Over time, I’ve learned to endure the onslaught of self-loathing and emptiness that comes with a depressive episode. I’ve learned to brace myself against the waves of fear and sadness as they batter my spirit over and over again. 

I’m glad to be in calmer waters now.

And I’m learning to ride the waves, to keep my head (mostly) above water. You see, I’m not fully healed. I’m still hurting, but I’m healthier and more optimistic than I once was. I’ve found the light at the end of the tunnel, and I want to let you know that YOU HAVE IT INSIDE OF YOU TO BEAT THIS.

Happiness is worth fighting for.

Hope for a better quality of life is worth fighting for.

 

*Preach*

But to get better, you’re going to need your strength. Recovering and healing from depression is an ongoing process. Depression tests the endurance of the human spirit. You learn to accept the good days and the bad. When I look back to where I was two years ago, I can see how far I’ve come.

What does a “good day” look like?

For me, a good day is being able to sit back, write and listen to music. A GREAT day is one free of worry, with no pressing deadlines or overdue library books looming over my head. Coming out of a major depression, I’m learning to enjoy life’s simple pleasures again.

It might seem like a small victory, but being able to identify a good day vs. a bad day can be a big step toward healing. Once we begin recognizing the symptoms of our mental health, we can start developing strategies to balance our emotions and thoughts.

From there, we can develop healthier habits…which eventually leads to this wonderful conclusion:

“Yay! This crappy feeling isn’t going to last forever!”

But getting to that magical moment takes a LOT of work.

For me, communication is key to managing my mental health. If I’m not talking openly with friends and family, there’s less of a chance I’ll get the help or support I need. The more I talk, the less likely I am to suppress negative emotions or obsess over things I can’t control. My friends and family keep me anchored to the most important things in life. They keep me focused on being my best self, each and every day.

Buuuuut sometimes my best self is a hot mess (and that’s okay).

In addition to panic attacks (which seriously suck), I experience depressive episodes of varying degrees. For most of my life, I didn’t understand what was “wrong” with me. I brushed my malaise aside as a shortcoming I needed to curtail. I thought it was a weakness of character, some sort of dark, self-obsessed neuroticism. I was raised to be a strong woman, so even during the darkest days I would straighten my spine and face the world head on.

“Pull yourself up by the bootstraps, wipe your tears and move the f*ck on,” I kept telling myself. Back then I thought my problems were mine to bear, no one else’s.

But that’s just not true!

What I’ve learned on this journey of healing is that pain and suffering is inherited from generation to generation. We aren’t the only ones who need to heal. Most of our family members could use a little extra love and kindness. When you boil it down to psychology and statistics, we’re all a little bit broken.

The “tough it out” method got me through the short term, but I was never generous enough with myself to find balance. I treated my wounds with scathing self-criticism and blindly pushed myself to move onward and upward, no matter what the cost to my health. When my father died, everything changed. I finally began exploring all of the pain I had been feeling for the past 20 years…but that’s a story for another time.

(Don’t listen to Snarky Wonka. He’s an asshole.)

Seriously, tho…therapy helps.

Talking to a stranger about your deepest emotional issues can be, well…uncomfortable, but therapy has helped me reach a greater level of self-awareness in respect to my illness. I’ve even learned a few “Jedi mind tricks” that have helped me overcome cognitive distortions.

NOTE: Please keep in mind that it may take time to find a therapist who makes you feel comfortable. If you have the luxury to shop around for a mental health provider, take the time to research your options, possibly meeting with more than one therapist until you find the right fit.

In addition to therapy, medication has helped me achieve a more balanced life.

Do meds make you feel like a zombie?

To be honest, I was extremely reluctant about taking medicine for my depression. I witnessed classmates abuse pharmaceuticals like Xanax during college, and I was concerned about feeling drugged or dulled down, especially at work or in the bedroom. It took a while to find the right solution, but no, I don’t feel like a zombie. 

When I finally breached the topic of depression during a visit with my primary care provider (PCP) last year, our conversation went something like this.

***

ME: I’m feeling tired all of the time, and my body aches.

PCP: There’s really no reason a healthy young woman should feel that way, so we’ll take a blood sample to make sure everything is okay. Otherwise, how healthy would you say your lifestyle is?

