Mishmash of Sad

It has been said that God never gives you more than what you can handle. I wish He had less faith in me. I look around, and I know I have many blessings. Things that other don't have, a beautiful healthy child, a safe warm home, plenty of food, clean water, medical care, an education, and those are just the basics. I see all those things, and I am grateful. Yet I am not happy. I still feel not good enough, not loved, not cared about. I still carry this deep sadness, and I can't seem to lift it.

I am working on my connection to God and my spirituality. I am reciting meditation prayers daily. Sometimes several times a day, if I find enough quiet. Maybe I will have a spirital awakening and my whole life will change. I don't know, that would be great.

But failing that, I am pretty much a wreck recently, and I can't help but wonder, what I could have possibly done to deserve to feel THIS bad. I hate to say it, but it feels a little unfair to me.

I realize life is unfair some times. That's just the way it goes, but every time I feel like things are starting to look up I get hit with another wave of stress, depression, or just plain bad luck. I am not sure how much more I can take before I go under. I try so hard. I take my meds, I go to work, I take care of my daughter, I blog, I go to therapy, I am even taking vitamins, and yet, I continue to get beat down by life. It seems to happen over and over, and each time it gets harder to get back up. I suppose, eventually, I won't even care, and I'll just stop picking myself up. But thankfully I am not there yet.

I am horrified of being labled as miserable person, a bad person, a crazy person, or a weak person. So every day I force myself out of bed and I put on my "pretend its all ok" face. Apparently, it is pretty convincing because no one around me (ok, not true, most people) don't seem to have a clue that, on the inside, I am completely falling apart. That I come home and cry (or hide in the bathroom or my car.) They don't seem to notice that I am fighting back tears, that my hands shake, or that I am taking more anxiety medication. Why do I care? Why do I let other people's oppinions impact me so much? Who are they? Well, often times, they are people who I believed loved (love) me. The fact that they don't notice my struggle sometimes hurts me more.

I sometimes wonder what would happen if I just gave up. What if I stopped going to work, just didn't show up. What if I stopped being people's friend. Stopped helping others, supporting them. What if I just disappeared for a week, or a weekend? Sent my daughter with her dad, and decided the hell with everyone else, I am going to draw, read, meditate, and not worry about a damn thing for awhile. What would happen then? How would my life change? What keeps me from doing that, taking care of me?

Unconditional

There is a quote by Marilyn Monroe that I love.

“I'm selfish, impatient and a little insecure. I make mistakes, I am out of control and at times hard to handle. But if you can't handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best.”

We all have quirks, insecurities, and imperfections, but we all deserve someone who loves us and accepts us exactly as we are. Unconditional love.

The challenge for me is accepting myself. I so easily remember the times I have fallen short. The time I have lost control. The time I was insecure, and allowed that to make me do or say something I was later ashamed of. I let those moments replay in my mind over and over like a bad movie. I relive them as though I am right there in that moment again. Often letting one bad memory trigger another, and another until I have reach full downward spiral. Until I no longer trust my own judgement. Then I allow myself to feel this disappointment in myself so strongly that it stops me from moving ahead. I become frozen in self doubt and fear. Weighed down by my own judgment and self-doubt. Sinking in emotional quicksand.

I am unable to see myself in any way other than bad or negative. I look past my good nature, my ablity to see the best in people (even when I souls not) my sense of & humor, my creative nature, my maternal ablities, my generosity, and most if all my courage. I am continuously looking at other people and think how couragously they are living life. Standing up for their believes, being whomever they want, in spite of what others might say or think. I can not see myself in this light. It depresses me, make me feel weak, lesser. I am striving to reach the end of that quote. Instead, continuing to feel my best is yet to come, and maybe it is, but what am I missing today by allowing myself to be held back by the past?

In order for others to love and accept me wholly, and unconditionally, I must do the same for myself. I must forgive myself, let myself go, move forward lighter, clearer, more confident, and happier. I need to live by the words of Miss Monroe.

Me verses The Illness

I am NOT a drama queen. I have an anxiety disorder. A real, diagnosed, and medicated disorder that makes the mole hills feel like mountains.

I am NOT a ditz. I take medications that make me forget things. Plus, stress makes every one's mind a little spotty.

