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major depressive disorder

Heather Loeb
SuicideUncategorized

Make Hay While the Sun Shines

by Heather Loeb
written by Heather Loeb

A week ago I was in bad shape — severely depressed, anxious and suicidal. I went for an ECT treatment and my psychiatrist altered my medications. This week has been unbelievably better. I expected to feel a bit better because of how low I was, anything is an improvement when all you can think about is dying. What I didn’t expect was how good I’m feeling. I have energy, motivation, mental toughness and this fire in my belly that I haven’t felt in oh so long. I almost didn’t recognize it. Is this what it’s like to be happy?

Let me walk that back. I’m always happy with my life and everything I have. I’m so fortunate and grateful, even in times of deep depression. But this is something else — this is me acknowledging the “inner me,” my utmost self and she is fierce. She radiates happiness. She loves every inch of herself. She advocates for those who struggle with mental health. Her mission is to help and heal this world through whatever means possible (Tikkun Olam). She relishes in spending time with her family (for more the most part) and laughing loudly with her friends. She has grit.

I’ve been cleaning, planning and getting those annoying tasks on my to-do list checked off. That might not sound very fun but I’m doing it with joy because I just can’t do much when I’m so sad and fatigued.

This is what I aspire to and how I want to feel all the time but there are days where the only thing I can aspire to is getting dressed and taking care of the kids. But that’s OK. Not every day will be a good one but that’s exactly why I need to write this blog. I must remember this feeling when I’m down deep in the black pits of darkness and depression. I need to tell myself that happiness and wellness are attainable. That it’s possible to feel so good that your cheeks hurt from smiling and you can’t stop singing, despite complaints from your family. I just want to sing, for my heart to sing. I want to reach my potential. I want people to assume I’m manic (or on drugs, LOL) because I’m so productive and happy.

And maybe I am manic right now but I’m going to make sweet, sweet hay while the sun shines.

It’s a great day to be alive and not in bed. I cherish this day, this feeling and all of you who support me when I’m utterly depressed, manically happy and everything in between.

To learn more about depression and you can help others suffering, visit the National Alliance on Mental Illness.

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SuicideUncategorized

When The Bad Thoughts Win

by Heather Loeb
written by Heather Loeb

Trigger Warning: Suicide, Suicidal Ideation
Please note that this blog was written last week and I am no longer experiencing suicidal ideation.

I was told not to write this blog but I’ve always had trouble being compliant. You see, the past week has been extremely difficult. My depression became unexpectedly worse and I’ve been suicidal. Please know that I have a safety plan and am not a danger to myself or others.

Depression can leave you feeling suicidal, please seek help if that’s the case.

But I feel the need to describe this pain because I know others experience it but few talk about it. It’s too lonely, heavy and dangerous to keep to yourself, no matter how uncomfortable it makes others. Sharing and normalizing these feelings could be life saving, though.

Right now I’m exhausted. I feel completely empty but so full of anxiety, fear and sadness all at once. I just put down the kids and as I walked down the stairs I realized I’m not going to be distracted by them for the next few hours. There’s nothing but pain to feel now. I immediately thought, “What pill can I take to not feel this way?” But the answer is always nothing, no matter what meds you have.

Tomorrow I plan on getting another ECT treatment, the one a couple of weeks ago just didn’t take. I’ll take my meds as prescribed. I’ll go to therapy. I’ll do what I need to do, even though it feels so futile sometimes. I’m holding out for hope and I’m so fortunate to have the support and therapies in place to give me that hope. Some don’t ever find it. There are those who die by suicide, and I would never judge them for that. You can’t judge others for the choices they make when you don’t know the options they had to choose from. You might even think it’s the “easier choice” to let go but you would be wrong. Nothing about mental illness, especially depression, is easy.

This past week hasn’t just been a heaviness on my chest. It’s intrusive thoughts telling myself I’m not good enough. That my family doesn’t need me around to fuck them up. That I should literally kill myself and do everyone a favor. During depressive episodes, these thoughts, sometimes worse, are on repeat in my head. And it is so, so hard to say, “Stop!” You get to the point where you think, “Which voice is right??”