ME: I don’t have energy to do very much, so my exercise and eating habits aren’t that great. I’ve actually been feeling stressed and depressed lately.

(After brief discussion)

PCP: Have you considered medication?

ME: (With tears in my eyes) I don’t want to rely on a pill to be happy.

PCP: Millions of people take depression medicine every day.

ME: (Tearful silence)

PCP: Here’s what I would suggest, we’ll start you on (depression meds) and schedule a follow-up in six weeks so you can tell me how the medicine is working. You can also reach out to me between now and then with any questions or needs you may have. I can also recommend a therapist. Would that work for you?

ME: Yes, that sounds good.

***

It took an enormous amount of strength to discuss my depression with a doctor, but I found just enough support among my family and friends to take that crucial first step toward treatment. Since then I’ve spoken with doctors and therapists who have given me fresh perspective on my health. (Good news! Overall, I’m pretty well-adjusted.)

But I wouldn’t have had the courage to get treatment if I hadn’t spoken up about my condition. (That’s why reaching out is so important.)

Being well-adjusted doesn’t always diminish the effects of PTSD, social anxiety or depression. Sometimes it takes a conscious effort to make it through the dark days. For me, staying strong for my family is the greatest reason to keep fighting, but I also realize my condition is medical. Removing guilt from the situation enables me to take the time I need to heal. As an introvert, this means a lot of quiet time. For any extroverts out there, it may mean spending more time with people.

Guidelines for Coping Strategies

1. Don’t talk down to yourself. Avoid self-pity.
2. Maintain friendships.
3. Focus on what you can control.
4. Go outside.
5. Seek counseling.
6. Do what you can, when you can.
7. Keep doing the things you love.
8. Work to understand your illness so you can speak confidently about it.
9. Don’t overdo it. (Don’t spend too many spoons!)
10. Get the rest you need.
11. Find a support group.
12. Allow yourself time to grieve, reflect and feel.
13. Set priorities.
14. Learn to adapt.

Source

Happy healing, everyone!

 

Like Tough Cookies on Facebook for daily inspiration!

 

 

Thanks to everyone for reading so far!

1. Reach Out. Seek Hope.

2. Stop Blaming Yourself

3. (a) Exercise Your Sense of Humor

Coping with Depression, Part 3 (b) Embrace Your Individuality

Did you ever make paper snowflakes in elementary school? It’s very easy. You fold a piece of paper into fourths and cut out patterns along the edges. Open it up and voila! It’s a snowflake. I loved this activity as a kid because it sparked my sense of wonder. (I still get a bit giddy when I consider the innumerable possibilities of the natural world.) Here’s a fun science tidbit for you. 

It is unlikely that any two snowflakes are alike due to the estimated 10¹⁹ (10 quintillion) water molecules which make up a typical snowflake, which grow at different rates and in different patterns depending on the changing temperature and humidity within the atmosphere that the snowflake falls through on its way to the ground.  ^{Wikipedia.Org}

I was fortunate enough to live in a household that empowered individuality as a triumph, (which is why I turned out a bit rebellious, I suppose) but I was also required to hide painful truths about my home life. I thought freedom would bring an end to the pain, but the memory and trauma of a lifetime of abuse became an emotional stumbling block in my early 20’s. During my sophomore year of college, I grew bitter and disenchanted with life.

“You are not special. You are not a beautiful or unique snowflake. You’re the same decaying organic matter as everything else.”

Fight Club by Chuck Palahniuk

We live in a world that mocks and scolds our generation for being too “entitled.” (*yawn* I’m so over this accusation.) There’s even an urban dictionary page dedicated to “special little snowflake syndrome.” But embracing who you are, discovering your true authentic self, is the first step to changing the world (for the better) in the ways only you can. So shake off those haters and follow your heart with SWAGGER.

From our DNA to our fingerprints, we are each one-of-a-kind. Human identity is an ongoing experience. You are not definitive in this moment, in this now. You can choose what happens next. We are the creators of our mentality.  with our thoughts and with our actions–and, I think, even with our prayers–we determine which way the world turns.

In this moment, plants are growing, the world is turning; and we are breathing. It feels good, doesn’t it? To just sit and breath. It’s so rare. The opportunity to take a conscious breath, to relax the shoulders and focus on something you love, letting go of worries and letting your insecurities melt away.

