Sunday, 08/28/16, 10:57am
Sometimes depression and anxiety can really make me feel "crazy". I feel like I truly am that stigmatized view of a crazy person. I'm crying for no apparent reason, I shout over stupid random things, and I can't seem to handle myself when it appears from the outside that I have a great life. But then depression and anxiety know no reason. Why do we think that the only people who have the right to be depressed are when they are truly dealt with the crap of life? We think you've got to be dealing with poverty, abuse, trauma, physical illness, grief, or whatever else to have the right to depression. Someone like me, someone who's got the luxury to be at home with her two wonderful, always well behaved children, someone who's got a suburban house with a basement, a mortgage, a supportive husband and loving family shouldn't deserve that right. It's just so stupidly nonsensical for someone like me to have depression, you just want to say "shut up and stop feeling sorry for yourself", right?
Of course when I go down that path of thinking myself, I start thinking that's true, I don't have that right. And yet inexplicably I still have this depression. It hits me like a ton of bricks sometimes, and if I question all those feelings and say to myself "what is wrong with you? what do you have to be depressed about?", I feel that much more shame over it and I spiral downwards that much further.
Not only do I feel (in this state) extreme sadness over my life, worthlessness about myself and my existence, but on top of that I feel extreme shame. Crippling, desperate shame. I'm supposed to know how to get better. I'm supposed to be able to pull myself out of this. I'm supposed to be able to will myself to be happy, or exercise, or eat the right things, or practice mindfulness more, or read the right books, and it will work. I'm just failing and that's why it's not working.
Instead I find myself crying on my bed silently, hoping the kids won't leave their show downstairs to try to find me and discover me in this state. I don't want to actually tell anyone how I'm feeling, I don't want to reach out to someone who can help me, because then I have to admit the shame that I've let the depression cripple me again.
But I am switching medications right now and that is hard stuff. I haven't "let the depression cripple me again"; I am fighting these feelings with every ounce of my being, I'm fighting to keep them out, to keep out those thoughts that I am a bad person and everyone would be better off without me. Sometimes, it just takes every bit of me to fight those thoughts.
I think some people think I'm crazier for sharing about my depression. Maybe some people think that we shouldn't be discussing this stuff openly, maybe some people think that I should just snap out of it, and maybe some people learn more about me and think I'm just this stupid, scary, crazy person. Whatever. Maybe I am crazy, but I'm dealing with it as best as I can, and I am still trying to be as good a mother as I possibly can. Maybe I'm not doing it the way you would be, but I'm still trying my damnedest.
Nasser is out of town this weekend for a bachelor party. I've been trying so hard not to share my struggles with him because I wanted him to have a happy, carefree time, but this morning on the phone, I broke down. After Nasser listened for awhile, he gave me some ideas, told me he loved me, and assured me as he always does that I can do this. I did some mood tracking, texted someone for potential help (very casually of course because I apparently can only be this honest on my blog), and now here I am pouring my thoughts into my Chromebook.
It's going to be ok. Some day this new medication is gonna kick in and we'll see if it's good enough long term for me. I keep trying, sometimes it's a big struggle, but it always gets better eventually, right?
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