Heather Loeb

My therapist and I haven’t seen each other much so today we were discussing my penchant for routine. I thrive waking up at 4-5 a.m., eating my healthy breakfast taco, putting together my monthly medicine pill box, etc. But what’s weird about that is I start to feel trapped and claustrophobic after a while, so I’ll jump ship and my nervous system takes the brunt. Read: I self-sabotage and depression grabs a hold of me until I can fight my way back. I’ll be doing so well, and just like that, I’ll erase weeks and months of progress. Often I write in my blogs and in my Caller-Times Mind Matters column about “walking the line” — how exhausting it is to be mentally ill and have to do everything I have to do to be healthy. Hell, to even just live. Things like drinking enough water, taking my pills religiously, going to therapy, getting enough sleep, practicing self-care, keeping up with my other doctors’ appointments and so on.

That phrase stuck with my therapist.

“You’re not Johnny Cash,” she said. “Living your life isn’t a punishment. ”

She then wrote down on her white board all the psych labels I’ve been given:
– major depressive disorder
– generalized anxiety disorder
-avoidant personality disorder
– binge eating disorder
– substance use disorder

On any given day, she said, you might have behaviors that might match these diagnoses, but that’s not who you are. She told me that I don’t have to lug all those conditions around. That there’s nothing wrong with me — that’s just the way I am and part of my makeup. It’s the same with diabetics — nobody tells them they’re wrong for being that way.

As far as the things I do to “walk the line,” that stupid line, are extremely healthy, proactive things to do that improve my life and health. I believe she used the words, “persistence and commitment”, words that usually are associated with little old me. I mean, I don’t have to do those things, and I’m not a failure if I don’t. But I do do them because I want to. My therapist said that so many people don’t even try.

So screw that line. And screw the labels. I think I’ve been trying to define myself with those diagnoses, and boxing myself in. I let the line think that my life was so difficult to live, and that it was so exhausting being me.

But it’s not. It’s actually kind of fun.

I’m not saying I’m not mentally ill or that it’s not difficult — it definitely can be — but I don’t need to focus on the labels or thinking something is wrong with me. Actually, my therapist said that maybe if I didn’t experience so much rejection/judgement about my depression and anxiety, I might have a whole lot less. So I’m going to rid myself of those insecurities.

And when I go rogue, it’s always the same. When I feel accomplishment, I want a reward. But when I feel pain and am uncomfortable, I also want a reward when really I should process. In the past when I’ve experienced pain, I’d go for a reward in the form of food/overeating, shopping, getting a tattoo, etc. But it’s never on a small scale. And that’s what gets me in trouble.

So processing is going to be a priority of mine. Next time I’m loading up my shopping cart, I’ll know that it’s not a reward I truly seek.

Before our time was up, my therapist told me that I was not a broken person. That I was actually a badass, and I didn’t even know it.

But I do.

I just can’t let myself forget.

I have been very busy lately — going to pop-up markets for Birdy Girl Art, painting, writing my columns, and of course, working at NAMI GCC. I run into a lot of people when I’m out and about, and this past week at a market, I ran into one woman who I don’t know that well, but we’re Facebook friends and have a lot of mutual friends.

She commented that she’s seen me all over Facebook and that I’ve been busy. I nodded and before I could say anything, she said, “Oh, good! Your depression’s gone, huh?”

I blinked at her. I wanted to be like what the hell are you talking about??? But I didn’t want to be rude. I told her that no, my depression isn’t gone, but it has lifted some, and that I’m lucky I’m as high functioning as I am. Luckily, someone had come up to my table so the woman walked off.

My depression has lifted. I’ve worked with my psychiatrist to try different medications and with my therapist. I try to walk the line and lead a healthy-ish lifestyle so I can keep my mental health conditions under control. But I am still struggling. I have only managed to take a shower once a week in the past couple months, and I’m having trouble brushing my teeth. I haven’t slept well in a couple months, and my spending has been out of control. My binge eating has returned. I’m juggling a lot right now, and the ball gets dropped a lot.

But on the other hand, I am highly functional, and at times, it’s awesome. Much better than sleeping all day and not being able to get out of bed and crying for no reason. It’s like a little gift from the depression gods, and I’m taking it! I’m hitting my steps every day, I’m painting a lot (which helps my anxiety and sometimes my wallet), I’m able to attend all my meetings and appointments, I’m getting work done, and for the most part of the day…I feel happy, content and grateful.

