DEPRESSION DIARIES

July 30th 6:43 PM

You know that story about the two wolves? The two wolves that live inside of us. 

One is evil. Anger. Jealousy. Doubt. Sorrow. Ego. The other wolf is good. It is joy, peace, love, empathy & compassion. The question of which wolf wins, depends on which wolf you feed.

That simple story has comforted me many times.

“Feed the good wolf. Feed the good wolf. Focus on the good.”

It’s great advice that reminds us that we are in control of our thoughts, and our thoughts shape our reality. 

But can I be honest? Right now, my evil wolf is fucking staaaaarving. Starving! And I’m just flat out exhausted from ignoring him.

Ignoring him is a full time job. The part of me that wants to be angry and doubtful and insecure. The part of me who thrives off of a good old fashioned pity party. 

So, I just give up. For today. I’ll start over tomorrow.

But for today, I’m going to nourish that bitter, resentful, envious, greedy wolf. And even worse, I’m going to write about it on the internet. 

So these are what I will call, The Depression Diaries. Because who would I be if I didn’t brand my mental illnesses?

I am just so sick of pretending to be okay. This isn’t instagram. I don’t need to make it cute. 

And if me being painfully honest about how miserable I am makes you uncomfortable, I uh, I totally underst—WELL TRY BEING ME OKAY?!??!?

7:29 PM

The help button

I wish people would stop saying, “let me know if there is anything I can do to help.”

(I warned you this was going to be bad.)

I say it too, but do we actually mean it? Or do we just throw it in when someone is going through a hard time and we don’t know how to end the conversation?

The intention is great, and we probably do mean it, in the moment. But at this point, instead of a

“let me know if there is anything I can do to help” 

type of message,

I’d rather get a “hey, during this period of hardship you are experiencing, I am willing to provide one meal or one nice text checking in on u in a few weeks, lmk which one you want” type of message.

Shoot me straight, you know? Keep some healthy expectations.

The problem with “let me know if there is anything I can do to help” (besides raising my hopes to the moon) is that…

I. Am. Incapable. Of. Asking. For. Help.

When I was in the hospital after my traumatic birth experience, I was surrounded by love. It was nice, especially after such an isolating pregnancy. My closest friends showed up. My extended family took up the entire waiting room. Girls that bullied me in junior high were now posting on their instagram stories, asking for prayers on my behalf. People showed up for me. 

And in a twisted way, their worry and concern for my wellbeing brought a sweeping relief that people actually cared about me. 

Nurses with postpartum pamphlets whisked in and out of the room, every hour like clockwork. They all told me with nervous smiles that I was the “talk” of the hospital, and I took that as,

“you should totally be dead right now.” 

I just nodded and smiled right back.

I liked nurses. I even liked being in the hospital sometimes. 

I liked being able to ask for help.

Did you know they have an actual “help” button? Seriously. They have a remote with a button that you can press at any hour, day or night, and in seconds someone will be at your bed ready to meet your needs.

I still fantasize about that shit. 

But eventually, it was time to go home. The nurses sent me off with more nervous smiles and even more pamphlets about postpartum depression. 

I took that as, 

“you’re totally going to be traumatized from this.”

…I totally was.

But it took about a year for me to realize it.

I held it together for so long. I had to. I had no choice. I was suddenly financially responsible for a small family, not to mention a life flight & 6 week NICU stay *not covered by insurance. I didn’t have time to process…I had to hold it together. I had to hustle. I had to get back on my feet. 

So I did. And I was praised for it. I was celebrated for how strong I was. Applauded for “how I handled” my “situation.” 

But months later, when I finally broke…when the numbing wore off and everything finally hit me, I was alone. 

Because the cold hearted truth, is that people only give you a short window of time to be down, before they have to move on with their own lives. 

That homemade meal your neighbor promised? That “just checking in” text you can expect from at least one person? Those babies expire! Those coupons are valid for one month, post traumatic event. (Could be longer or shorter depending on the length of hospital stay, my research shows.)

It’s easier to drop cookies off than it is to come over and hold someone while they cry. It’s easier to refer a therapist or suggest a new antidepressant than it is to genuinely ask someone how they’re doing and be prepared for the response.

I get it. 

I just wish that was the stuff they would have put in my pamphlets. 

Because if I knew then, what I know now, I wouldn’t have nodded and smiled when people said, “let me know if there is anything I can do to help.”

I would have cut them off mid sentence saying, 

“I do need help. But not now. Not only when it’s bad enough to be life flighted to a different hospital. Not only when the waiting room is full. I need people in a year when it all comes crashing down on me. When I start the healing process, and it’s dark and painful. When my sweet, easy, newborn baby becomes a wild, out of control toddler. When my honeymoon period ends for my diabetes, and I have to navigate a new life with a chronic health condition. I don’t need meals, or nice texts. Actually, I don’t think I even need help at all. I just need people. I just need someone. I just need you.”

And If I knew then what I know now, I would have told myself that I am not weak for desiring support.

Like the story goes, my month expired, and for the most part, people stopped asking if there was anything they could do to help me. In a way, I was relieved. I could lower my sky high hopes and settle into reality. The reality that people, simply, have their own shit to worry about. 

But I really just wish those people who said they would be there for me, would stop calling me strong.

How would you know?

9:19 PM

Yesterdays

I love the mornings now. I didn’t before. Before, meaning, the first 22 years of my life. The night was mine. When the world was asleep, I was awake. It felt like it belonged entirely to me. It felt like I was in on a secret, during those late night hours when my creativity ran wild. But now, I find those hours from 5-7 am. I get up before the sun and I sit in the quiet and I attempt to pull myself together. 

I like it better this way. Days are hard. Nights are numb. But my mornings? Golden. 

I think part of it, is the relief I feel upon realizing that the previous day is over. A clean slate. A reset. A do over. One day closer to those “good things” that have supposedly been “coming” for 3 years now. Soon though, right?

Because when 5pm comes around, and things begin to settle…I get lost in my own head. Autopilot, on. Once the to do list has been crossed off, I am unable to motivate myself any further. I am tapped out. And the part of me that used to love unwinding after a long day with a bath, a book or real housewives…that part of me is tapped out too. So I just sit. In the nothingness. Stuck in my own head. 

Every 5 minutes, I’ll instinctually grab my phone to try and feel something. But I soon remember that I’d rather feel nothing than the self loathing that comes from a depression scroll. So I just sit. In the nothingness. 

“Just three more hours until you can justify going to bed for the night” I tell myself to pass the time. 

And then, the time passes, the three hours of nothingness ends, and I go to bed for night. 

Ahhh. More nothingness. 

No more late night talks with the moon. No more reading until 3 am. The “night” has now transitioned into a “break from reality.”

And yeah…I know how depressing that sounds. I tried to warn you!

But even still, after the painfully numb, nothing…I wake up each day. 

And I sigh in relief. 

Victorious over yesterday. 

I love yesterdays for that. 

I love how I never have to do them again. 

9:49 PM

My inner wolves are battling over how I should end this post. It’s just SO like my good wolf to want to end this on a positive note. He wants me to let you all know that I fully, whole heartedly believe I am getting better, and not to worry.

But my evil wolf wants me to drive home the fact that needing to put on a positive front to make people comfortable is what got us here in the first place.

I guess they both eat tonight.