But I do know. I’ve been through enough to know that my lying ass brain is just that — a liar. If you are in that headspace where you don’t have the clarity to see what’s a lie and what’s the truth, seek outside counsel. Ask your friends, (maybe) your family, call the Suicide Prevention Lifeline. No matter what crisis looms, you will be OK. It may hurt some more and get uncomfortable but that just means growth is coming. You are valuable and loved and needed on this Earth. I turned to my beloved mom’s group to hear this myself, and I’m so glad I did because their words helped me push through.

I can’t promise your pain will ever go away — mine hasn’t yet — but leaving this world before God calls you home will only bring pain to your loved ones. I’d like to hope all depression sufferers can tolerate the pain just long enough to find a support system, resources such as a good psychiatrist, therapist, medications and develop self-care practices. It’s also good to have a safety plan, in case you “come off the rails” and if that does happen, go easy on yourself.

Again, I’m not saying any of this is easy and I definitely don’t have all the answers. I probably won’t ever but maybe we need to ask ourself different questions…?

This shit is hard and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone but it has made me stronger (sometimes annoyingly so). I have to let go of the fact that my brain isn’t “normal,” that I’ll have a life-long struggle with this disease and that sometimes I might feel like dying. That’s OK, because most of the time I want to live, and what a sweet life I lead.

I’ll leave you with something one of my mom friends said to me when I admitted I was suicidal. I hope it helps you as much as it did me.

“You are so loved. So valued. I know your heart hurts. I know your mind lies to you. Trust me when I say you are worthy, loved and freaking amazing. You are needed here.”

And I am. Thank you for everyone helping me out when I was so low.

If you or someone you know is struggling, please direct them to the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255 or visit their site here.

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The Heavy Burden of Others’ Opinions

by Heather Loeb
written by Heather Loeb
You’ll never lose more weight than the weight of others’ opinions of you. Let it go.

I’ve decided to lose some more weight. This time instead of worrying about what the scale says, I’m going to drop the weight of people’s opinions. It’s a heavy burden. Too heavy, if you ask me. And while I’ve begun the process of letting go, I have A LOT more work to do. I’ve come to terms with my depression and I’ve been fighting the stigma, which has been so freeing. So, why did I not let go sooner? And why do I aspire to other unrealistic or antiquated beliefs? 

I unabashedly talk about depression and it’s (usually) pretty hard to shame me these days. Why would anyone shame me about an illness that I can’t control? Because there are people who think that if you have depression you’re lazy, or that depression is solved by simply thinking positively. Newsflash — it’s not. Just yesterday one of my loved ones told me, “Don’t be depressed! Why are you depressed?” I answered, nicely, the only way I could: because I have a chemical imbalance. That my brain works differently than others’. She meant well but when you talk to someone with depression like that it only makes the one suffering feel even worse. Trust me. That’s why, up until a few years ago, I didn’t discuss my depression or anxiety. I didn’t want the judgement. But when I went to a psychiatric hospital in 2019, I simply didn’t give a fuck about hiding it. There’s nothing wrong with admitting you need help. With bettering yourself for your husband and kids. With teaching your kids to value their health — physical and mental. I regret nothing and I’ve written pieces in the local paper discussing my decision as well as other aspects of mental health. Was it easy? No, but what makes it worthwhile is that others have reached out to thanked me and told me that my words have helped them seek help. 

All of this has made me realize that there are other areas where I have subscribed to unhealthy, hurtful or judgmental beliefs, and I need to be free of that. If I had given in completely to the thought that having depression is because you’re lazy, I surely would be dead by now. Let me be clear — I’d be dead because I would’ve killed myself. The stigma surrounding mental illness is literally deadly. Normalizing it is the antidote, so I will never stop talking about it. 