I’m just going to type that again. For the most part of the day, I feel happy, content and grateful.

And it feels so good. Most of the time.

I have my moments, too. My depression moments. I’m not trying to rain on my little parade here, but I think it’s important to know that someone who’s mentally ill can appear happy and productive yet still be plagued by those moments. A lot of mentally ill people, and I would say most mentally ill people, fake being happy because it’s just easier to pretend than explain all that their feeling. Because so many “normal” people don’t understand. And unfortunately, some people fake it all the way to the grave.

Try not to be that woman that assumed my depression was gone just because she saw Facebook pictures of me smiling and at different events. Reminder: Only one shower a week. My teeth are yellow. I’m definitely not proud of that, but depression does weird things to you. I can go to three market events in one week, but I can barely take care of myself in other ways.

Never believe the smiles on social media. I know it’s easier to, and some people prefer to believe what they see on Facebook because it makes them feel like their world is safe and not marred by things like mental illness, but that’s how people like me end up taking their life. Sorry, not sorry, to take it there.

People don’t fake depression. They fake being happy.

Always look past social media. Don’t ever assume someone’s mental health condition has gone away.

You could start with, “How are you doing?”

Or with me, maybe just check how much dry shampoo is in my hair.

A few days ago I talked about some intrusive thoughts about dying and my depression getting a bit worse. Since May I’ve felt like I’ve been fighting a little depressive episode. It wasn’t terrible, but it’s not great. So I asked my psychiatrist for an emergency appointment for Monday. As soon as I made the appointment, I felt relief. My shoulders felt less tense and I noticed that I didn’t really hold anything in. If I felt like crying, I did. If I needed an extra nap, I took one. Then after my appointment on Monday, I explained, through tears, to my coworkers that I was depressed and and needed help.

I realized, as I was fighting this months-long episode, that I was holding stuff in. And I have no idea why! I mean, I’m an open book when it comes to depression, so I don’t know why I would do that. Unless it was self-preservation. I agreed to fight this bout of depression and I did everything I needed to do to fight (therapy, meds, self-care, good sleep, etc.), so maybe I was trying to make it easier on myself and not admit how bad it really was. I don’t think this was about anyone else knowing how bad it was. But the thing is, I think I went too long fighting without asking for help. You don’t have to keep suffering — there’s always help. If you just ask.

Now I’m letting it all hang out. So, I’m miserable. I can’t wake up on time. I need a shower. I cry a lot. I want to be alone, but my husband is keeping me from isolating, which is good. I’m exhausted. I haven’t been able to do self-care.

But I’m hopeful. My psychiatrist made medicine recommendations and also suggested I try ketamine treatments again so I have a call into the clinic where I used to go. It could be a couple weeks before the medicine to work, but in the meantime, maybe I can hop back on the treadmill in the mornings and get a little boost. If you sleep in your workout clothes, it’s easier to workout, I find.

The moral of this story is that yeah, sometimes you have to fight depression but not so hard where you’re holding your feelings in. Get that shit out. Be you, be raw. If you can’t explain how bad it is, it’s hard to get the help you need.

And we all deserve help.

*I have a call into my psychiatrist, and please be assured I’m not suicidal at all. I am safe.

Over the summer I was in a slump. I blamed it on being out of my normal routine. This week I was excited about school starting, but I still felt irritable, anxious and gloomy. I jumped on the treadmill on the first day of school to drum up some feel-good hormones, but my 30-walk actually made my mood worse. I tried to shake it off.

I had a lot of work to do so I got busy and before I knew it, it was the end of the day. I had been really focused on work and the kids so when I grabbed my phone and jumped on my sofa to chill, my mind was very quiet.

Then I felt it. That nagging feeling that something was wrong. Along came the anxiety, followed by gloom. I tried to immerse myself in my phone, but nothing was interesting me. All I could feel was the heavy depression pushing down on my shoulders. Although this time my brain was talking about how I should die — that I was useless and I’d be better off. It’d be easier if I were dead. That I wished I was dead.

What an asshole.

