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depression blog

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Same Shit, Different Day

by Heather Loeb

I watch the same TV shows over and over.

I listen to music from 30 years ago.

I eat the same things every week, without much deviation.

And that’s OK with me. Others, I know, need variation and to experience new things, but new things just throw me for a loop. I blame my oppressive anxiety — it’s just so comforting rewatching my favorite shows rereading my favorite books. There are no surprises lurking, waiting to send me into a panic attack or obsessive thinking. I actually hate surprises, which drives my husband crazy because he loves trying to surprise me.

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But I love order, safety and comfort. It’s not boring to me. It’s home. It’s away to control my intrusive and obsessive thoughts. It’s emotional and mental control, and again, I’m OK with that.

Last weekend we moved into our new house. Don’t get me wrong — I was looking forward to it, but I soon discovered that everything was different. I didn’t know how to work the kids’ bathtub nozzles (they had two different ones) and I couldn’t figure out which light switches worked what. I think that’s normal, but it was especially frustrating for me.

It’s like that with almost every new experience, especially meeting new people. I definitely hate that, but experiencing new things are essential to live, lol. And I must do them, even if I don’t like it. I try and remember that when my children are confronted with new things — it sucks, but they have to do it. Our survival depends on it.

As much as I love my routine and structure, there’s something to be said for trying a new meal (and liking it!), reading a new book and watching a new movie. That’s how things become your favorite, but you have to try.

I’ll continue to listen to music from 30 years ago — I have a new speaker system on which to play it. I’ll likely be watching Friends when I get some alone time. And don’t think I won’t be rereading my favorite books: Summer Sisters, She’s Come Undone and The Red Tent.

And that’s OK, because I’ll be trying new things, too. It’s all a fine balance.

Stay in the light.

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Why Me?

by Heather Loeb

Yesterday was a hard day. I was sad, overwhelmed and irritable. Everything seemed so unbelievably hard, from getting the kids to school, doing chores around the new house, putting the kids to bed and even breathing, it seemed. We moved into our new house last week, and I’m so grateful, but still it’s hard. And it’s hard for others to understand when I have so much going for me — and I do

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I kept thinking, “Is it always going to be so hard?” In terms of my depression, I’m on medications that work, I’m doing therapy and I’m still doing ECTs. I don’t understand why I still have days where I’m so sad and feel so worthless. I’m fatigued to the point where it feels like my bones are tired. I guess everybody has bad days, but when I experience a bad day often have intrusive thoughts, some thoughts telling me I should die. I try to fight them off — I don’t want to die, but I fear that one day I might given into those thoughts. Too many bad days could be dangerous for me.

I’m not trying to harp on my diagnoses, but I’m struggling with Major Depressive Disorder, Dysthymia, Generalized Anxiety Disorder, Avoidant Personality Disorder and Binge Eating Disorder. It’s a lot to deal with to say the least. When I feel blue, like I am know, it’s overwhelming to think about. How on Earth do I have so many things wrong with me? Because of all my inflictions, any changes to my routine — or life in general — can cause me to fall into a depressive episode, wherein I’m typically rendered useless. I have to live within rigid constraints so my stupid brain doesn’t go haywire. And adhering to such unforgiving boundaries, even ones that benefit me, is difficult and overwhelming.

It’s a lot of damn work to keep me alive and kicking, and while I am appreciative of being alive and kicking, it doesn’t mean I don’t get discouraged every once in a while. Sometimes I feel like I’m not allowed to have a bad day — that at the mention of being sad or anything related, people jump to the conclusion that I need more meds or ECTs. I understand to an extent — my loved ones don’t want me to be suicidal and in inpatient care again.

Normally, I tend to think that depression is supposed to happen to people like me. I guess what I mean is that I can take it. I can get through it, and I have a platform where I can (hopefully) help others with their mental disorders.

But it’s still very hard not to think, “Why me? Why the fuck me??”

I’ll get over this mood. I’ll get more sleep, practice self care, re-evaluate what’s not working, and I’ll be back in the sunshine. But it’s perfectly normal to have a bad day and wallow a bit. My feelings, even anger and frustration, are valid.

And so are yours.

Stay in the light, friends.

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I’ve been so busy these past couple weeks getting ready to move and this weekend we finally did! It’s been two years since we bought the lot and started building, and there have been some major setbacks but it’s so worth it. The house is amazing. I love it so much and am so grateful.

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I don’t have my computer set up yet but I hope to have it ready to go tomorrow or later this week.

That’s all for now. I’m just so happy, I can’t stand it.

Talk to y’all soon. Stay in the light.

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The Fatigue Is Real

by Heather Loeb

One thing I hate being called is lazy. It’s never nice to hear that from anyone, but because of my chronic fatigue from depression, it stings even more.

