Depression and Anxiety
Hello again, everyone.
No, I'm not dead.
So, it's been a while. I've moved, the school year started for my kids and my wife (a teacher). But that made a different problem rear its ugly head.
If you can't guess by the title, I'm talking about mental health. About 12 years ago, I was diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder (clinical Depression), Generalized Anxiety Disorder and panic attacks. About five years ago, doctors also diagnosed me with Juvenile Myoclonic Epilepsy, and a conversion disorder that manifests as seizures.
So what does this have to do with anything? Basically, I've been totally paralyzed by my various mental illnesses for almost two full months now. This is the first time I've been able to get time (and motivation) to do any blogging. Incidentally, I found out that it is World Mental Health Day today (Oct. 10), so it was especially appropriate to sit down and write something out.
For those of you who have any of these conditions, I'm sorry. I want you to know that you're not alone and that I can understand at least a little bit of the suck. For those of you who don't know what it's like to have a combination of these conditions, let me illustrate the only way I know how. By writing it out.
I start out, and I'm exhausted. It's hard to get moving, like my head is foggy—I haven't had my morning caffeine or breakfast and I'm still partially asleep. Then something comes at me. A completely dark, slinking body that's blacker than the deepest shadow. But it's wearing my face. Not a mask of my face, but a perfect duplicate. Is it me, or is it not me? It shoves me down. Tells me I'm not enough. I'll never be good enough. It's kicking me, and I spit out blood. Pain like razors cut through my side. The kicks keep coming. My nose breaks and now the pain is in my head, too. After some time, someone comes to me and tells the thing—or is it me?—to stop. That I shouldn't be doing this. That this isn't logical. Isn't real. Isn't what I think it is. But the pain doesn't stop. It hurts. How can the hurt be this real if this thing isn't? If it isn't what I think it is, how can it hurt me like this? I bite my lip to keep from screaming. The person holds out their hand to help me up, and so does the thing that has my face. The person trying to help me doesn't know what's going on. They're just telling me simple things to put a band-aid on the problem. They don't know. So I take the hand of the not-me. I start to stand, and it sweeps my legs out from beneath me. I hit the ground, and I'm sobbing now. I'm down. Kicking again. I can hear and feel things crunching and bleeding inside me. Not just in my body, but in my head. But it's not in my body at all. It's all in my head. I just want the pain to stop. Just kill me. Just end it. Life is just pain. People hold their hands out. More of them this time. Some of them seem like they might be able to help. Someone gives me a stick to fight the not-me with, and it works for a while. I'm able to get a little bit of strength back and I can get to my knees at least. Most of those people step back and leave me alone with the not-me. It attacks again. I can't breathe. My heart is moving too fast. Oh, God! Make it stop! I've got to kill it before it kills me. But what happens if I kill it? It's a not-me, but it's still me, I think. What can I do? It's killing me. Kicking me again. I'm hurting. Where is everyone that was helping? Hurting. Hurting. Hurting. Hurting. Hurting. Hurting. Hurting. Hurting. Hurting. Hurting. Hurting. Hurting. Hurting. Hurting. Hurting. Hurting. Hurting. Hurting.
That's what my depression has been doing to me for the last two months. I've called the national suicide prevention line (Life Line, or whatever you want to call it) a few times. I'm in contact with three doctors, and am medicated more heavily than I have been in quite a while. I don't know if there's an end to the darkness in my mind, but I've got a hold of a few people that I feel I can trust to pull me along.
This is me. I have mental illnesses. I can't say I'm sorry, because that wouldn't make a difference. Please. If you know someone who is having a difficult time, try to help them. You might not be able to personally help them stand up, but you can be a shoulder to hold onto in the dark. If you're struggling, find that person. Get a doctor's help. I know you're suffering. Don't lie down and take the assault from not-you. Find someone who will help you stand up and start healing. I know I might sound like a hypocrite since I'm having a hard time of this myself. But you can do it.
Thanks for listening.