I’ve been dealing with depression long enough to know that THAT is bullshit. I’m not the one saying it (or believing it, thank God), it’s just my misfiring (unruly, if you will) neurons and chemical imbalanced, no good brain.

Now I was able to get up and shake it off, but for the past couple of days when I have down time, those thoughts start creeping in my head. It hasn’t helped that I haven’t slept well in two days. Getting a full night’s sleep is my priority right now.

Even today when I managed to figure out a complex IRS form (and was VERY happy and impressed with myself), as soon as I stopped working, there was the voice again on repeat. In the past couple days I would be able to online shop or binge watch my favorite show to distract the voice, but it’s getting harder to find joy in those things. Plus I’m running out of room in my closet.

This kind of thing is just a real bummer when you try to do everything you can to be mentally healthy. And it’s just not nice for your brain to tell you to die, I don’t care who you are.

Thursday and Friday will be busy, and this weekend the kids will be at my MIL’s so I’ll be able to rest. Maybe I can catch up on my sleep and engage in some serious self-care. I know I’m worn out.

I’ve dealt with this before — a couple times. I always come out stronger.

And prettier, I think.

Last month marked six years since I went to the Menninger Clinic in Houston for suicidal ideation, cutting myself, abusing my meds, seeking out opioids, binge eating disorder, compulsively shopping and more. I was in big trouble. Everything hurts. I couldn’t take care of the kids. My husband was taking care of everything, and he was at a breaking point as well. None of the treatments we had tried for my depression had worked; I had been deemed treatment-resistant and I was beyond hopeless. My friend mentioned going inpatient at a psychiatric facility, and after reading about the Hope Unit at the Menninger Clinic, I was sold. Lucky for me, they had an opening so I said good-bye to my husband, 4-year-old daughter and 2-year-old son. For six long weeks.

The hospital was good for me. I had a team of doctors that monitored my care. They changed my medication, suggested intensive therapy and recommended electroconvulsive therapy because I was treatment resistant. The change-up in meds worked, I did intensive therapy as well as family therapy with my husband, and when I was weaned off the right meds, I tried the ECTs — they changed my life. I took mandatory classes where I learned about coping skills. At the six-week mark, I felt confident to leave, but I should’ve stayed longer honestly.

When I returned to the real world, I thought I was ready, but I wasn’t even close. I tried, but the safe walls of the quiet hospital were long gone, and it was hard to cope. But then I found NAMI. I learned how to truly cope at NAMI. They taught me about recovery. They told me that I was a human, that recovery wasn’t linear, and that it was okay if I messed up.

The hospital and the ECTs were good for me, but NAMI truly saved my life. There’s no doubt in my mind that I would’ve wound up back in the hospital had I not found NAMI. Or worse, that I would’ve killed myself.

And now, as the six-year anniversary passes, I think about my current state of affairs. I’m depressed. It’s not bad, but it sure is annoying. Everything is difficult to do, and my body feels so heavy. I’m isolating, thinking it will recharge me, but it doesn’t. I do self-care most days, but it’s not very rewarding.

I hate the summer schedule, and I know that school is starting in a month, but that gives me anxiety, too. I just feel stuck.

It’s all temporary, I know this. But I can’t tell that to my pain, which is real and steadfast at the moment.

I need to paint. To read, binge watch Gilmore Girls (which I’m already doing). Get a massage. Or two. Get my nails done. Wear something cute and belt out the lyrics to all my favorite Taylor Swift songs in the car. Wear the softest pajamas I have and watch a show with my husband. Eat my favorite meal and have ice cream for dessert.

Six years ago I would’ve just swallowed some Klonopin and let them numb my pain. Or I would’ve shopped for something I couldn’t afford. Cut myself. Lied and schemed until I got some form of dopamine.

But — as I smile as I type — I am not that person. My recovery has taught me better. I am stronger, so much stronger, and just now I see the answer: painting, reading, binge watching, massages, etc. — those forms of self-care are not just silly acts of self-care — they are my way out of this dark tunnel, they are my armor, they are how I fight back against relentless and cowardly depression.

I just need to fight, and I know how to do that.

After all, God gives his toughest battles to his strongest soldiers.

And I’m reeeeeaaaaaallllllly strong.