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I don’t think everyone knows just how bad the fatigue can be. Sometimes, when I’m deep in a depressive episode, I start to feel fatigued the minute I wake up. My body hurts — yes, depression can cause physical pain — and getting the kids ready for school seems like it’s an impossible task.

All my energy goes to getting them to school and when I get back home, I yearn to go to sleep again. So, I do.

When I wake up (again), my limbs are 50 pounds each. Thankfully, my housekeeper comes Monday through Friday, and she’s very understanding and not at all judgmental.

I do what I can while the kids are at school, and if anybody asks I always say I’ve had a busy day. I don’t like feeling the shame that comes along with depression. I can never shake it, though. I’ll even go to great lengths to be busy or appear to be busy, even if it runs me into the ground. I guess I’d rather be rundown than be called lazy. It’s stupid, but sometimes I feel like I don’t contribute — to society or to my family.

I’m so embarrassed of my limitations, but I shouldn’t be. It’s OK that I need to rest. It’s OK to rely on my housekeeper. It’s OK that I don’t work (outside the home).

I stay at home for my kids, sure. But I also stay at home because I don’t feel like I could keep a job now that my depression is as severe as it is. When I did work, I was constantly calling in and it created tension with my coworkers. I felt guilty and ashamed, which led to more downward spirals and more missed work.

Honestly, maintaining my depression and anxiety is a full-time job, and there’s no room to slack off without serious repercussions. Even if I do let up for just one day I could be enter a depressive episode and become suicidal.

I should be proud of my work to stay healthy. And I am, but it’s hard for others to understand how hard I’m working just to be OK, so I don’t share. That’s the thing about invisible illnesses, people just don’t get it, especially older generations. That and the stigma of depression make me stifle my triumphs when really I should be celebrating.

I need to let go of the shame. I’m going to remember that I’m taking care of myself not just for me but my kids and husband. They only benefit from me being healthy and happy. And when being happy and healthy becomes a consistent thing, a few days here and there where I can’t get out of bed aren’t going to be a big deal.

My family, my kids especially, will see me take care of myself and learn how to prioritize their own mental health. There’s great merit in that; my generation (Millennials) definitely wasn’t taught that. But we’re talking about it now. Millennials actually have higher rates of depression than any other generation. Read about that here.

Now that I think about it, there isn’t anything lazy about me — I grind harder than most, even if I do need a nap here and there.

If you are struggling with suicidal thoughts, please call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255.

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This is going to be short and sweet. This week we’re moving into our new house, so I probably won’t be posting much.

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I’ve been packing and organizing all weekend long, and I’m not even halfway finished. I’m not looking forward to this week but I am dying to be in the new house, so it’ll be worth it.

Last week, my mental health series ended in the local paper but I’ve got some more articles being published later this month.

I hope you all are doing well and getting in the holiday spirit. Y’all have a good week!

Stay in the light.

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I’ve been battling major depression and anxiety for decades now. Only recently (the past two years or so) have I talked about it with my family and friends. Creating my blog was a huge step in accepting my fate that I’ll be dealing with this for a lifetime and saying, “Screw you!” to the stigma that surrounds mental disorders.

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It hasn’t been easy, especially talking about my suicidal ideation that I still struggle with today. But I have learned a lot.

Here are some lessons having major depression, anxiety and a personality disorder have taught me:

  1. Being forthcoming about my illness makes some people uncomfortable – I don’t really understand this fully, but I make people feel uncomfortable when I talk about depression, anxiety, etc. so openly. This is especially true if I talk about suicide, which I can kind of understand…maybe. But I’ve been asked more than once if I could write about something other than suicide. The problem with that is that suicide is shrouded in stigma and that’s why people don’t talk about it to begin with. By shining light on the subject, it helps people come forward when they’re having suicidal thoughts and it could save lives. Literally. And it’s no different with depression and other mental disorders — the more we normalize it, the more people will feel like they can seek help. There’s no need to struggle in silence. It can do some real damage if you do.
  2. I’m stronger than I think – I want to acknowledge that I have an incredibly strong support system, and I’m very grateful for that. But when you’re in the midst of a depressive episode and suicidal, it feels like it’s only you. In my case, I fight with my brain, trying to determine if it’s lying to me, because it often does. It tells me I’m useless, I should die, nobody loves me, etc. And when it’s your own brain saying these things, how do you not believe it? But even in my darkest moments, I somehow find a reserve of strength. I do stand up to those ugly thoughts and prove them wrong. I do let light in. I fight, tooth and nail.
  3. Humility – I’m not going to lie, depression humbles you. It can make you incapable of taking care of yourself, and sometimes it’s just embarrassing. For me, it’s hard to brush my teeth and take a shower. I’ve gone at least a week without doing those seemingly easy chores. And it’s hard to not be able to do the simplest of personal hygiene chores. I mean, I can’t stay indoors all day, everyday. I have to take the kids to school and run errands. So, when I am able to shower and brush my teeth, I appreciate it to the fullest.
  4. You are your best advocate – Nobody can fight for you the way you can, meaning you know what your needs are and what’s best, even if your illness debilitates you. Stand up for yourself, express your needs clearly to doctors/therapists and always ask questions. Make sure you find a doctor who listens. Feel validated in your emotions. You’ve go this.
  5. Compassion – Dealing with depression definitely has helped me be more compassionate toward others, because I truly know what suffering is, whether it’s physical or mental. If you’re struggling with depression, you see first hand that it’s like any other disease — you can’t control it and there’s no cure. The problem is that depression is an invisible disease and others won’t always understand. But you will. Remember to be compassionate to others and to yourself.