But it’s not enough for me to disregard societal norms in dealing with depression. There are other things that also have contributed to my lack of self worth, mainly my weight. If I don’t get these toxic standards and behaviors out of my life, I might as well have never gone to the psychiatric hospital. For 36 years, I’ve been told — by society, family, friends, peers — that being fat means you’re ugly, slovenly, lazy, unworthy, unsuccessful. Before I even reached middle school I was called fat and I believed it. I developed an unhealthy relationship with food and declared war on my body again and again. Even when I was “skinny” I didn’t think so. I’ve 36 years old and I’ve never been the same weight for more than a few months. In fact, I got the gastric sleeve surgery last year because I was tired of my weight yo-yoing, but I’ve never hit my goal weight because I’ve never changed my behaviors and thoughts. I don’t know why I continue doing the same thing over and over again and expect different results. At first, I was ashamed that even though I got surgery I’m still not “skinny.” That I have an eating disorder.

I’m hardly the first woman to struggle but I am hoping that I’ll be the last in my family to do so. I certainly don’t want my daughter hating herself, because hating myself has only led to me learning unhealthy behaviors and those behaviors have only bred more unhealthy — and painful — habits.

Just like with the stigma of depression, I have to let go. Why do I need to be skinny for others to approve of me or like me? For ME to like me? Truly, the only thing holding my back is me. I might actually have different opinions about myself if they were unfettered by others’ judgement. I might even — gasp! — love myself. 

And while I’m at it, here are some things I’m no longer accepting opinions on: 

  • How much money I spend. I like nice things and I deserve to treat myself 
  • Just because my 4-year-old son wears nail polish doesn’t mean he’s a “sissy” or gay (But make no mistake, we’d support him if he were)
  • My family is going to hell because we’re Jewish 
  • My husband/son are less than a man because they don’t love sports
  • My nine tattoos. I love them and they make my happy
  • My use of curse words. I love those, too
  • My “bleeding heart” liberalism 
  • My passion for inclusivity….and pizza
  • My curly hair and how “it looks better straight” 
It’s ok if you sit and you have rolls. Embrace them.

I truly believe if I can let go of putting more weight on others’ opinions of me, I will become stronger and healthier, and that’s more important than being skinny or well liked. I mean, hey, I’m not everyone, and that’s fine by me.

I am a beautiful, smart, talented woman. I really want to love myself, so for fuck’s sake, let me.

I don’t want to leave this world thinking I’m not good enough. I’ve wasted enough time on that already. I’ve seen glimpses of the bright light inside me and nothing would mean more to share that light and encourage others to share theirs. So let’s normalize mental illness. And normalize normal bodies and normalize loving ourselves, no matter what type of packaging it comes in.

I’m done judging myself and everybody else should be, too. But if they aren’t done judging me, I have zero fucks to give.

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Depression and Anxiety
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The Other Side

by Heather Loeb
written by Heather Loeb
Depression and anxiety are at an all-time high right now.

I’ve been dealing with depression for almost my entire adult life, so I know what healthy behaviors I should be practicing in order to have some sort of control over my illness. For instance, someone with severe depression benefits from having a routine, exercising, eating healthy, etc.

I know to stay diligent when it comes to taking my meds. To keep appointments with my psychiatrist and therapist. Last year, I spent six weeks at an inpatient psychiatric facility, so I’m also equipped with healthy coping mechanisms, as well as a safety plan if I get suicidal. 

I know what to do. So, why is it so hard to do it? Why is there a part of me that doesn’t want to be healthy? There’s another side of me that I constantly battle and no matter how many positive blogs I write about fighting depression, that other side fights to be in control. There have been times where I have let it.

No too long ago before going inpatient at the Menninger Clinic, I let the unhealthy side take over. For some reason, I stopped taking my medication. It seems so stupid; taking pills is not hard but it became an impossible task. Obviously, my mood suffered from not getting my regular meds, but I just didn’t care.

That’s how it happens — you let the unhealthy part of you in just a little and soon the pull of not caring, not having to fight to be happy, commandeers you and you start to suffer in other aspects of your life. It’s easy, so easy, to succumb to this and while there are temporary moments of pleasure, there are permanent actions that are painful. Not just for you but your family, too.