We have the opportunity to use our time and resources to better ourselves. Each of us has the opportunity to develop skills, to pursue knowledge, to cultivate communities, to enjoy hobbies–to fall in love and start families. Expressions of individuality vary for each person.

As the great Neil Gaiman says,

“The one thing you have that nobody else has is you.

Your voice, your mind, your story…your vision.

…So live as only you can.

The moment you feel that–just possibly, you’re walking down the street naked, exposing too much of yourself of your heart and your mind, of what exists on the inside, of showing too much of yourself, that’s the moment you may be starting to getting it right.”

One of the major symptoms of depression is losing interest in hobbies, relationships and activities. Stress and feelings of worthlessness can impact energy levels and focus; and you may feel too distracted or sad to pursue the activities you love.

So this post isn’t just about embracing who you are, it’s about fighting your illness to continue doing the things you love. If you’re into the accordion, and it makes you feel like a rockstar, play your heart out. Whether you love video games, or music, or travel, or art, or mechanics, or astronomy, or books(!), or fashion — keep exploring what makes you unmistakably you.

Do what you can when you can.

Live only as you can.

They say time heals all wounds, but I believe that saying is only half the truth. For me, finding a source of joy, against all odds, has meant being able to communicate my thoughts and feelings to those closest to me. Over a decade of depression, One of my greatest challenges has been asking for help, while also being there for others. At the very least, I try to keep the conversation flowing and the jokes rolling. That’s because laughter, in my opinion, is part of the healing process. On the dark days, you will have to look for the joy or the humor in life, but do your best to chase down a good laugh at least once a day.

It was comedians like Larry David and Woody Allen who first helped me view my neurotic personality as hilarity in the making. As I grew to love the anxious humor of “Curb Your Enthusiasm” and “Annie Hall,” I began to see how a nerve-wrecked girl from nowhere could be lovable and honest at the same time.

“Arrgggh! The dastardly stop-and-chat!”

 

 

But once I entered the real world (AKA Life After College) my easy going sense of humor shriveled into a malnourished snark. In fact, once in 2011, I thought I lost my sense of humor entirely, but it turned out that I had only misplaced it for a while.

The problem was easily solvable.

( I started watching more cat videos on YouTube.)

On a Serious Note

Having someone who can make you smile is a miracle. Treasure the people who make you feel confident, happy and empowered. What I’ve found, after many years, is that communicating through depression is a little like talking through a sandstorm: a lot gets lost in the fray. Luckily, I’m married to a man with a great sense of humor and a good bit of patience.

Together, we found a way to talk about my depression that didn’t make me feel weak or alienated.

It all started with “The Spoon Theory” by Christine Miserandino. Going back to the somatic symptoms of depression, chronic depression can also mean chronic pain. Some days, opening your eyes can be a struggle. Activities like sweeping, cooking, and (unfortunately) even lovemaking quickly become totally out of the question.

Why?

According to the Spoon Theory, people with chronic illnesses have limited amounts of energy to expend on everyday activities. Some days you go overboard, using too many spoons (which can cause further illness). Other days are easier and allow for more energy to spend on chores, socializing and relaxing.

How We Use the Spoon Theory

During the worst days of my depression, a bad day could knock me out for an hour, an evening or a couple of days. I was feeling incredibly guilty at that point (perpetually exhausted and stressed, I felt like a terrible wife), and communicating my symptoms and triggers had become  an overwhelming, guilt-ridden task. One day, I sent Mr. C a link to “The Spoon Theory” to describe how I had been feeling for the past few months.

It was such an amazing breakthrough for us. It wasn’t laugh-out-loud humor, but it was just what we needed to lighten up.  On bad days, I would text him and let him know that I was “running out of spoons.” He began to understand that even though I didn’t look sick, my health was in decline. It wasn’t always easy–I was constantly fatigued, withdrawn and anxiety-ridden, but that’s why we both use the Spoon Theory.If my husband has a bad day and doesn’t feel well, all he has to do is let me know his spoons are running low, and I do my best to pick up the slack with housework, and (at the very least) make him laugh.