Jeff
No, I'm not dead.
So, it's been a while. I've moved, the school year started for my kids and my wife (a teacher). But that made a different problem rear its ugly head.
If you can't guess by the title, I'm talking about mental health. About 12 years ago, I was diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder (clinical Depression), Generalized Anxiety Disorder and panic attacks. About five years ago, doctors also diagnosed me with Juvenile Myoclonic Epilepsy, and a conversion disorder that manifests as seizures.
So what does this have to do with anything? Basically, I've been totally paralyzed by my various mental illnesses for almost two full months now. This is the first time I've been able to get time (and motivation) to do any blogging. Incidentally, I found out that it is World Mental Health Day today (Oct. 10), so it was especially appropriate to sit down and write something out.
For those of you who have any of these conditions, I'm sorry. I want you to know that you're not alone and that I can understand at least a little bit of the suck. For those of you who don't know what it's like to have a combination of these conditions, let me illustrate the only way I know how. By writing it out.
I start out, and I'm exhausted. It's hard to get moving, like my head is foggy—I haven't had my morning caffeine or breakfast and I'm still partially asleep. Then something comes at me. A completely dark, slinking body that's blacker than the deepest shadow. But it's wearing my face. Not a mask of my face, but a perfect duplicate. Is it me, or is it not me? It shoves me down. Tells me I'm not enough. I'll never be good enough. It's kicking me, and I spit out blood. Pain like razors cut through my side. The kicks keep coming. My nose breaks and now the pain is in my head, too. After some time, someone comes to me and tells the thing—or is it me?—to stop. That I shouldn't be doing this. That this isn't logical. Isn't real. Isn't what I think it is. But the pain doesn't stop. It hurts. How can the hurt be this real if this thing isn't? If it isn't what I think it is, how can it hurt me like this? I bite my lip to keep from screaming. The person holds out their hand to help me up, and so does the thing that has my face. The person trying to help me doesn't know what's going on. They're just telling me simple things to put a band-aid on the problem. They don't know. So I take the hand of the not-me. I start to stand, and it sweeps my legs out from beneath me. I hit the ground, and I'm sobbing now. I'm down. Kicking again. I can hear and feel things crunching and bleeding inside me. Not just in my body, but in my head. But it's not in my body at all. It's all in my head. I just want the pain to stop. Just kill me. Just end it. Life is just pain. People hold their hands out. More of them this time. Some of them seem like they might be able to help. Someone gives me a stick to fight the not-me with, and it works for a while. I'm able to get a little bit of strength back and I can get to my knees at least. Most of those people step back and leave me alone with the not-me. It attacks again. I can't breathe. My heart is moving too fast. Oh, God! Make it stop! I've got to kill it before it kills me. But what happens if I kill it? It's a not-me, but it's still me, I think. What can I do? It's killing me. Kicking me again. I'm hurting. Where is everyone that was helping? Hurting. Hurting. Hurting. Hurting. Hurting. Hurting. Hurting. Hurting. Hurting. Hurting. Hurting. Hurting. Hurting. Hurting. Hurting. Hurting. Hurting. Hurting.
That's what my depression has been doing to me for the last two months. I've called the national suicide prevention line (Life Line, or whatever you want to call it) a few times. I'm in contact with three doctors, and am medicated more heavily than I have been in quite a while. I don't know if there's an end to the darkness in my mind, but I've got a hold of a few people that I feel I can trust to pull me along.
This is me. I have mental illnesses. I can't say I'm sorry, because that wouldn't make a difference. Please. If you know someone who is having a difficult time, try to help them. You might not be able to personally help them stand up, but you can be a shoulder to hold onto in the dark. If you're struggling, find that person. Get a doctor's help. I know you're suffering. Don't lie down and take the assault from not-you. Find someone who will help you stand up and start healing. I know I might sound like a hypocrite since I'm having a hard time of this myself. But you can do it.
Thanks for listening.
Jeff
Comments
Post a Comment