What is it like for me to experience depression? It is an interesting change from "normal," and multifaceted. The most notable change for me, and the most incessant, isn't something that I had thought of as a symptom of depression at all. It is a slowness of brain--as though the simple tasks of daily life become as difficult to sort through as a (insert name of a difficult, over my head) math problem, and require as much focus and time. Where I would normally shift seamlessly from laundry to cleaning to food prep to errands to email, etc., calculating unconsciously what needed doing next, and what little tasks to fit in along the way (bring the can of beans upstairs with the load of laundry, and double check on library books between trips to the car), instead I get "hung" and feel like I wander aimlessly, my mind working but never coming together. I do things like pack the car for St. Louis and forget the overnight bag full of clothes, struggle hopelessly between decisions about minor (and major) things, and feel overwhelmed simply by walking into an untidy room. It is like my brain is a computer and the RAM is maxed and has resorted to the page file and is therefore taking 1000 times longer than normal. It is frustrating and embarrassing, and I have no idea what to do about it. If the mental malady were translated into a physical one, I would say I go at about the same pace as a person with a broken arm and leg, trying to navigate without the use of either.
Another issue which I didn't know to ascribe to depression, and has brought a lot of sorrow is my incredible irritability/shortness of temper. Sometimes I feel like I am possessed by a demon, and can well understand how people might interpret mental illness in those terms. I feel in a moment like I am (with effort) keeping my emotions and stress in check, and the next moment I am screaming and slamming doors and shouting at my poor children the worst possible interpretation of whatever circumstance has just laid itself before me. It is unnerving and horrible to be that person. One part of me collapses in shame as the door closes behind me and another is still fuming with anger. I want to run back and apologize, but know I am as likely to spew more poison in that moment as to offer a healing balm. I do a lot of apologizing when I am back in control of myself, and my children are miraculously patient. Their feelings are hurt, but their love is deep. Carol frequently reminds me that I need love and I can always get more from her, because she has plenty and it will never run out. Ethan apologizes himself for whatever part he had in setting me off (I remind him my feelings are my responsibility and he is guiltless for my outburst.) Dorothea needs constant reassurances that I love her, in time and attention. Tonight after scripture time, I tried to explain something about being sick in my heart and in my brain, and how hard it is for me lately because something is wrong inside me, and not because of them. They prayed for my brain to get better.
Another symptom that I didn't know was associated with depression is my emotional aversion to things that are a normal, necessary part of life. In contemplating a simple task, like cleaning a room or making dinner, the thing seems so utterly uninteresting, so deeply boring and emotionally repulsive that getting myself to do it is like walking into a fire hose. With the emotional draw of others to join me in the task (like when the children were home for the summer) I feel I can tackle it. Otherwise, it feels so emotionally draining that I seldom work up the energy to make myself do it, and look instead for something that, for whatever reason, is less aversive.
The part of depression that I did recognize as such is my feeling that I am looking at the world through dark glasses. Often, my interpretations are distinctly negative, yet seem utterly real. I feel overwhelmed by the pain and burden and difficulty of life (though really, my life is wonderful!) Thoughts of death and escape crowd in and feel utterly desirable. Why live? My children would certainly fair better with a mother who doesn't lose her temper irrationally and can't get anything done or even pull her life together. I am not contributing anything of worth, and who knows if or when it will get better? I can't face another day, another trip to St. Louis, another disappointment or setback or to-do list that I will never get to the bottom of. "I need help!!!" then seems to echo through my brain with an urgency that almost stops my breath. I want to sink down and die. It is like in labor--a sure sign of transition (at least among non-medicated women, I don't remember it when I had an epidural) is the overwhelming feeling of "I can't do this!!!" Then the midwife knows the birth is very soon at hand, and comforts and coaches the mother through the last few minutes. Only I know it won't be only a few minutes more. When I come to that crisis, though, I find a way to cope, and then it does get better. Eating usually helps, and sleep.
