But I promised I’d be honest.
These are some of the things I’ve been thinking in the last few weeks.
It will get better when school is out.
It will get better when baseball is over.
It will get better when I’ve caught up on sleep.
It’s not better.
Yes, I haven’t been questioning the value of my existence, and that’s a huge step. Not one to take lightly and I truly am grateful for that.
But things still feel forced and are life draining.
I’ll have one day where I get up, get dressed, have a plan and fulfill it, checking items off my list like the productive, organized individual I used to be.
But then the next day I am completely spent. I sit in my chair and read. I don’t bother to make a list. I take a two hour nap. I dread appointments because then I’ll have to socialize. I order pizza for dinner and play mindless games on my iPad.
The other night I was so tired of broken sleep with disturbing dreams I took some Restoril and slept really well. The next day, even though I was clouded until 10, I actually had energy and weeded and planted and sprayed and watered.
The next day that energy vanished.
This past Wednesday was the worst, and it prompted me to try and schedule an earlier appointment with my doc.
The separation of children from their families was something I knew would tear me apart, but then there was an article in the Detroit Free Press that told of two centers that were receiving kids and were extremely low on supplies and caregivers for these children–some still in diapers.
I researched and donated and flooded my Twitter and Facebook feeds with articles and statistics, but it didn’t alleviate the anger and helplessness I felt. And that led to feelings of hopelessness.
By that evening, we were driving to my son’s last baseball game and I had an overwhelming desire to replace the emotional pain with physical pain. I wanted to cut myself. Feel the blade. See the blood. Focus on something outside to avoid my inside. The urge, fortunately, passed.
So here I am. Weeks into a drug regimen that should have reached its peak efficacy by now, and I fear I’m going to have to start all over again. I compare it to drug roulette. Maybe this one works, maybe it doesn’t. Maybe the side effects will be tolerable, maybe they’ll be horrific.
And my greatest fear is that when all the drugs have been tried and nothing helps, what next?
I’m willing to try, but I guess this is one of the reasons depression is so hard for others to tolerate. Because it doesn’t just go away magically. There is no perfect cure that works for everyone. Something may work and then not work.
Depression is an incurable, chronic illness. Remission can be achieved, but there’s no guarantee how long it might last.
And when it does come back, it might be mild or severe. It might vary day to day. It might expose itself as rage, fatigue, restlessness, overeating, undereating, sleeping a lot, insomnia.
I get it–having a friend or family member with depression is exhausting and frustrating.
We’re exhausted and frustrated too.
Just please try and be patient. It’s a lot to ask, but we want to be normal as much as you want us to.
I want to be me again.