I can't beat it, but I can't let it beat me

Upon 9 months of reflection, I have come to the reality that it is impossible to beat depression.  I used to think that I could beat it into a corner where I could hide it so no one could see, and thus give me the ability to appear to have normal functioning.  Let's just say that I've got this monkey on my back that won't go in the corners, no matter how many bananas you bribe him with.  This means that I have to learn to have him on my shoulders and I have to keep him fed so that he doesn't start hitting me in the head or biting my ears.

This new found knowledge isn't what you would call comforting, but I think that I might actually be pursuing this from the right angle for the first time ever.  I used to believe the key to survival was to throw a sheet over that that part of me and hope it stayed there long enough for me to get something done, and then deal with the "monkey" getting out in privacy where no one could see me fighting.  I no longer believe this is the correct path to peace in my life, but that is probably evident by my hospital excursion in March.  Despite the difficult times since then, and the people who look at me like I should be quarentined from the rest of humanity; I think that being open and honest with what I have is gradually making me stronger.  I think I am actually becoming more stable than I have been before this happened. 

People used to ask me how I was doing, and ever since Casey was born I have been saying "I'm doing fine".  I now realize that what I was really doing was pitching that monkey away from the cage I had put myself in.  I didn't want to admit that anything was wrong...I didn't want there to be anything wrong.  I was willing to admit to post-partum depression, but never to anything more.  So those "I'm fines" built up to a complete and total abandonment of everything I had come to know as me...in a realization that "me" was a fraud; or a misconception.  My husband knew to a degree long before I did that I was slipping and that my ability to cope was becoming seriously compromised, but I didn't listen to him.  Now, after the fact, I see how wrong I was to put the mask on and hide...it didn't protect me, it left me vulnerable from behind...which is the direction that Satan comes from.  By being open and honest about the illness that I have, I put up a shield of acceptance.  Acceptance of who I am, and I have nothing to hide and no mask to hide behind...and this protects me from all sides.  By being open and honest with myself means I am being open and honest with God about when I need His atonement the most, because I am the only one who can ask for that help.  This is putting on His whole armor, this is arming myself against Satan, and this is the ultimate protection of my soul, and who I truly am.

Deep down inside I am a mother who is never right, and never in control.  I am a wife who is constantly making mistakes.  I am a woman who tries to put her best foot forward and face the world head on. I am a daughter, a sister, and an aunt; who tries at all times to say what God would have me say.  And at the root and base of all these; I am a daughter of God.  In order to be all these I first accept and admit:  I live with an illness called depression, I live with an illness called anxiety, and I live with an illness called bipolar 2.  These are not things to overcome...these are components that make up me.  I would not be me with out them.  It is time for me to own them, it is time for me to make them welcome inside me...because I can't beat them into submission, and no pill or treatment will cure them.  By doing this I am declaring to them that though I can't beat them, I most certainly will not allow them to beat me!

What Thanksgiving means to a non-believer

The month of November comes, my daughter’s birthday comes, my shoulders tighten and the panic attacks begin, then it comes; the never ending flow of what everyone and their monkeys uncle is grateful for.  This is the moment I start living on the edge of my seat waiting for the chips to start falling; because the chips fall every year...and they always have.  I can't think of a thanksgiving where chips haven't fallen.  The last several years I have been heavily medicated so I don't have a series of constant panic attacks.  Despite my pleading, I seem to always have to throw myself into the lion’s den, only to cower in a corner shaking until someone lets me out.

I grew up and am a part of a large family...this means that Thanksgiving equals drama; the kind that comes back and jabs you over and over again when you are least expecting it.  You get led down a road towards the belief that we are family and we love each other and we can spend a day together without blood-shed...and then it happens; drama, anger, and the memory of an elephant of every wrong that family perceives to have been committed to family.  This is a yearly cycle that never ever ends.  Then the next year you have to relive the last years drama until someone unbuttons their pants and farts...then there is a whole new set of drama to hear about because someone didn't eat someone else's whatever the hell it is.  You stuff yourself to where you are throwing up so you aren't the one accused of not eating the unidentifiable substance spoken of earlier.  It's the endless tirades of how one person prepares their turkey and why it is better than the way whoever prepared the turkey you are forcing down your gullet.  It's the "I think they should have made red Jello, not green.".  And finally who left early and the endless speculation of if they were offended or if they offended the hosts.