Laugh Through the Tears

Battling depression is an emotional journey, and there are bound to be tears, but the gut-wrenching process will go by so much easier if you make laughter a priority. I can’t help you find your sense of humor, but I can let you in on some insider knowledge. In drama, when something unexpected occurs, audience members do one of two things: 1) they gasp or 2) they laugh. These two emotional reactions have born the fruits of tragic and comic storytelling across the ages. Like the great Joan Didion says…

“We tell ourselves stories in order to live.”

Without a balanced perspective, it can be difficult to understand life’s story. The good news is that you don’t have to understand it right now. Just take it one day at a time and laugh as freely as possible.

 

Make someone’s day by depositing a hilarious video in the comment box below:

vvvvv

 

In my day-to-day life, experiencing such a deep level of sadness with “no apparent reason to be sad” often creates a bizarre and frustrating monologue. When I’m feeling tired, upset or stressed, I begin blaming myself for my symptoms. “If only I were stronger, or more in shape, or less busy – maybe then I would have a better handle on things.” And then the whole cycle of self-loathing begins.

If you know what I’m talking about, repeat after me:

“Depression is an illness, not a shortcoming.”

When I first visited a therapist in college, and she told me I was experiencing depression, I remember feeling genuinely shocked at the “D” word.

No, no, no. That isn’t me. I’m the happy girl, the one with a sunny disposition. This weepy, emotional tortured soul, she isn’t me!

I rejected the notion of having a mental illness, opting instead to reinvent myself as someone stronger, bolder and wiser — someone who could wrestle happiness to the ground with an iron will. (It didn’t really work out that way…)

 

I graduated from the University of Arkansas in 2008 at the height of the recession. I returned to the U.S. from studying abroad with no prospects for employment, saddled with debt and resentment for “the system.” I embraced the persona of a starving artist and lived on croissants, lattes and books. One of those books was “Fierce Invalids Home from Hot Climates” by Tom Robbins. I’ll never forget the Aha! moment I had while reading this passage:

 

“…depression can become a habit, which, in turn, can produce a neurological imprint. Are you with me? Gradually, our brain chemistry becomes conditioned to react to negative stimuli in a particular, predictable way. One thing’ll go wrong and it’ll automatically switch on its blender and mix us that black cocktail, the ol’ doomsday daiquiri, and before we know it, we’re soused to the gills from the inside out. Once depression has become electrochemically integrated, it can be extremely difficult to philosophically or psychologically override it; by then it’s playing by physical rules, a whole different ball game. “

Fierce Invalids Home From Hot Climates, 2000 by Tom Robbins

Emotional, physical and psychological health are not only intertwined–they’re inseparable; yet most people (including those suffering from depression) don’t take into account the physical symptoms caused by the condition. It wasn’t until I accepted my depression as an illness that I was able to give myself permission to rest and heal. The best advice I’ve gotten for coping with physical symptoms of depression is “do as much as you can when you can.” Don’t beat yourself up for needing to rest or cry.

Here’s a quick video on the science of depression, proving that we are much more than sad weirdos who need attitude adjustments.

Physical Symptoms of Depression:

• Digestive problems
• Headaches
• Trouble sleeping
• Back and muscle aches
• Exhaustion and fatigue
• Appetite and weight changes

Psychological Symptoms of Depression

• Anxiety, agitation or restlessness
• Slowed thinking, speaking or body movements
• Feelings of worthlessness or guilt, fixating on past failures or blaming yourself for things that aren’t your responsibility
• Trouble thinking, concentrating, making decisions and remembering things
• Frequent or recurrent thoughts of death, suicidal thoughts, suicide attempts or suicide
• Feelings of sadness, tearfulness, emptiness or hopelessness
• Angry outbursts, irritability or frustration, even over small matters
• Loss of interest or pleasure in most or all normal activities, such as sex, hobbies or sports

(Mayo Clinic)

Let’s keep the conversation going.

You might be thinking “Yeesh, depressed people are falling apart at the seams!”

And those of us who have been depressed are thinking, “Yep, it’s pretty rough.”

But let’s not leave it at that.

Because mental health is such an intimate topic, it can difficult to talk about. We often let emotional conversations fall through the cracks–with our families and our friends, even with ourselves. Sometimes, unraveling a problem is hard. It can take many years, experiences and relationships to heal; but having the courage to take that adventure is what counts.

If you are interested in spreading comfort and understanding this holiday season, share this message with your friends and followers.

 

Read Part 1 of this series here.

Part 1. Reach out. Seek hope.

