feel.

I am not currently in that place. Being reliant on Medicaid is limiting in two ways.

First, had I not ended up in crisis, I would not be in the position I am now, hoping to find a therapist within the practice where I was referred with no other current option.

Second, had I not spent two months trying to access mental health services when my depression symptoms were more debilitating and I had just found out I had Medicaid; had I not been told by every provider’s office I contacted that they were not taking new clients, to call back next month, I would not have ended up in crisis. I know this. I know this to the core of my being.

This thin line I walk is not new to me – I have been here before – I can be trusted to know when I need help. There are many of us here, dancing along this tenuous edge, frustrated by the obstacles which seem to force us closer to being unable to control our descent. Many will not survive. Please let that sink in. We are not alone and we are all struggling. We can make this better for those who are so close to falling. But not with this current system. This is me today:FullSizeRender(4)

Stretch

~ storm257 ~ 1 Comment

One of the hardest obstacles for me to overcome when depressed is two-fold. I like solitude and quiet and therefore I choose to spend a lot of time alone. This is true for me all of the time, but it becomes tricky when I am not well.

Depression plays games with self-esteem and self-regard. It wants you to stay “safe” inside your own thoughts. Within this place is is easier to convince you that not only do you lack interest in doing anything, but really in actual fact – you are not capable.

The rational part of you calls bullshit. However, if, like me, you slip into the place where isolation feels less overwhelming and you spend increasingly more time listening to depression – these ideas can take hold.

This is the two-fold problem. Depression not only robs you of your desire to engage, to do what you know is healthier for you, it also can be very convincing about your lack of ability to do things you know you can accomplish. It is not just that you lack motivation, but more disturbingly, that you are beginning to believe you also lack capability.

Fear can take over and fear is really powerful.

It has been nearly four weeks since I was involuntarily hospitalized for depression. Today I received a “check-in” phone call from the hospital making sure I have followed up with the crisis diversion program.

I was pissed initially to be receiving a follow-up phone call so long after that horrible experience, but a few hours later, I find I feel grateful. In under four weeks I have found comfort in the weekly meetings I have with a social worker; they are engaged in helping me to take steps I could not handle on my own. I will meet a therapist later this week who will hopefully work with me toward deeper, meaningful coping and uncovering truths I have not examined fully.

I attended a book club on Sunday where I only knew one person. This is way outside of my comfort zone, for those of you who couldn’t guess, and it was nice to be with kind strangers. This is the first time in many years I have chosen to try something that makes me uncomfortable. Admitting this is also kind of a big deal.

I have also been approached to teach some Freshman level English courses at a nearby community college this Fall. Last Fall, before I started to collapse, I applied for lots of different work. Thankfully, some of that energy has panned out.

I am grateful for the follow-up call because it led to this reflection. I can see quite clearly that the work I am now engaging is beginning to fight against the powerful forces which have kept me afraid, second-guessing my abilities and doubting that I can rise above to once again find meaning in my life. There are days I still let doubts in, but I am growing stronger, taking the small steps toward wellness.

This is me today:

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Joy

~ storm257 ~ 1 Comment

It is harsh and unsettling to speak these words:

“It has been twenty years since I felt something I would describe as joy.”

But today, I found myself saying this to the crisis diversion social worker who comes to meet with me once a week. Right now, I have days where I can go through the motions, accomplish small goals that I set for myself, be engaged, and not think too deeply about the emotions I cannot feel. Today, I had to face a truth that I have tried to examine before, but been too afraid to uncover. In various ways, throughout my adult life, my mental health has been in a state that does not allow me to experience feelings which others can attain. When I am unwell, I find myself returning to a very specific moment, when I was 17. It wasn’t something profound, or life-changing, but something incredibly simple:

When I was 17 I lived on a farm for six months. One morning I got up and went for a run along a forest path. I don’t run, but this felt right. After a short time, I lay down under a large cedar tree and fell asleep. When I awoke, looking up into the branches of that great tree, I felt a mixture of wonder and awe, which was both pure and simple, and the definition of joy.

I was present when my eldest niece was born and I felt great love and pride in my sister’s strength. I pulled off a surprise wedding anniversary party for my parents’ 35th and felt the happiness this brought to my family and was proud. I’ve walked a thousand trails and climbed dozens of mountains, loved many people, earned degrees and have been rewarded for my hard work, but all without being able to get back to that feeling under the cedar tree.

This is why therapy can be helpful. I want to try and talk my way back to this place. I want to be able to look again at my younger self and perhaps this time uncover what is still unknowable for me.

There are so many components to depression. We know that brain chemistry and trauma are part of the equation for some people, but I think the examination of experiences before trauma are also important. There may be keys to helping ourselves that have less to do with what we do after we become survivors and more to do with what we already knew before trauma made us forget. I know that’s vague. I have a lot of work to do. Stay with me.

This is me today:

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Stepping Back

~ storm257 ~ 2 Comments

I spent the last week with my family in a Girl Scout camp in central Maine. There was rain and mosquitoes, laughter and tears, warmth and comforts only found with the people one can count on not to judge too harshly, because they know, my silence and my inability to explain well the deep and constant weight of emptiness depression creates.

I found myself alone in a canoe Friday morning with my little dog, tears streaming down my face because the grey stillness of early morning Maine perfections – the calm water, the unbearable green treeline, the unearthly, pure air breathed into my lungs – did not bring me joy. Or more to the point, joy was there, but I could not experience the emotion which I have had in abundance so many time before because I am still here behind this wall. I see, I smell, I taste the same things I have hundreds of times, but just now, they are out of reach.

It isn’t easy to articulate this gulf. It isn’t pleasant to stand at this place and to know there are things to feel just beyond my grasp. However, the knowledge that I can remember feeling joy and awe, while causing discomfort, also moves me to want the path back to be again within reach.

I held my infant nephew many times this past week and was comforted by his simple love. His responses to smiling faces, to sweet voices, gentle touch, inspire me to take the small steps back to finding a place where simplicity can begin to bridge the void.

This is me on Friday:

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