Ohmyfreakingosh!  Where in there is the "I'm thankful, and this is a day of thanks"?  There is no "thanksgiving", only fault finding and looking for reasons to be angry one with another.  This comes after the twenty some odd days of "today I am grateful for milk", and I'm sorry it seems hypocritical to me.  It seems to me that you should be grateful for something all the year-long, not just one month out of the year.

I am not pointing fingers, I am not making accusations, and I am not trying to offend; though I already know that there are many who will take this as some kind of direct insult on everything they believe.  I assure you that the only person I am thinking of right now is ME; I know that I am being selfish, but I also know that I am the only person that cares about how I feel about Thanksgiving.  No one else does, because I end up in that lion’s den, heavily medicated, every stinking year.  You see, how dare I opt out...I would be the endless reason for gossip and drama for 5 years.  So here I am in my revolving rung of hell with my Valium.

Needless to say I don't believe in Thanksgiving and I don't celebrate it.  People can be shocked and appalled, but I don't really care.  To me the day of Thanksgiving means my husband will get triple time and that means that we will have Christmas.  My prayer every year is that he will get an 8 hour shift that day, and then I can watch Christmas movies to my heart’s content!  I understand that there are many who profess this to be their favorite holiday, and good for you.  Like Christmas and Easter, not everyone believes the same way you do and it is impolite to force your beliefs on another person.  This is not to say that I am ungrateful, I just choose to be grateful for everything I have all year long, not just in one month.  My thankful list is ongoing all year and I read it when life seems to dump on me...perspective is everything.

I am not grateful for thanksgiving, I am grateful despite thanksgiving...and I'm good with that.

I'm Losing...

This past month has taught me one thing:  I’m losing.  I’m losing people, I’m losing desire, and I’m losing the war.  What war you may ask; the war against Satan…the war I fight every day that my feet hit the floor in the morning.  I will admit that there are days that my feet don’t really hit the floor until the afternoon, but they do eventually.  I continue the fight and I won’t be deterred from my path, though I may hit a wall on occasion.

One Saturday morning I was eating a pancake for breakfast and lost a crown…given that I didn’t notice until later I’m making the assumption that I swallowed it.  No biggie I thought, as the dentist wanted to replace that crown anyway because he had glued the other one back on 3 times already.  I get to the dentist Monday morning to discover that I have a screw in my mouth…the dill-hole that did the root canal 8 years ago put a post in the tooth…never to be used, but there all the same.  The post had broken the roots of my tooth and so away I went to an oral surgeon to “dig it out”.  Three days later he did precisely that, and apologized the whole way through.  15 pieces and 3 stitches later I had a gaping hole and a pain in my head that still hasn’t gone away.  So I’m losing bits of myself.

A week or so later I went to my therapist for the last time because some dill-hole decided that he didn’t need to come to Hemet anymore…he has to work in Colton and nowhere else.  He discovered that the root of many of my problems is that I was tortured by a dentist when I was 9 years old…and we don’t get to try and solve this issue, because I’m losing my therapist.

Then my Angie texted me to say they have been given a chance at an apartment in Idaho earlier than anticipated and were going to take it and be gone before the end of November.  I had anticipated their moving at the end of the year because she had been accepted into a Master’s program at Boise State…but now she is going in a matter of weeks.  I am losing my Angie.

I have already lost my joy that I found at the beginning of this year, and I have been beat down so badly that I have lost my desire to have it back.  I feel stuck in this dark, hellish box…there is one small window to see what I used to have and occasionally the light of my children and family stream through, but otherwise it is dark and lonely.  My husband and I have a friend, more than a friend…he is the Godfather to our children.  I used to text him whenever I would get lonely or feel wretched, and now he is unable to text or call, and I miss him.  I refuse to lose this person, and I will fight to the death to keep him in our lives. 

I feel as though I am losing more and more each day, and November has come again, and I want to crawl into my bed and not come out until December is here.  But despite all this loss I still have several things worth fighting the war for…my son’s endless cuddles are at the top of that list.  The fact that my husband still loves me and thinks I’m attractive is another one…and watching my little star grow and learn reminds me of the way we should all live.

Abide With Me, Tis Eventide

Upon attending the adult session of Stake conference the other night, which is the first such gathering I have attended since coming home, I had a memory resurface of the beginning of my stay.  I have only flashes of memory of the first 2 days of my time there, so this is huge for me.