If you have any lessons you’ve learned from depression, drop them in the comments. And as always, stay in the light.

This is the last blog I’ll write before Thanksgiving. I hope you all have a great holiday and take care.

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The unReal World

by Heather Loeb
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Depression and anxiety are liars.

Now, I consider myself a somewhat-smart person, but there are times when it’s hard to determine which of my thoughts are the lies. Sometimes, I can tell the difference, but my stupid brain chooses to believe the lie anyway.

Lies, such as:

I’m a loser
I’m ugly
I’m fat
I make too many mistakes
I’m a bad mom
Nobody likes me
I’m a bad writer
I should just die

Why is it so much easier to believe the bad things than good?

The problem with this flawed thinking is that if you think these things too much, you start to believe them.

My anxiety is just as bad as my depression, telling me that something bad is going to happen and that I should be worried. For example, my husband and I got into an argument on Monday and my thoughts were racing, telling me that my husband was going to leave me, that he didn’t love me, that he resents me for being sick, etc. I made the argument out to be bigger than it was, and I eventually became borderline-hysterical.

It ended up fine, but I’m just worried that one day I’ll be full-blown hysterical and say or do something I don’t mean, because depression and anxiety are liars.

Not only are they liars, but they steal precious time from me — time away from my husband, kids and friends. I constantly talk about my feelings, moods, etc. and I hate to say it, but a lot revolves around how I’m feeling. Thankfully, my husband helps me quite a bit, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t resent me for it.

I wonder if I will ever be at a place in my life where my mental disorders don’t totally own me and everything I do. And maybe I have a part to play with that because I do write about mental illness quite a bit, but I feel like I’m helping people — and myself.

In the world I live in now, there’s so much darkness and self-hatred. I know that if I do want things to change (things I can control, anyway), I have to do the work. I can change the way I think, right? I can turn negative into positive and criticism into love.

Because I don’t want to be a prisoner of my own brain anymore. I want the world I live in to be a happy one, where I can see that I’m beautiful, smart, kind and a good writer — one that (hopefully) helps others who are hurting just as badly. I want to be a good mom, one that takes care of herself as much as she takes care of her children. I want out of the muck, out of the unReal world where I’m a loser and all my bad decisions and embarrassing moments aren’t playing on a loop in my head.

Surely, I’m not the only one who does that?

So, what I’m going to do is repeat one affirmation about myself every time I say something negative. I’m going to start with these:

I love myself.
I am smart, capable and beautiful.
I can do hard things.
I choose to see myself through my loved one’s eyes. I am loved.
Give yourself some grace.
These are temporary feelings, you won’t live with them forever.

Do you have any affirmations you’d like to share? Drop them in the comments, and as always, stay in the light.

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Why People Self Harm

by Heather Loeb

The first time I cut myself, I had the same thoughts cycling through my brain.

“You’re a loser. Nobody likes you. You’re worth nothing.”

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I don’t know if a certain event set off my anguish or if it was just another depressive episode. Either way, I grabbed a knife from the kitchen and retreated to my “Woman Cave.” I dragged the knife across my skin until I drew blood.

I felt instant relief, as weird as that sounds. I was in so much mental and physical pain from depression, and all I wanted was to feel something else. Anything else. This is called self-harming. By definition, self-harming or self-injury is the deliberate act of harming your body, such as cutting or burning yourself. It is not intended to be a suicide attempt.

Usually, people tend to self-harm when they’re experiencing overwhelming emotions and don’t know any other way to cope.

Research shows that self-injury occurs in about 4 percent of adults in the U.S., according to Mental Health America. The most common methods of self-injury are cutting (70 to 90 percent), head banging or hitting (20 to 40 percent) and burning (15 to 35 percent).