Overeating or bingeing on unhealthy foods became an almost daily occurrence. I abused my anxiety medication. I wanted to escape and those actions gave me that escape, but again, it was all temporary.

Why did I want to escape? I mean, I have an amazing life — a loving family and supportive friends. I’m very fortunate and privileged. I have everything I’ve ever needed. I’m grateful for all that, but I have a very hard time lowering the volume of the voices in my head woh tell me nonstop that I’m not worthy. That I’m an unproductive loser. That there’s no point in being healthy, because I don’t deserve good things. It’s too much work.

I know that’s my depression and anxiety talking. And I know that they’re liars. I know it all, but there’s a big difference in knowing what to do and actually doing it. Therein lies the struggle everyone with depression deals with.

I’ve been inpatient, I’ve done therapy, I’ve done ECT treatments, I’ve taken dozens of medications. I’m much better than I was but that doesn’t mean it’s not a daily fight. I’ll always be saddled with this disease and I’ll always fight that darker “other side.” I pray that I’ll always win but there is a part of me that thinks I won’t.

It’s hard fighting my own brain. Believe me when I say that my brain is an adept fighter. One of its tricks is to tell me I’m amazing one minute and then next that I should kill myself. It doesn’t fight fair. None of this is fair, not that it matters.

This blog feels like some long rant, but that’s all I got today.

Everybody struggles with depression differently. If you’d like to read more about depression and mental illness, please visit the National Alliance on Mental Illness.

If you or a loved one is struggling with suicidal ideation, please call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255. It’s available 24/7.

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Genetics and Depression

by Heather Loeb
written by Heather Loeb

My babies and me 2019

Isla, Eli and me. Family portraits 2019

When I was pregnant with my oldest in 2014 I was worried about a lot of things, which is completely normal for a first-time mom. One thing that surprisingly didn’t worry me was my child inheriting depression and anxiety. That came later.

By the time I was pregnant with Isla, I had been managing my depression for about 11 years. It was not severe, just required medication and therapy. It was a struggle for sure, but nothing like the all-consuming depression I faced after having Isla and then again after having Eli.

My anxiety was out of control and I felt overwhelmingly sad. Plus, I was suicidal. My doc was not helpful. He labeled me “treatment resistant,” but didn’t offer any more help. So in 2019, I went to an inpatient facility in Houston for six weeks. Long story short, I got better and found a combo of meds, therapy and ECT (electroconvulsive therapy). It’s still hard but I feel more in control and have more clarity with my illness.

My anxiety is still bad and sometimes I get obsessive thoughts that will cycle in my head. One of them is worry for Isla. I want her to be like me in so many ways, but I desperately hope she’s able to bypass mental illness. While there isn’t a single “depression gene,” genetics do play a part. A Standford.edu study says that scientists have looked at patterns of illness in families to estimate their “heritability,” or what percentage of their cause is due to genes. They did that by finding people with the disease who have a twin, and then find out whether the twin is ill. Identical (monozygotic) twins share 100 percent of their genes, while non-identical (“fraternal” or dizygotic) twins share 50 percent of their genes.  If genes are part of the cause, then you can expect a patient’s identical twin to have a much higher risk of disease than a patient’s non-identical twin.  That is the case for major depression.  Heritability is probably 40-50 percent and might be higher for severe depression.

I’ve already noticed that Isla can be high-strung and a little anxious. She has big emotions, which is normal for an almost 6-year-old. Still I worry. You might think, “What about Eli?” Depression and anxiety hit women harder; twice as many women than men experience major depression. The only thing I’ve observed in Eli is that he’s weird, which is fine by me, even preferred. He’s not out of the woods in regards to mental illness but really I don’t recognize “signs” of a mood disorder or depression.

Am I overreacting and seeing things that aren’t there in Isla? Maybe. Isla’s 5 and Eli’s 3. That’s too young for a diagnosis but if someone has a family history of severe depression, they (parent or a child) has a greater risk (2-3 times higher) of developing depression. If a parent or sibling develop depression in childhood, that rate is probably around 4 to 5 times higher.