Another aspect of my experience is increased anxiety. More than just a constantly negative view of the world is a sensation of . . . anxiety. I don't know a better word for it. When something difficult happens, especially, or some upset that I hadn't foreseen, I feel my heart beat fast and it feels difficult to breathe. My mind starts racing about the problem and the "likely" consequences that will come from it (all unpleasant), or goes into "deer in the headlights" mode and I can't think cohesively at all. There is a feeling of impending doom, that all is for naught, and that (again) I need to escape or pass the responsibility on to someone else. It is very unpleasant. Considering the high stress year I have had and continue to have, it is not surprising, I suppose. Sadly, though, I think if I was all well mentally, a lot of my perceived stress would not exist, and those things that make me anxious and feel oppressive would be only little bumps in the road. It feels like a (oh, what is the word for a process that fuels itself?)
So, that is the gist of my current experience. Forgive the frankness, if it troubles. The very positive side of it all is that I don't consider any of it to be "me" any more than I would consider the symptoms of a physical disease to be "me." It is an experience I am passing through, but not part of my identity. It affects me and my life and those around me, true, but I am ultimately in control. I can take what steps need to be taken to ameliorate and heal it. When I feel anxious, I can consult with Sam about his take on the situation, or employ thoughts from other, more positive areas of my brain. When I am feeling utterly dark and dejected, I can reach out to my Saviour, who is my companion on this journey through life, and feel His knowledge of me and my pain, and then move on from the pain. When I lose my temper I can apologize, and explain as best I can that I know what I have done is wrong, and offer an example of repentance and hope for forgiveness. I haven't yet figured out how to overcome the slowness of thought, or aversion to my homemaking tasks other than to hire a maid or some other help to make up the difference as best as possible. But, I hope that with good self-care (good sleep, eating and exercise, particularly, which I have been doing pretty well) the issues that my brain is trying to solve subconsciously will get resolved, and I will have full use of my faculties once more.
Two positive experiences, now, about changing my mind:
When I went to St. Louis a couple of weeks ago, and upon removal of the casts it was found that Isaac had a severe rash, so they couldn't recast, I was immediately thrown into an acutely anxious state. My well-laid and comprehended plan that would end in Isaac's cure was derailed. I saw the purpose of weeks and weeks of arduous trips unravel before my eyes. He was being sent home with out casts! His feet would regress. It had all been for naught! All the sacrifices and arrangements and discomforts were for nothing. I didn't know what to do and could scarcely breathe as I got back into the car with a bloody-legged baby, wounds wrapped tentatively in stockinette and being every moment exacerbated by Isaac's clawing at the horribly itchy flesh. We had a visit to The Magic House and a five hour drive ahead of us. Could I make it through? I doubted. But I did, and as we drove, partially from self-preservation, I think, I decided to change my mind. "Lord," I thought to myself, "you have done this for a good reason. Everything has a reason, and can be for good. Help me see Thy view, and what good can and will come." (I have since changed my mind about the thought that God "did" this, and that He "did" it because it was for the best. I think it was probably a simple consequence of the telestiality of the world, and our fallen, infirm bodies. While I do believe that everything can work together for our good, I am not sure that it does so because God arranges things to be in the best possible state. But it was a helpful thought to have as a crutch in the moment!) I then proceeded to take deep breaths and imagine every good thing that could possibly come. Isaac's birthday would be that week, and it was like a birthday present for him to have some freedom from the casts! It was possible that a miracle would occur and those bloody, raw, pathetic legs would heal in less than a week, and that his feet wouldn't regress and that he would still be able to use the surgery date in a week, but after a much needed break from the casts! Good was still possible, and I imagined it all up. I thought with gratitude about the fact that Isaac would be able to bathe every day (which he had really missed). I hoped and anticipated and was able to dispel the gloom and anxiety to such an extent that I had peace on the drive home. It was wonderful!