 (The Burden of a Responsible Man By James C. Christiansen)

Stake conference reiterated to me the realization of the profound misunderstanding of what it is to live with a mental illness in the church.  I believe so many are affected by it, but our culture would rather you don't speak of it...ever.  We, like so many others, fall prey to the suggestion of stigma.  I say that because there are some who know and want to care, but Satan whispers in their ear that where they may know a person, they cannot really trust one with a mental illness.

As I sat pondering this, wondering if I could change anyone's mind about it, the closing hymn was "Abide with me, Tis eventide".  I sat listening to the congregation sing I flashed back to laying in the hospital at lights out curled up in a ball shaking.  In my mind I was singing that hymn over and over again...pleading with my savior to abide with me.  As tears rolled down my cheek I remember how every night I could feel his tangible presence enfolding me so I could make it through the pain and anguish I was enduring.

 When my memory becomes slightly reliable I had been there two days already.  I remember the hymns running through my head, which is all I really had, because I had no access to the scriptures.  I came to understand that the Lord provides a great deal of our comfort through the people he places in our lives.  There I could not find the solace in my own mind and spirit because of all the noise in my head.  And truth be told I'm not sure if I have found that even now, 6 months out.

 

I am no longer allowed the luxury of true loneliness anymore...there are too many watching me, and so many rules to follow.  When all else fails my dog is my companion...he never leaves me alone, he is always where he can see or touch me.  Christ truly abides with me through the presence of those who love, those who stay, and those who watch.  My mother checks on me as much as I check on her.  I know when she checks to see if I am sleeping at nap time, and she is constantly monitoring my food intake.  You never stop being a momma, and when your baby is in difficulty, then so are you and you will always watch. 

When the noise in my head is loud and almost unbearable, I curl up with my dog, or my son, or my husband and the noise is gradually replaced with hymns, and I have learned to focus my mind and thoughts there.  And only when I do that does the noise quiet and become bearable.  Here’s to those who love and care, and may we cling to them for our very lives, because this is how God provides a tangible comfort in the midst of difficulty and depression.  This is truly how Jesus Christ can “Abide with Us”.

(The  Tree of Life By Mandie Manzano)

The Plague of Fleas

 

I have a much more uplifting blog being written, but for right now I ask your indulgence while I have a bit of a rant.  The August sauna here in our desert region of California, which is not normal for us, brought about what I will henceforth call the plague of fleas.

 

I have a dog, and if you know me, or have read anything I have written you know how much my dog means to me.  He is my companion and my best bud.  He never leaves my side and wants nothing more than to make me happy.  He is like a child to me, I even cried the first time his fur had to be cut...and before it is asked, yes I have it in a Baggie with his name on it.  And now my B has fleas, and these are not your everyday fleas, these are some type of nuclear mutation that giving them poison is something like giving Bane, bane juice.

 

I bathed and vacuumed, sprayed and washed.  I have poured all varieties of stuff all over my dog and cat and carpet.  At this point all that is left is to fumigate the house...but where do I send the residents?  I have 2 children, 2 old folks, and 2 pets...I'm fairly sure even the motel where you camp wouldn't take us.

 

I have now tried everything that was suggested to me that is feasible and in my price range; having just spent $10 on some ick called tea tree oil.  This substance is the single most deplorable smell on the face of this earth, and if I could find the idiot who discovered it then I would ring his neck.  Seriously, when you discovered it smelled that bad why didn't you just go "no, nothing here, let's move on to the next tree...maybe it will smell better than that.".

 

When God sent the plagues upon Egypt it was because Pharoh hardened his heart and wouldn't let the Israelites go free.  I am wondering why I am living with a plague of fleas...I don't have millions of Israelites building me a treasure city.  I don't have Moses standing at my door screaming "let my people go".  I don't know about anyone else, but I would have let his people go.  I would have been one of the women of Pharoh's harem going "I have lice in my hair, I have frogs in my bed, the locusts are eating the food, the flies are eating the children, and there is no water to drink...if you don't set those people free I'm gonna kill you in your sleep!". And this is how I feel now, the fleas are eating the pets and the children...I don't care what it takes, just end the plague!!

On a more positive note the wretched smelling ick is working, as long as I continue to apply it.  Of course this makes me nauseous and want to throw up, but my B is finally sleeping again, and he is playing now too.  So here's to the wretched smelling ick in our lives...may we not throw up when it has to be used.