I am NOT incapable, or lazy. I am depressed. Again, a real, diagnosed, disorder that is being treated with medication and psychotherapy.

I do NOT choose to be this way. Clinical depression is caused by a chemical imbalance in one's brain. It is not something that can be controlled or stopped. It is an illness, just like any other illness.

I am NOT weak, or feeling sorry for myself. A genuine feeling of hopelessness, or helplessness, is also part of my disorder from time to time. I can not think my way out of it, and it makes it very hard to stay motivated when you feel like nothing you do matters.

I am NOT a victim. I have an illness. I wish I did not, but much like physical illness, it is not a condition I could have prevented. In fact, it is probably LESS preventable than some physical illnesses.

I am NOT crazy for cry for no apparent reason. I do not always know why I am feeling sad. It is one of the symptoms of depression. I may not understand why I am crying, and I may cry at random. Again, brain chemicals, or sometimes hormones causing my brain chemicals, to get out of wack.

I am NOT over reacting. I have real emotions, and real feelings. I am allowed to have these feelings. To me they are real, and valid, even if they are exaggerated by my disorders.

I am NOT a out of control. I often realize my feelings are disproportional to an event. People with anxiety and mood disorders have mood swings. Again, a very common symptom of these illnesses.

I am NOT attention seeking. I would actually rather have you not notice me when I am struggling. The last thing I want is to be pitied. It only makes me feel worse about myself at a time when I am already low.

Like many illnesses, my metal illness requires life style changes that sometimes make me feel as though it has taken over my entire life. During the darkest parts of my depression I find that I need to remind myself what is me, and what is illness. Because the symptoms often effect my mood and personality, it is hard to remember who I am innately verses what is a symptom of a nasty desease.

Predator and Prey

Sometimes my depression is like a relentless stalker. Lurking somewhere just out of sight, blending in with a blur of faces I pass at the grocery store. I can't see it, but I sense it there, just waiting to pounce. The same way a zebra senses the lioness watching it from behind the tall grass. There is an uneasiliness about me, a constant anxiety about what lies around each corner. I have a greater awareness of every sound, every movement, every person around me. I have a constant need to move, distract myself. It all begins to ware away at me. The tension in me builds until I become so overwhelmed and angry that I begin to show physical signs of anxiety. My hands visibly shake, and I appear tired. I have been trying to out run my own misery for so long that I begin to stumble. I become disorganized, my memory becomes spotty, and my energy level drops. I don't immediately see the changes in myself. I have no sense that I am beginning to make myself more and more vunerible. I am so wrapped up in the fear of the depression coming that I do not realize it is beginning to close in on me. Eventually, worn down by my own efforts to distract myself, the constant worrying about being ok, and the stress of life as a single mom with a crappy job, I am forced by my body to stop and breath. This is the moment, the moment I become the sick zebra who has strayed from the herd. And wham, like a sudden strike to the head it hits me. All at once the anger, the sadness, the anxiety, they become too much, and I go down. Feeling like I have been rendered helpless, I have nothing left to fight back with. Mundane, everyday tasks become more than I am able to muster up the energy or desire to do. Taking care of my child and sleep become my only goals for the day. I feel angry and weak for letting myself get overrun in such a way. That is when the the real damage starts. The recordings begin to play in my head, and with them comes all the memories. The memories of every time in my life that I didn't measure up or every time that I let my depression stalker overtake me. I fill with sadness, embarrassment, and fear. What if this is my whole life? What if I am not as capable as I thought I was? What if I need help? Who will help me? I don't want to be a burden to anyone, nor do I want to admit that I am not capable of keeping a home clean, working full-time, or being the best mom I can be to my little girl. Those are things I should be able to do. Those are things "normal" people do everyday. Why can't I? Why couldn't I just keep running? Why did I let myself get caught by this illness again?

And so it's been for the last few weeks. Constant need to run, distract myself, pretend not to feel the presence of my stalker behind me. Until two very bad days in a row knocked my feet out from under me, and down I came like an injured zebra, and the predator did not hesitate to snap me up in my moment of weakness. Looking back I can see so clearly all the little signs that I was in danger. I wonder if I could have stopped it some how. Cut it off at the pass. For now I sit here, wondering how I am going to get through the week, and even if I do what will happen next. How long will it long will it take to escape my captor? Once freed, how long will I be able to run before it catches up with me again?