To be honest, I don’t hear the word, “no,” very often. Not when it counts. Not that my life is perfect, but I do live a damned good life (aside from debilitating depression, anxiety and an eating disorder), and I do work hard to live my very pleasant and joyful life.

But every so often that two-letter word hits me like a ton of bricks. No? Like, is that the final decision — just no??! No yes in sight. Just No.

I went through this earlier this week when someone told me no, someone I was expecting to tell me yes – and that’s even worse. It felt like a personal failure. I had counted on this. A yes would’ve confirmed my belief in my hard work, that I’m a good person, that I’m valuable and worthwhile.

Now I’ve had a few days to think this situation over, and I know it doesn’t mean all that, but my chest is still tight replaying, “I’m sorry, but…” over and over.

I can try again, and I will, but I need to release this grief, and the fact that I think I’m a loser, even though I know deep down I’m not.

I suppose hearing no is what has shaped me all these decades, not all the yeses that have rained down on my head lately — I’m still so grateful for those, though. I’m a really lucky and blessed girl. And I’m grateful for everything in my life. A lot of amazing things happen to me, and this is probably another one of those things.

This isn’t a personal failure. This is a teaching moment and a challenge to pick myself back up and get ready for next time. And there will be a next time. I’ve never been in charge, but God knows what he’s doing, and he’s been molding me into the leader he wants me to be. Probably someone who needs to get used to hearing the big N-O.

I just have to be patient. Continue to work hard. I’ll get my husband to practice saying, “no,” more — he’ll love that. And I’ll remember we all have our own journeys that play out differently than others. And that’s okay. I’m 41-years-old. There’s still time. I’m just on a slower path.

I am valuable and worthwhile. That’s how I know I’ll get that yes one day.

I owe y’all an apology; it has been way too long since I’ve blogged, but to be fair, I have been so busy. For the past few months, I’ve been laser focused on NAMI GCC’s Celebrity Jeopardy, which went off without a hitch and was such a success! I’m already thinking about the next one!

But, like always, I get a little blue after Jeopardy is over. I get so busy and hyper-focused on Jeopardy each year that when it’s finished, I feel like I don’t have any work to be done — believe me, I do. I actually have a big project to work on, but I guess it’s not as exciting as Jeopardy. I don’t know, I just feel blue.

Maybe it’s the kids being out of school, too. We’re onto their camp routine, so everyone sleeps later, and I do not like that one bit, but it’s hard for me to wake up early because I’m a bit depressed. And they don’t get to camp until 9 am, so I don’t get to start my work until then, so I skip lunch so I can still be finished by 5 pm. I just hate being out of routine. Big time.

And it’s hard to stay motivated. Although the project I’m working on is a big deal — NAMI GCC is transitioning into a Model A Affiliate, meaning we are going to be independent of NAMI Texas and be our own 501c3. There’s a lot of work and a lot of paperwork, but I’ve done a lot so far, and that is exciting, right? Right? It means big things for us. It’s a huge deal.

I’m ready for it!

I just wish depression weren’t nipping at my heels.

I’m sleeping more, not washing my hair, taking fewer showers, not eating right, isolating – although sometimes the isolation is restorative and my therapist said that it’s ok to do as long as that’s the case.

You know what I really need to do? Exercise. It’s been years. There’s nothing stopping me, and I know it would be so beneficial. That would definitely make me shower and wash my hair more. Two birds with one stone. I hate that phrase.

Things that have been helpful: Writing in my One Line A Day notebook, doing self-care at night, lighting candles before bed, taking small breaks during the day, dry shampoo, wearing comfy clothes when I’m at home, watching my favorite shows and letting everyone know I’m struggling so I can get some support.

I need to sit down and put together a routine that works for me – not just the kids. That would help immensely. I need to do more self-care. I need to give myself grace.

I know this is temporary, and it’s really not bad right now. This is just a blip, but it’s good to be prepared and wipe it out before it gets bigger.

Thank you to those on Facebook who took time to send me support, hugs, well wishes, etc. the other day when I posted about having a depressed, bad day. Your support was overwhelming and meant so much. I actually wrote a column about that so look for that in July at Caller.com.

I am so grateful for my support system.

I am so grateful.

