Trouble. 
I spent last evening grumpy as hell. Cranky, irritable and just generally a pain in the hiney.
Poor hubby commented rather pitifully that it was a shame that he got to come home early last night instead if the night before. He was just trying to be a little funny, but as you can imagine, it didn’t go over that well. Poor guy.
I’m so tired of everything. I feel like as soon as I start to struggle up from being shoved into the mud, something or someone comes along and kicks me face down into it again.
I’m tired of trying to fight depression. I’m tired of trying to be happy. Sometimes I think I should just throw my hands in the air and wallow.
I read a post recently that I thought was very brave. And I am glad that he is able to look at other’s problems and realise that his don’t amount to a hill of beans. I wish I could do that. But contemplation of someone else’s life just adds guilt to my misery. There are people dying horrible deaths, there are people who have nothing, there are people who are awful people, and I, I have love and things and I try to be nice and I should be happy why can’t I be happy?
I think this is the kind of depression that some people cannot understand. This is the kind of thing that I should be able to just get over, or cheer up from. “You aren’t dying of cancer, your family loves you, cheer up, stupid!” I want to. Can you please try to understand that? I want to. I can’t. I know other people have awful lives, and I know that in the grand picture, I don’t. I’m sorry, but that doesn’t make me happy. Nothing makes me happy. I don’t like me, and I can’t forgive myself, and I don’t deserve to be happy.
A few years ago I had something happen to me. A few decades earlier and I guess it would have been called a nervous breakdown. It was very out of the blue and it hit me like a truck. I could not function. My husband had to help me bathe, eat, dress and when he went to work he took me to my parent’s house so they could make sure I didn’t kill myself. I can’t begin to imagine the pressure he was under. He tried to help me by taking me to therapists, and I wish that that had gone better. The doctor there put me on medication, which was what I needed at the time, but that was all he ever did. I would walk in for a session, he would hold up a perscription slip, and I would walk out. That was the extent of my therapy. I was too out of it to know any better, and atroxi had enough on his hands as it was.
I was out of work for almost three weeks, and when I went back I had to lie to the people I worked with. I knew I could never tell any of them anything that personal when one of them actually told me that she would not get her father’s first Prozac perscription filled because that would go on his permanment health record, and she didn’t want people to think her family was crazy. I told them that I had had the flu.
I took my meds like a good little girl, and they did help at the time. I stopped feeling anything. When you have become hypersensitive and you feel everything, not feeling anything at all is a very good thing. It’s rest. It’s peace. It’s like being dead. And death was what I craved. I got it without having to have the whole funeral thing.
But then, weeks or months later, the doctor told me as he handed me my next perscription slip that I would have to be on that medication for the rest of my life. And something inside me broke. And I walked out of there and never took another one of his pills.
I started feeling again, and it was a slow process, but it happened. And for awhile, things were better than before. I was fragile but somehow stronger. I felt like I knew myself better.
And then it all very very very slowly seeped away. And sadness crept back in. And worthlessness and hopelessness and self-hatred.
And this is where I am at at the moment. I am functioning, I don’t need help to dress or bathe and I can still take care of the house and the dogs and I mostly don’t crave death. I can smile and laugh and love.
But no joy.
In the back of my head and heart are the things undone, the faults, the loathing.
And I can’t make it go away. I would if I could. For myself, for my husband, for life.
I know I need to get help. I know that. But I also know that I am afraid. I’m afraid of being handed medication and being told to go away and cheer up. I’m afraid of waking sleeping demons. And I may even be a little afraid of joy.
I do not know where to go from here.
October 9th, 2006 at 10:10 pm
Dear, dear, dear girl.
I understand. I know that you want to feel happy but can’t.
I hate — really, really, really hate — the “take 2 pills and call me next month” attitude that pervades the pyschiatric world.
Yes, meds can help “even us out.” But that’s only the first step. You need counseling. You need to get to the root of the depression in order to discover where it comes from.
Prozac wasn’t the right med for you (I have a friend who had the same response — turned him into a walking zombie with no emotions). There are plenty of other choices.
Don’t be afraid to face the darkness. It’s the only way to the light.
My husband has been through it with meds for depression and anxiety both. We went through very dark times as he tried out different meds (with some awful results!). If it weren’t for our faith in Jesus Christ and His healing touch, I don’t know where we would be today.
You already know that happiness cannot be found in a pill. You have admitted that you are afraid.
You are way further along than you may realize, my friend.
There is a God who loves you and cares about your every struggle. And there is a path to happiness that you won’t find in a pill, or in the hands of an insensitive doctor who isn’t truly looking at you.
Inside your heart is a broken little girl who longs to become whole again. She can become just that.
Let me know how I can encourage you.
October 11th, 2006 at 10:03 am
Thank you very very much Jillian.
Your comment is very encouraging and so is your blog. I love to read about your writing and your happy family. None of you pretend to be perfect. You yourself are empathetic, which is an under-rated quality.
Thanks for taking out the time to say you care.
October 13th, 2006 at 4:17 am
Dear Mrs A. I had no idea you were feeling so bad. I know it does not help, but my son was off work for 3 months with something simmilar to your breakdown. He told me he knew exactly the spot where he was going to crash the car to end it all. Thankfully this was many years ago. He seems ok now, but still get a ‘downer’ as he calls it. But never as bad as the first itme. He was told he would have to be on tablets for the rest of his life, but hasn’t taken any for a long time and won’t go near a doctor.
I think it could have something to do with his very bad eating habits. He is not eating a balnced diet.
Does this make any sense to you? Are you eating properly? I find many young people don’t seem to eat the right food.
I know this won’t help you, but I’m thinking of you and I’m here to listen to anything you want to share.
Mags
October 15th, 2006 at 12:06 pm
Dearest Friend Mrs. A,
Jillian is so right when she says you are farther along than you think.Knowing you have a problem and need help is a huge step. Depression is a mean animal. I deal with it every day myself. Something you may not have known. I also deal with it in hubby. He goes the pill route, and counseling combined. He is better, much better than he was, was it is still a daily battle. I went the pill way, but did very much the same thing as you. I got tired of feeling dead and sleeping for 14 hours and feeling tired. So, I quit. That’s when I discovered that Paxil is made by Satan. I know there are other medications that work better, but I am trying to face life without them. I also need to find a counselor to work with. Hubby keeps telling me so, and I know I must.
Please, please, please get together with me and maybe we can go shrink shopping together.
Know that I am here for you. You and Atroxi mean the world to me, and let me help you, and maybe in the process, I can help myself. Whaddaya say?
Blanche
October 16th, 2006 at 9:11 am
It’s so nice to have such caring ladies around me!
Margaret, it does help. Knowing you took a few minutes to say something supportive, does help. I empathize with your son, and I know that having your children in pain can be worse than your own. I am glad that he is doing better these days. And you are right, us younger folks don’t eat like we should sometimes. It’s harder to eat well than to eat wrong, which is just a sad thing. I do try to eat right, but sometimes I fall off the wagon. Something I need to work on!
Thanks so much for the support.
Blanch, I can understand. I really can. I remember when you were having the terrible days with Paxil. I was angry for you. Does that make sense? I was speaking with another dear friend this weekend, and it sounds to me that if you don’t want to go the medication route, (which I do not) a therapist would be the way to go, since they cannot prescribe. There is a referral website that I am going to look for. Thank you for your concern and love and thoughts, and I would be happy to help you help me help you. I will be in touch.
October 25th, 2006 at 2:37 pm
[...] I also know that after my troubled post, I just posted a few silly things. [...]