Where Does Depression Hurt?

I can’t believe how hard it is to write about this.  In fact, I’ve had this topic on my “List of Things to Blog about Next,” for over a year!

In the past few years I’ve struggled with depression.  I’ve been hesitant to share about it on my blog -in an obvious way that is- out of shame and irrational fear. (I.E. “what if some one judges me,” or “thinks I’m weak?”)

When its at its worse,  my husband will come home and see with “that one look on my face,” and start quoting that Cymbalta commercial.  It always brings a smile to my face: “Where does depression hurt? Everywhere.  Who does depression hurt? Everyone,” etc. etc.  Dave says I could practically be the face of depression.  Apparently I do it well.

Without further ado, here’s my story…

Back when I was doing my Bachelors I was going through a lot of junk.  It may have just been the hardest extended period of my life.  I was in therapy trying to deal with my Father’s abuse when the person I was living with at the time went completely spastic.  At the time I didn’t know she was suffering through a serious mental condition.  I just thought she hated me.  She sabotaged a few key areas of my life.  And it hurt.  At the same time, I was going through the deep disappointment of losing the guy I thought I was going to marry.  It was all too much really.

There I was trying to juggle classes, my student leadership in my InterVarsity Chapter, working part-time and trying to help support my mother.  It was a pronounced season of desperation, hopelessness and despair.  After a few particularly difficult counseling sessions I would have jumped off a very high bridge if there had been one accessible.  I ended up signing a suicide agreement letter.  Meaning, I wouldn’t give myself the old heave-ho without telling someone first.  If all went to plan, hopefully whomever I decided to tell would convince me life really was worth living.  I remember once leaving my suicide letter out for someone to accidentally find.  In some ways I was eager for someone to notice that I was dying inside.  In other ways, I felt that I had to -at least- appear strong.

Needless to say, I was depressed.  Only, I never called it that.  I’m not sure how or who or why I grew up with the impression that depression was for weaklings, but I did.  I would often say that I was “sad,” even though I went around daily with the distinct feeling there was an elephant standing on my chest.  I guess that’s what it feels like when the weight of the world is resting on you.  Also, I slept like a drugged-out teen-ager & wept like a widow.

I’m surprised now that my counselor never mentioned anti-depressants.  Not that it would have helped.  At that time I would have never even considered anti-depressants.  If I thought depression was for weaklings than anti-depressants were for soft, cowardly losers.  Somewhere in my pea-brain I felt that if I knew why I felt sad I couldn’t possibly be depressed.

Since then I’ve had other tough seasons where I’ve felt depressed.  But they were very similar to before: I knew which people and circumstances were at the root of my sadness.  And then it would pass and all would be well again.

But then something happened that changed all that…

Somewhere around the Fall/Winter of 2006 I started feeling that nagging sadness.  It felt like laziness times 10.  Sadness times 20, with hopelessness to spare.  Problem was, there was nothing to be sad about.  At least on the surface there was no “big family drama” to blame on my never ending stew fest.

At the time it seemed heightened right before the time each month when I got a visit from Aunt Flo.  I tried to control it with Midol PMS, but it became pretty clear the only thing Midol PMS helps is cramps.  A friend suggested that I may have PMDD, Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder which seemed to be a perfect match for what I was going through once a month.  Again, no one suggested anti-depressants, which I now find bizarre.  I still wouldn’t have gone that route but I was less judgmental of the idea after seeing them help some of my friends.

In January of 2007 I began training for a 1/2 marathon.  After I ran that in April, I started training for a marathon that I ran on October 21, 2007.  And what do you know?  I don’t remember feeling as depressed during that time.  But as soon as hung up my Avia’s, depression flooded back in with a vengeance.

In January of 2008 my gym started offering free tanning.  (Which I now know is absolutely dangerous).  Now looking back I realize I didn’t feel as depressed during the time period when I was getting that golden glow greatly increasing my chances of skin cancer.

With my tanning days behind me, it’s no surprise that depression came back…again.  After a year or two of debating whether or not anti-depressants were for me, I decided to give it a shot.  It was a hard choice for me then, as it is a hard choice to share publicly about going through depression.

A few things triggered this decision: a) the realization that winter comes each year & I live in a frozen tundra with very little sunlight.  If I’m not getting that daily dose of vitamin D through a tanning bed, chances are my brain is going to go berserk again.  b) While I try to stay physically active, I knew that going into the Fall 2008 semester of my Graduate program full-time with a 3 hr. daily round-trip would not lend itself nicely to my getting a good work-out thrice a week, let alone once a day! Finally, I knew I couldn’t go on like I was.

For a little over a year I was able to have an amount of peace I once thought would never again be a part of my life.  I’m so thankful I put my guard down and took the plunge.  Though I still feel ashamed and embarrassed about it sometimes I try to remember that my only weakness was waiting this long for something that could have really helped me many years ago to manage my life and emotions better.

With a bit of trepidation I stopped taking the anti-depressants for the health and safety of Rhys while I was preggo.  My Doc told me I could safely resume them once he was born, which I did.  As I’ve mentioned in past blogs since little Reeserton has been born, I’ve had a case of the baby blues.  Also, winter is coming.  The sun has moved down to Florida with all the other retiree’s and I get about 20 min. of exercise twice a week, if that.

No sun + no exercise + post-partum baby blues = miserable Mama.  Thankfully, I believe the drugs are FINALLY starting to kick in and do their magic in these last 4-5 days.

Once I feel like my jolly-old-self again it’s always so sad to reflect on all the mean, evil and negative thoughts that parade ones mind in a period of sadness.  I’m actually surprised I was able to blog about other things besides how I’ve been lurking around the house in a state of constant sadness for the past 5 weeks.  Again, I try not to beat myself up over my thoughts & behaviors during those times, but it can be incredibly shameful to want to hurt yourself or people you love, for example.

After all, would I struggle with shame if this post were sharing with all of you that I’ve secretly lived with type 1 Diabetes for these past 4 years?

I hope my sharing my struggle with this ugly illness can take some of the edge off of what so many millions of people struggle with.

With many prayers, I’ve prayed Dave will never have to come home again to see my lying on our couch with that “one look on my face,” and hear him say:

“Where does depression hurt?” 🙂