I had therapy today, and because there were no pressing crises, we talked about how tomorrow (May 1) was my first day working as a full-time employee for NAMI Greater Corpus Christi. During the past almost four years, I’ve been volunteering, first as the Communications Director then as the Affiliate Leader.

At first I was worried about the obligation attached to the paychecks. In the past when I’ve worked, I always got in trouble for missing work due to my depression and/or migraines and I would be wracked with guilt. My bosses didn’t like me, and my co-workers were resentful.

It was different at NAMI GCC. I was a volunteer; I had no obligation, but I was passionate and I “worked” 20-40 hours a week, more if there were events. My “bosses” loved me. The people I volunteered with also loved me and appreciated my ideas and creativity. I felt like I found what I was meant to do.

It shouldn’t be much different now.

So as my therapist and I were discussing this she says, “Do you know awesome you are? This is a big deal. You are a big deal. You get shit done, and you are a change maker. You should be so proud of yourself.”

Tears immediately crowded my eyes.

She went on to remind me that I have major depression, which I fight every day, as well as anxiety. Yet here I was doing these big things, being a high achiever. I’ve never had anyone say that to me.

I’m a million miles from where I was just a few years ago when I went to the psychiatric hospital. My therapist continued to talk about how my self-image issues keep me from seeing just how awesome I am but that sometimes I need write down all my accomplishments to see it on paper.

By the way, I love her.

She’s right. I have done a lot for NAMI GCC. I should be proud.

I left her office smiling, confident that tomorrow, my first official day, would go great. Just as I’m sure the next 1,000 will.

In the afternoon, still feeling good about myself, I scrolled mindlessly through Facebook until I saw a friend’s post reminding everyone that today was the last day to apply for Leadership Corpus Christi (class 54). I knew the application deadline was soon, but I’ve been so busy, I just forgot. I’ve been wanting to apply for Leadership for the past couple years, but I’ve always chickened out.

Now is the time. Today is the day. Class 54 is it.

One of the reasons I’m coming on full-time for NAMI is to help transition the affiliate to an independent nonprofit. Right now, we’re under the umbrella of NAMI Texas so we don’t control our finances, and it can be a pain when we’re applying for grants.

I’m hoping at the end of the transition I’ll be the Executive Director, and I think Leadership CC can shape me into a better leader and prepare me for that.

And the funny thing is I’m not sure I would’ve even applied if my therapist (who’s class of 52 or 53, I believe) didn’t make such a big deal about me being a big deal. And to think I was going to cancel this morning.

Sometimes you just need a reminder about who you are.

I’m Heather Ann Loeb. I have a column in the Caller-Times. I run this blog. I’m the Affiliate Leader of NAMI Greater Corpus Christi. And I paint weird looking birds and love it.

And my therapist thinks I’m awesome.

Who am I to question a professional?

I hate it when things are going so well, then a little bit of depression sneaks in, brings anxiety with it and next thing you know they’re having a party.

I know the drill. This is just temporary. A few days will go by, and I’ll go back to being happy Heather. Grateful Heather. Helpful Heather.

But today the cat peed on my rug, I spent more money than I should’ve, I actually binged at dinner (which I haven’t truly done in months and months), I’m uncomfortable now, thirsty as hell, I’m moody and emotional, I tried to paint but kept screwing up because I was forcing it, couldn’t focus at work. I’m irritable, canceled my lash appointment because Eli had a doctor’s appointment and couldn’t get another appointment. My lashes need serious help. All of it sucked. First world problems, man.

It’s all temporary. The bad always is. I know it is.

As the kids were playing outside with the neighbors, I went out there and checked out the flowers that were blooming. It was so nice out there, and it reminded me that there are bigger things than lash appointments and cat pee. Such as, I get to give a really cool presentation about stress management tomorrow (maybe I can give myself some tips), that I’ve reserved Friday for some self-care appointments and lunch with a dear friend. That I’ve gotten some really important work done this week, despite having a terrible migraine that set me back several hours. That a good friend texted me and told me because of my transparency in my mental health journey, she was able to get back on her meds and the quality of her life is now better. I happen to be very low when I got that text, and she turned around my whole day. I’m glad our paths have crossed, too, friend.

It’s so easy to let the bad win. And sometimes, it’s okay to let it win, too. You just have to be careful.