Obviously, this isn’t a health way of coping, but I understand all too well the need to escape intense pain and doing anything that might make you feel better, however temporary that is. But evidence shows that over time, those emotions, along with guilt and shame, will continue to be present and may even worsen, according to Psychology Today.

The roots of self-harming behavior are often found in early childhood trauma, including physical, verbal or sexual abuse. It’s also an indication of serious mental health issues, such as depression, anxiety or borderline personality disorder. I had zero childhood trauma, but do have major depression and anxiety.

It’s important to note that self-harm occurs most often in teens and young adults (I was in my early 20s when I started self-harming). Data shows that 6 to 14 percent of adolescent boys and 17 to 30 percent of adolescent girls are self-harming.

Just reading that overwhelms me. This is an issue that we can’t just skip over. Every adult needs to be educated on the warning signs, symptoms and treatment. Early intervention is crucial when it comes to mental health.

Failure to respond to this behavior when it firsts starts could lead to a lifetime of mental illness, and I definitely don’t recommend that.

I was lucky taht I only had a few instances of self-injury. Some get addicted to hurting themselves or develop other reckless behavior to help cope. Fortunately, this is something that can be treated and people can make full recoveries from.

Here are some symptoms of self-injury:

  • Scars, often in patterns
  • Fresh cuts, scratches, bruises, bite marks or other wounds
  • Excessive rubbing of an area to create a burn
  • Keeping sharp objects on hand
  • Wearing long sleeves or long pants, even in hot weather
  • Frequent reports of accidental injury
  • Difficulties in interpersonal relationships
  • Behavioral and emotional instability, impulsivity and unpredictability
  • Statements of helplessness, hopelessness or worthlessness

Warning signs/risk factors:

  • Unexplained frequent injuries including cuts and burns
  • Low self-esteem
  • Difficulty handling feelings
  • Relationship problems or avoidance of relationships, and
  • Poor functioning at work, school or home

If you are suicidal , please call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255.

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I had an exciting week this past week.

Our new house is closer to completion and they showed me a picture of my sunroom where I’ll be doing all my writing and it’s stunning. I picked out a colorful bird-print wallpaper and it looks so good.

Just a couple more weeks, then we can move in.

On Friday, I was a speaker at Rep. Todd Hunter’s Suicide Prevention Symposium, which was open to the whole community. About 100 people were there, and even though I was very nervous, I think I did an OK job. I spoke about my experience being suicidal and gave a few statistics as well.

I’m hoping to work with Rep. Hunter more on mental health initiatives — I’m really impressed with his dedication to mental health and to the community as a whole. He’s not a politician, he’s a public servant and it’s obvious. Very admirable.

This week, I’m hoping to get more packing done and set a date for the movers.

I hope you all are well.

Keep reading, and stay in the light, friends.

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Sometimes it feels like I eat, sleep and breathe my mental disorders. My depression is all consuming — how do I feel today? How about now? Am I anxious? Will I have a panic attack today? Will I have suicidal thoughts?

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In order to maintain my mental health, I have to adhere to a strict routine, and any interruption — big or small — to that routine can cause me to fall into a depressive episode. It’s like I’m walking on a tight rope, and it’s a lot to deal with, to say the least.

I don’t mean to complain, only to emphasize that it’s a lot just to keep me feeling OK and functioning at the most basic of levels. As hard as it is for me, it’s has to be even harder for David.

I imagine him each day gauging what mood I’m in, how fragile I am at the moment and whether he has to come home early to help me with the kids, because I’m overwhelmed. It happens every week. Some of you will say it’s his job as my husband, that he’s not fighting mental illness, but he is.

He is right alongside me every day, battling depression, anxiety and my binge eating disorder. He takes me to doctors appointments, to get ECTs in San Antonio every four to six weeks and he’s there advocating for me and picking up the slack. And there’s a lot of it.

Even in the midst of being suicidal, abusing my meds and self harming, his love has never wavered. I don’t mean to make him out to be perfect, but he has been there for me and the kids through the worst of my depression.

He is living this disease just as much as I am.

Nobody ever talks about how spouses/significant others struggle with this — the other side of depression. Often, they play the role of caregiver, and even if it’s necessary, it’s not sexy. Nothing about depression is. Spouses should be recognized for their sacrifices and struggle, too.

The truth is David must be weary. I know I am. But everything he does is to support me and literally keep me alive and functioning. How tiring that must be, because I live in a dark place. My brain is not my friend, often telling me I should die. It’s so dark sometimes I feel blind, lost in despair and destined to suffer.

But then there’s David, with enough light for the both of us.

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