Another experience occurred today when Isaac was seen for the first time at the St. Louis Children's Hospital. We transfered to that hospital because the anesthesiologist at Shriners was unwilling to do anesthesia on a baby who'd had a diaphragmatic hernia. There are many frequent complications with DH that can also complicate anesthesia. Shriners is an orthopedic hospital and not prepared to treat heart or lung issues, which are common with DH babies. Isaac, however, is very uncommon in his healthiness and has not had any recurrent issues with anything that would complicate anesthesia. I'd asked the anesthesiologist to look over Isaac's record and reconsider, but the records had not yet come, and I didn't know whether he would agree with me or not. So, we went to SLCH with the understanding that as a full service hospital, there would be fewer hang ups about anesthesia, and we could continue on with treatment there in the mean time. I loved Shriners, though, and hoped to transfer back once the anesthesia question was decided. This morning when I pulled up to the SLCH, which is huge and seemed utterly impersonal and institutional compared to Shriners, my heart sank. Shriners is smaller and humbler, but full of love and kindess and specialized in exactly what Isaac needed. SLCH is expansive, with hundreds of people coming and going and orthopedics was one little clinic of a hundred, in a back hall. I longed for Shriners, and thought I would certainly go back if at all possible. Once we were in a room, though, the nurse practitioner, Kristina, (who has been unbelievably wonderful) told me that they could not hold the OR appointments for Isaac at SLCH if I intended to go back to Shriners, and that if I did intend to go back, they would simply not cast Isaac today, and wait until they could get him in at Shriners, once they had found a workable OR date there. And that was, of course, if the anesthesiologist decided he would be willing to do anesthesia there at all. I asked for a moment to make the decision, and called Sam--someone of sound mind. We talked about it and felt like the best course was to go forward at SLCH. Still, after hanging up, I felt sad. Shriner's was so dear, and it was quite likely that between possible future complications and such, Isaac wouldn't finish his treatment any earlier for having begun again earlier at SLCH than he would if he waited for Shriners. I felt at a loss. I didn't want to lose the purpose of the trip to St. Louis again, but I had to consider it a sunk cost. I prayed for help and felt 1) It was perfectly fine to do what I felt like I wanted to do; 2) I could change my mind about how I felt. I already knew, from consultation with several of sound mind, that SLCH was a good place for Isaac to get treatment. I realized that if I considered the situation with gratitude instead of comparison, I, too, could be very happy to have Isaac at SLCH. From my point of view of several months ago, of knowing that Isaac needed specialized help and being utterly unable to get it for him, of knowing who the best doctor in the country was for the problem, but thinking him to be totally out of reach, this possibility, of taking Isaac to the best doctor in the country, and at one of the top ten hospitals in the country, would have resulted in utter, bewildering gratitude. Now, I had taken a stepping stone (Shriners) to get here, but here we were. Likely, if I'd tried originally to get into SLCH, I would have had as long a wait as I would have for Arkansas Children's Hospital (2.5 months), but I got into Shriners so quickly, and started treatment, and then as one already under the doctor's care, we got into SLCH immediately. Instead of feeling like my hand was forced by the anesthesiologist, and resentful and troubled, I could change my mind and feel grateful, and happy and confident in Isaac's treatment going forward as safely as possible. I did change my mind, and now I am only filled with happiness about the whole matter. Hurrah!
Another symptom that I didn't know was associated with depression is my emotional aversion to things that are a normal, necessary part of life. In contemplating a simple task, like cleaning a room or making dinner, the thing seems so utterly uninteresting, so deeply boring and emotionally repulsive that getting myself to do it is like walking into a fire hose. With the emotional draw of others to join me in the task (like when the children were home for the summer) I feel I can tackle it. Otherwise, it feels so emotionally draining that I seldom work up the energy to make myself do it, and look instead for something that, for whatever reason, is less aversive.
The part of depression that I did recognize as such is my feeling that I am looking at the world through dark glasses. Often, my interpretations are distinctly negative, yet seem utterly real. I feel overwhelmed by the pain and burden and difficulty of life (though really, my life is wonderful!) Thoughts of death and escape crowd in and feel utterly desirable. Why live? My children would certainly fair better with a mother who doesn't lose her temper irrationally and can't get anything done or even pull her life together. I am not contributing anything of worth, and who knows if or when it will get better? I can't face another day, another trip to St. Louis, another disappointment or setback or to-do list that I will never get to the bottom of. "I need help!!!" then seems to echo through my brain with an urgency that almost stops my breath. I want to sink down and die. It is like in labor--a sure sign of transition (at least among non-medicated women, I don't remember it when I had an epidural) is the overwhelming feeling of "I can't do this!!!" Then the midwife knows the birth is very soon at hand, and comforts and coaches the mother through the last few minutes. Only I know it won't be only a few minutes more. When I come to that crisis, though, I find a way to cope, and then it does get better. Eating usually helps, and sleep.