Perception

I have not been writing much lately, and I have been missing it. So tonight I am posting two entries, AND recommitting myself to writing this blog more often. Now, on to entry number two!

I have written before about how, as someone who suffers from clinical depression and an anxiety disorder, I don't process stress the same way other people might. But I think beyond that, people with mental illnesses, live in a different reality than those who do not have a disorder. Which is not to imply we are delusional, but in fact, much of everyone's reality is based in perception. Just as three people can experience the same event at the same time, but recall it in three different ways. They all experienced it based on their own perspective. Each perspective is formed by your unique personality, past experiences, fears, and believes. For people with depression or anxiety, the world is often a darker, scarier place. Therefore, we often perceive events in our lives with more negativity or scepticism than others might. Because of this I have been called a drama queen or a negative person. I am sorry to say, I can not help it and having my bleak outlook on life pointed out to me as a weakness, often just makes me feel worse. My reality is that some days there is no light at the end of the tunnel, because...Well, mostly because my brain chemicals are off, and even though the light is still there, my brain is only allowing me to see the dark tunnel at that point.

I was recently told a story about a teenage boy with bipolar disorder. He was going through what most would see as normal adolescent insecurities and issues. But in his minds eye, it was so much more. He committed suicide. His pain was real, regardless of what other people's reaction to the same experiences were. He was unable to see his experiences as normal, or temporary because the were clouded by his mental illness.

Through the help of my counselor, and my medications, I am learning two things. First, that even if I can not see the light at the end of the tunnel, it is still there. Sometime I can just hold on long enough and it reappears on its own.  Other times, I have to push myself a little, keep putting one foot in front of the other, until I see light again. The other lesson I have learned (just recently) is that challenging your perception can change your reality.  I believed very strongly that many people from the small town I grew up in thought of me as crazy, because at 19 I went through a very dark depression, and began having panic attacks. However, with in the last few years, through the power of the internet, I began reconnecting with several people I grew up with. As people began opening up, I found that many of them understood what I had gone through, or had been through similar things. Nearly 20 years after leaving that town, I am finding my perception was wrong, and I am getting closer to that dark part of my life.

Drugging the Mentally Ill

One year ago this month there was a horrible event in Tuson, AZ. A man, with a history of drug use and disturbed behavior, opened fire on a crowd in a supermarket parking lot. It was a meet and greet for the local congress woman. Jaded Loughner was captured and assrested at the scene, but not before he killed 6 people (including a 9 year old who had come to meet the congress woman) and injured 13 others (including congress woman Gabby Giffords herself.) The case has been well publicized due to Gabby Giffords amazing recovery from the head wound, and AZ lax gun laws. Then fuel thrown on the fire by press coverage and the current political climit here in the US, which is highlighting more and more of people's differences, than their commonalities. For Gabby Giffords is a "liberal" and Jared Loughner is...well...not.

As I said, the shootings happened just over a year ago, and Jaded Loughner has yet to go on trial. He has been declared incompetent to stand trial. Instead he is in a facility, being forcefully give psychiatric medication, in order to make him fit for trial.

Now, the whole concept of this seems, just wrong to me. I do believe everyone deserves their day in court, but if you are not mentally competent to stand trial, are you mental competent enough to understand the crime you are accused of? And how moral is it to forcefully give psychiatric drug to someone, anyone? Is it different on a case to case basis? In this case, in particular, the accused was witnessed and apprehended at the scene. There is little doubt he pulled the trigger. So then the question becomes, did he knowingly and maliciously commit this crime? Based on his current mental state, I'm going to have to say, that there is no way he could have been mentally sound enough to understand the out come. Did he do something unspeakably horrible? Yes. Did innocent people get hurt, die because of it? Yes. Do I think he is a dangerous person? Absolutely! But how is forcing him to be medicated enough to sit through a trial helping him as a person or us as a society? What is the moral answer here? We do not want to go back to a time when healthy people were committed to state hospitals just on someone else, but if the accused can not pass a psych evaluation in order to stand trial, is it worth sending them to trial at all?  I'm just not sure, and is the bigger issue here how we as a society treat the mentally ill in general.