I often like to picture myself in the ocean. Any ocean will do, but ideally, it's warm and the sun is shining on me as I float on my back in the serene water. It's my safe place. It's the "happy place" people tell me to go to whenever I feel stressed. It's also the best way I can describe my depression and anxiety to someone. While the ocean is a holy place for me, it's also a metaphor for my demons.
Imagine floating along the current. The sun is out, the water is the perfect temp, and life is good. Suddenly, the clouds turn gray and begin to hover over. You hear thunder in the distance. You try to open your eyes, but waves appear out of nowhere. You struggle to orient yourself with where you are, but can't seem to find the shore. What once was an outline of sand and coast is now a distant memory. You can't seem to get your balance, catch your breath, or get your footing. Everything hurts. Your lungs hurt from trying to yell and breathe. Your arms hurt from trying to fight the weight of the depth. Slowly, ever so slowly, you just feel like giving up. You just want the water to slide over you and sink beneath, because maybe...just maybe, you'll find some peace.
The darkness. That's the depression. And just like the ocean, it comes and goes, ebbs and flows fighting the tide. Some days are floating, sunshine, and happiness, but some days are dark, cold, and lonely.
But if the sinking represents the depression, the constant waves represent anxiety. Trying to swim and catch your breath, but the waves keep coming up. Over and over and over. That's how my thoughts are. They can't be turned off. Every time you come up for air and feel like you can breathe, the wave builds up and crashes over you, sending you under with salt and water in your nose. You sometimes feel like all the water is filling your lungs. They keep on coming, they keep on building, they're relentless.
Anxiety is like trying to enjoy a sunny day at the beach but being constantly worried or transfixed on every single thing that could go wrong. Did I pack enough sunscreen? Are those waves too high for that kid that I don't know? Did that person glance at me weirdly - do I have something wrong or misplaced on me? Am I going to have enough time to do the thing I need to do next week? All the sudden, in the middle of what should be a glorious day, your heart hurts so much and your brain hurts so much, you just sit there. You just sit in the middle of beauty feeling empty and overwhelmed. That's when you head to the ocean to either sink or swim. Find one of the two above mentioned options.
What I've learned about depression and anxiety is that it's different for everyone. My feelings and how I deal with it are completely different from how another person deals with it. For a long time, I just refused to deal with it. It's only been in the past few years that I've really been able to verbalize and understand it. And as a great life mentor told me, sometimes you just have to own it.
I've had anxiety for the better part of 14 years. I remember the day my doctor mentioned the idea of having anxiety and depression. I balked at the thought (I was 17 at the time). Sure, high school was tough...sure, I was terrified of all these changes, but depression? Anxiety? No. That wasn't it. About a year later when the same feeling persisted and another doctor mentioned it, I finally agreed to talk about it. I suppose that was the start of all of this. But, on reflection, it probably went back much further than that. Back then, I felt like the stigma of mental health was one where you swept it under the rug. I didn't know anyone with anxiety, and I certainly never heard anyone talking about feeling anxious and definitely not depressed. I think that's why I was so sure that my doctor was ridiculous to suggest that anything like that was wrong with me. I couldn't be grouped in that category that was never discussed...almost taboo...
For a long time, I tried to hide all of this. In my 20's, I was still understanding what was going on in my mind. I felt like to be a "good" student in college, a "good" friend, etc, I had to fit this certain image. I would go on medication, start feeling better and then stop. Go to therapy, start feeling better...stop. Obviously, all this starting and stopping didn't ever end well. But, other than my closest friends, I never talked about it. I chalked it up to being moody and being in the depths of college and then starting my teaching career.
Here are the tricky parts of my mental illness and me:
1. I want to be this "normal" person who doesn't have this label attached to me. Hence, wearing the masks.
2. Some days, some periods of times, I feel great (which is fantastic), but right when that happens, I think...I don't need anything. I don't need meds, therapy, appointments. My mind is a tricky thing. My actions never result in positive outcomes.
3. Sometimes it's so incredibly hard to verbalize how I'm feeling, I just don't share it. Holding it in is worse than just trying to talk about...which leads to...
4. For the longest time, I didn't want to burden my friends/family with my problems or feelings, so I just didn't talk about it. It took several friends (and several years) saying, "YOU DON'T BURDEN US" for me to break down the barriers and let them in.
I'm still struggling. I think I'll always struggle. Do I have faith and hope that one day this will be better controlled? Yes. But I also think that it's going to take awhile for me to figure it out. Like I said, it took a long time for me to even want to talk about this with my friends and family.
Things that help:
1. DOCTORS - this has been a HUGE struggle of mine. Because I've moved to several cities over the past few years, finding doctors have sometimes been a headache. Finding one that fits is hard. Going through the initial talk and discussion about everything is frustrating sometimes, but it's so important to get this kind of help.
2. SUPPORT - my goodness...in the depths of my depression, the thought of my friends and family pull me out. Their love and faith and support is unreal. Pep talks, texts, phone calls, letters...they never, ever let me down. I sometimes feel guilty and think that I'm too much - they're the ones waiting by the phone when I don't answer for 24 hours and they know I'm in a hole. They're the ones who have to give me constant advice and love. I think about the burden of it all. But I'm realizing it's not a burden. It's what they're there for. I love them more than I could ever say - they have literally saved my life.
3. THERAPY - this goes along the lines of doctors. It's hard to find the right one. When you do, it's wonderful. This is a struggle of mine to continue therapy, but it's a valuable tool. I've been in and out of therapy for the past decade.
4. JOURNALING - this has helped me tremendously. I write and write and think and jot down thoughts and ideas and poems, etc.
Regardless of what helps me, it might not help everyone. I'm still not quite sure what triggers my emotions. I struggled to write this. It stayed in my draft box for over a week. I asked several friends whether or not I should publish something that was so incredibly personal. But owning this is my way of freeing myself from this struggle. The stigma of mental illness is one that I see so much. I think it's gotten better over the past several years, but people (myself included) don't like talking about it. I spent years holding it in, being scared to admit what was wrong with me, scared of people thinking I was different because of it. But they don't. It's just like having any other illness. You've got to take care of it and take care of yourself. That's the bottom line. It's okay. It's okay. It's okay. You are loved, loved, loved. And it will get better.