Another aspect of my experience is increased anxiety. More than just a constantly negative view of the world is a sensation of . . . anxiety. I don't know a better word for it. When something difficult happens, especially, or some upset that I hadn't foreseen, I feel my heart beat fast and it feels difficult to breathe. My mind starts racing about the problem and the "likely" consequences that will come from it (all unpleasant), or goes into "deer in the headlights" mode and I can't think cohesively at all. There is a feeling of impending doom, that all is for naught, and that (again) I need to escape or pass the responsibility on to someone else. It is very unpleasant. Considering the high stress year I have had and continue to have, it is not surprising, I suppose. Sadly, though, I think if I was all well mentally, a lot of my perceived stress would not exist, and those things that make me anxious and feel oppressive would be only little bumps in the road. It feels like a (oh, what is the word for a process that fuels itself?)
So, that is the gist of my current experience. Forgive the frankness, if it troubles. The very positive side of it all is that I don't consider any of it to be "me" any more than I would consider the symptoms of a physical disease to be "me." It is an experience I am passing through, but not part of my identity. It affects me and my life and those around me, true, but I am ultimately in control. I can take what steps need to be taken to ameliorate and heal it. When I feel anxious, I can consult with Sam about his take on the situation, or employ thoughts from other, more positive areas of my brain. When I am feeling utterly dark and dejected, I can reach out to my Saviour, who is my companion on this journey through life, and feel His knowledge of me and my pain, and then move on from the pain. When I lose my temper I can apologize, and explain as best I can that I know what I have done is wrong, and offer an example of repentance and hope for forgiveness. I haven't yet figured out how to overcome the slowness of thought, or aversion to my homemaking tasks other than to hire a maid or some other help to make up the difference as best as possible. But, I hope that with good self-care (good sleep, eating and exercise, particularly, which I have been doing pretty well) the issues that my brain is trying to solve subconsciously will get resolved, and I will have full use of my faculties once more.
Two positive experiences, now, about changing my mind:
When I went to St. Louis a couple of weeks ago, and upon removal of the casts it was found that Isaac had a severe rash, so they couldn't recast, I was immediately thrown into an acutely anxious state. My well-laid and comprehended plan that would end in Isaac's cure was derailed. I saw the purpose of weeks and weeks of arduous trips unravel before my eyes. He was being sent home with out casts! His feet would regress. It had all been for naught! All the sacrifices and arrangements and discomforts were for nothing. I didn't know what to do and could scarcely breathe as I got back into the car with a bloody-legged baby, wounds wrapped tentatively in stockinette and being every moment exacerbated by Isaac's clawing at the horribly itchy flesh. We had a visit to The Magic House and a five hour drive ahead of us. Could I make it through? I doubted. But I did, and as we drove, partially from self-preservation, I think, I decided to change my mind. "Lord," I thought to myself, "you have done this for a good reason. Everything has a reason, and can be for good. Help me see Thy view, and what good can and will come." (I have since changed my mind about the thought that God "did" this, and that He "did" it because it was for the best. I think it was probably a simple consequence of the telestiality of the world, and our fallen, infirm bodies. While I do believe that everything can work together for our good, I am not sure that it does so because God arranges things to be in the best possible state. But it was a helpful thought to have as a crutch in the moment!) I then proceeded to take deep breaths and imagine every good thing that could possibly come. Isaac's birthday would be that week, and it was like a birthday present for him to have some freedom from the casts! It was possible that a miracle would occur and those bloody, raw, pathetic legs would heal in less than a week, and that his feet wouldn't regress and that he would still be able to use the surgery date in a week, but after a much needed break from the casts! Good was still possible, and I imagined it all up. I thought with gratitude about the fact that Isaac would be able to bathe every day (which he had really missed). I hoped and anticipated and was able to dispel the gloom and anxiety to such an extent that I had peace on the drive home. It was wonderful!