 

When we were children, we were told, “If you get lost, stay where you are. Someone will find you.”

I was very young when I first felt the fear of being lost. I was too small to see over the produce shelves at the local grocery store, but looking up, I could see a bunch of purple grapes cresting over the shelf. I stood on my toes and groped until my fingers closed over a plump grape. After separating the fruit from its stem and popping it into my mouth, I remember feeling immensely satisfied. Success was mine! You can imagine how shocking it was to return from my adventure of grape-snatching to find that my mother had vanished.

I stood alone in the aisle, confused, shocked, terrified – my mind racing with panic, “Where had she gone? Why had she left me behind?”

And then, she appeared from around a corner, ready with a consoling word; and everything about the scenario became a memory. I grew up. I became an adult.

But that lightning strike of panic, the terror and mind-numbing dullness of feeling completely and utterly alone. I have felt it again and again. Call it post traumatic stress or anxiety disorder. But physically, it’s a lightning strike, the gun shot at the beginning of the race – the call to arms and action.

Translation: It’s being nervous as hell – all the time.

Depression is something different all together, and I think it probably varies with each person (it’s a personalized sort of hell). In my world, depressive episodes are lived like detached nightmares of impending doom, where my  memories haunt and mock  me, and I gradually begin to believe that I am entirely alone and completely worthless.

This is what it feels like to be meaningless. It’s standing on a dark shore before an oily black, alien sea. It is night here, and there is no moonlight. There is no moon here. There are no stars.

There is nothing to do but wait, to rest my toes in the still dark waters, to press my heels into the black sands. I know it is possible to go mad here, waiting for the sun to rise. I have wandered far in the desolation of these dunes. There have been times when I’ve fallen down, wearied and exhausted, but the sun has always risen, no matter how briefly, to give me hope. — July 24, 2013

I always find  it incredibly hard to make sense of the world during a depressive episode. Everything I do seems to be a failure in the making, each day an omen of ultimate doom. I hate to be so melodramatic about it, but it’s some dark stuff. It’s a mind-bending, heartbreaking illness; and it takes a village to heal someone who hurts this deeply.

People will give you a lot of well-meaning advice, like “Maybe you should get out more.” (Which always increases my inner snark by about 1,000%.) And there’s the all-too-common accusation of “feeling sorry for oneself” or “having a pity party.”

Your instinct may be to push people away, and there are times you may feel like your burden is so heavy that everyone you love will be weighed down if you ask for help. But here’s what I’ve learned…(get ready for a good advice nugget)…there is someone out there with the knowledge and compassion to help you begin the healing process.

With all the strength you have, be brave, love harder and talk with people you trust about your options. I waited 15 years to talk to my doctor about medicine. I didn’t understand what was “wrong” with me. Ashamed, confused and frustrated, I allowed my depression to reach its 3^rd stage before I began the journey of medicinal healing (which has had its own ups and downs…but that’s another story…)

There are a lot of stigmas surrounding mental illness, which means that oftentimes, we are asked (explicitly or implicitly) to suffer in silence, to carry our burden alone. Last year, I experienced a significant breakdown; which I successfully hid from most of my friends and family. I was embarrassed and angry with myself for a weakness I couldn’t overcome, and I began contemplating suicide.

I reached out to those closest to me, and that, for me, was where the healing began. When I began exploring my “weakness” as an illness, I was disheartened by the lack of support I felt, but when my brother called me to tell me that he too had been dealing with depression, I felt as though a window had opened in my mind. He gave me the courage to continue seeking treatment, and now, almost a year later, I want to share what I’ve learned with anyone who will listen.

Early Warning Signs and Symptoms

Having a combination of symptoms (not just one symptom) indicates that someone might be showing signs of a mental health condition. Be aware of these symptoms when they last longer than a few weeks:

	Problems with concentration, memory, or ability to think clearly
	Changes in eating such as loss of appetite or overeating
	Not being able to complete school or work tasks
	Feeling overly worried
	Feeling sad, empty, hopeless, or worthless

http://www.mentalhealthamerica.net/b4stage4-get-informed

I believe if we spread awareness about the reality of depression, the more commonly accepted mental illness will become. This gives the younger generations a greater chance to have their symptoms treated before they reach a critical point, and it gives all of us a greater chance to heal.