I know the depression and anxiety is going to be around for a bit. I’m certainly not inviting it to stay, but I know my assignment: stay grateful, look for the little glimmers, practice self-care, rest and ask for help.

I thank you for your support and positivity. I know that once this is posted, I will receive support and encouragement, even from internet strangers, and to me, that is amazing because there are some people who will call themselves a friend only sticking around hoping to see you fall.

But I’m lucky, I have the most loving, supportive husband, family and friends in the world.

And I always rise from the ashes.

Here goes tomorrow.

This is a belated International Women’s Day post that I should’ve done last weekend, but better late than never. So last Saturday there were tons of Facebook posts, emails and texts about the International Women’s Day. One text I received was from a jewelry retailer that was selling bracelets with different words, such as “Strength.” I clicked on the link to look at it and started wondering whether I could even wear that bracelet. Was I a strong woman? What do I even do that shows strength? My brow was furrowed so I texted one of my besties and asked whether she thought I was a strong woman.

She replied quickly, “Duh.”

Then typed, “You’ve hit rock bottom and now you are a pillar of the community. You’ve looked shame and fear in the face and now you help others do the same through your transparency in your journey.”

Then, “You are a bad bitch.”

Wow, I thought. She makes me sound good.

How could I have forgotten that I had a mental breakdown and have been hospitalized twice – the final time for 6 whole weeks? Six weeks away from my babies and husband. Six weeks away from my phone, social media, friends and my cats. And then withdrawal from my meds as my team of doctors changed everything I was taking. I did intensive individual therapy and family therapy with my husband who told me how he really felt about the situation, and it was damn difficult to hear. I had to take accountability for my actions, and that was even harder. I blamed everything on my depression, anxiety and suicidal ideation (which played a role) but didn’t want to accept that I was an active participant in my undoing.

And then came the electroconvulsive therapy or ECTs where the docs put electrodes on my forehead to induce a seizure while I was under anesthesia. It’s not as insane as it’s sounds. They’d give me a muscle relaxer so I wouldn’t violently shake, and the seizures would typically be under 1 min and 20 seconds. The shorter the seizure, the better the outcome. They don’t know exactly why ECTs work, but it’s just a reset of your brain. I underwent about 12-15 at the Menninger Clinic and about 15 more in San Antonio once I was home. It was not easy for me. I developed a phobia of anesthesia during one session because it took longer for it to work, and I started to panic, thinking I was going to be awake. After that I would panic and fight the anesthesia and the doctors would have to hold my hands or get David in there to calm me down. But I did it. Thirty times. That took strength.

All of it took strength. When I returned home, it was difficult because I wasn’t in a quiet, controlled environment — I was in a house with a 2-year-old and 4-year-old who screamed and cried, and sometimes the coping skills I learned didn’t work or I didn’t have time to employ them.

Because I was gone for so long, I decided to tell my friends the truth about being in a psych hospital. And I wrote about it in my blog that I started a year before about eradicating stigma and being transparent about my mental health journey. I even wrote about it in forum pieces for the local newspaper. I figured that if I share my “deepest, darkest secret,” then nobody has shit on me. And I was proud of my journey.

And it just got better and better. NAMI Greater Corpus Christi found me, and my quality of life improved greatly. They taught me about mental health recovery, and I became the Communications Coordinator, creating the monthly newsletters, doing social media, and among other things. I also was able to put together the first-ever Celebrity Jeopardy fundraiser, which raised about $20k in its first year. I thrived, and honestly I can say that these years after the psych hospital have been the best of my life.

I learned resilience and that you can’t just take a medication and expect it to do all that work. You have to do the work and walk that line of going to therapy, being compliant with your wellness plan, take your meds, practicing self-care, etc. It takes discipline, and that takes strength.

And somehow I briefly forgot all this last weekend.

Strength comes in many forms, and all the women I know are strong and tough as hell. My point is don’t discount your journey, no matter what it is. And don’t let anyone ever undermine it.

“A woman is like a tea bag — you never know how strong she is until you put her in hot water.”

Unfortunately, we’ve had nothing but hot water these past couple of years, and I see everyone’s strength and determination.

I see you.

All this over a bracelet. And it wasn’t even that cute.