Another experience occurred today when Isaac was seen for the first time at the St. Louis Children's Hospital. We transfered to that hospital because the anesthesiologist at Shriners was unwilling to do anesthesia on a baby who'd had a diaphragmatic hernia. There are many frequent complications with DH that can also complicate anesthesia. Shriners is an orthopedic hospital and not prepared to treat heart or lung issues, which are common with DH babies. Isaac, however, is very uncommon in his healthiness and has not had any recurrent issues with anything that would complicate anesthesia. I'd asked the anesthesiologist to look over Isaac's record and reconsider, but the records had not yet come, and I didn't know whether he would agree with me or not. So, we went to SLCH with the understanding that as a full service hospital, there would be fewer hang ups about anesthesia, and we could continue on with treatment there in the mean time. I loved Shriners, though, and hoped to transfer back once the anesthesia question was decided. This morning when I pulled up to the SLCH, which is huge and seemed utterly impersonal and institutional compared to Shriners, my heart sank. Shriners is smaller and humbler, but full of love and kindess and specialized in exactly what Isaac needed. SLCH is expansive, with hundreds of people coming and going and orthopedics was one little clinic of a hundred, in a back hall. I longed for Shriners, and thought I would certainly go back if at all possible. Once we were in a room, though, the nurse practitioner, Kristina, (who has been unbelievably wonderful) told me that they could not hold the OR appointments for Isaac at SLCH if I intended to go back to Shriners, and that if I did intend to go back, they would simply not cast Isaac today, and wait until they could get him in at Shriners, once they had found a workable OR date there. And that was, of course, if the anesthesiologist decided he would be willing to do anesthesia there at all. I asked for a moment to make the decision, and called Sam--someone of sound mind. We talked about it and felt like the best course was to go forward at SLCH. Still, after hanging up, I felt sad. Shriner's was so dear, and it was quite likely that between possible future complications and such, Isaac wouldn't finish his treatment any earlier for having begun again earlier at SLCH than he would if he waited for Shriners. I felt at a loss. I didn't want to lose the purpose of the trip to St. Louis again, but I had to consider it a sunk cost. I prayed for help and felt 1) It was perfectly fine to do what I felt like I wanted to do; 2) I could change my mind about how I felt. I already knew, from consultation with several of sound mind, that SLCH was a good place for Isaac to get treatment. I realized that if I considered the situation with gratitude instead of comparison, I, too, could be very happy to have Isaac at SLCH. From my point of view of several months ago, of knowing that Isaac needed specialized help and being utterly unable to get it for him, of knowing who the best doctor in the country was for the problem, but thinking him to be totally out of reach, this possibility, of taking Isaac to the best doctor in the country, and at one of the top ten hospitals in the country, would have resulted in utter, bewildering gratitude. Now, I had taken a stepping stone (Shriners) to get here, but here we were. Likely, if I'd tried originally to get into SLCH, I would have had as long a wait as I would have for Arkansas Children's Hospital (2.5 months), but I got into Shriners so quickly, and started treatment, and then as one already under the doctor's care, we got into SLCH immediately. Instead of feeling like my hand was forced by the anesthesiologist, and resentful and troubled, I could change my mind and feel grateful, and happy and confident in Isaac's treatment going forward as safely as possible. I did change my mind, and now I am only filled with happiness about the whole matter. Hurrah!
I am sorry you are going through such a hard time, but I am so grateful to hear that you feel and understand that depression is "other" than yourself. You are not dark, or gloomy, or impatient - you are JULIA, full of life and light! I love you!
ReplyDeleteOn a philosophical note, I agree with you about things not being "arranged" to be the best of all possible worlds. It is a comfort to me to feel that God and I can grasp Joy from the maw of Despair, but the teamwork feels artificial if He chooses to thrust me into those situations.
What a beautiful turn of phrase, Margaret! "God and I can grasp Joy from the maw of despair." That reminds me--when can I read more of YOUR writing? Your voice is so wonderful.
ReplyDeletePhilosophically--it has been an interesting shift of thought, and a good one. It takes a little more courage, I think, to face a world that is not totally of God's making. But it makes the atonement ever more pertinent, because of its ability to heal and make whole all of the wounds we sustain from this imperfect world.