As a mom with severe depression and anxiety, I’ll probably always worry and I think that’s normal, for whatever “normal” is worth. For now, my focus is to not focus on any markers I think I see. And while I am open with them about my depression, I don’t want it to define our relationship. But I refuse to totally keep it a secret, because that only creates a breeding ground for shame. Also, I think they sense it, to a degree, but they’re too young to experience and understand the complex emotions that depression and anxiety bring with it. I think it’s good for them to see me cry and it’s a goal of mine to instill the belief that showing your feelings and emotions are OK. That you’re strong when you can sort out and talk through your emotions. And I’m all about them being strong.

Some view sharing emotions as a weakness, but I’ve been through enough in my life to I know it is my strength, and if my kids do become depressed in the future, it will be my strength that can help them find their way out of the darkness.

I can remember times in 7th grade where I had anxiety and what seemed to be depression. I couldn’t verbalize my fear and pain, and because of that, I never got help. That won’t be my kids, I won’t let it.

Depression is such a complicated disease and not everything is understood. It has handicapped me at times, each time making me stronger. Depression may be hereditary, but I’ll teach my kids how to fight and adapt. How to dig deep and find strength. I come from strong stock, and I will teach them to live life even when you have obstacles in the way. Hopefully, they’ll be better and stronger than I’ve ever been. But if they’re not, that’s OK too.

I hope I don’t sound defeatist in this blog, but I do think being open and honest is a must when you fight depression. I would never wish this struggle on anyone else, least not my kids, and I pray that I never have to hear them them cry as many tears as I have or hear them say they wish they were dead. Nobody does, and that’s why I will never stop talking about mental health.

If you or someone you love is struggling with depression, please reach out to a doctor. If you or a loved one is suicidal, please call the Lifelife Suicide Prevention hotline at 1-800-273-8255.

Read more about depression here.

As always, you can contact me at heatherannloeb@gmail.com

Stay in the light, my friends.

 

 

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Beautiful girl, you can do hard things

by Heather Loeb
written by Heather Loeb

urlMy 5-year-old daughter is sensitive and she can be anxious – she’s her mother’s daughter, for sure. When she does get anxious I try to calm her down with deep breathing and I started repeating one mantra over and over – you can do hard things. Does it help her? Maybe but it definitely helps me.

It’s so simple but it hits me deep in my core. My depression (and anxiety) just crushes me, the weight of it feels so heavy that I can’t move. But the thing is, I can do hard things.

In the past five years I’ve given birth to two kids who are 23 months apart. I’ve battled postpartum depression. I went to a mental hospital for six weeks. I started ECT therapy and have had more than 20 treatments – that’s 20 times under anesthesia and 20+ seizures. I have been suicidal many times but I’ve clawed my way back to me. I’m proudly scrappy.

I will have depression forever, and I’m sure there will be dark days ahead but I can do hard things. That’s the mindset and philosophy I want to pass down to Isla (and Eli).

I try my best to hide my depressed self from the kids but I know it seeps through at times. I just hope they remember how strong I am and how much I love them. I hope they never really know how sad I can be. I want them to know I have a big heart and big emotions, and that’s ok. That they are cut from the same cloth, that they can tap into their grit and resolve.

It’s easy to give in to depression, to the despair and apathy that accompanies it. What’s not easy is to do it in front of your kids. They’re always there, watching and imitating. While it’s scary to think I could have another depressive episode, I know I can get through it. I can fight. I can overcome.

I can do hard things. And so can you.

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One-year Anniversary

by Heather Loeb
written by Heather Loeb

A year ago this month I went to the Menninger Clinic for inpatient psychiatric care for six long weeks. The months leading up to my trip to Houston weren’t good ones. I was emotional, suicidal and so damn sad. I had been labeled with treatment resistant depression, thus none of my meds were working. I also had tried TMS and ketamine infusion treatments but it didn’t lighten my load at all.

I was scared. Mostly because I feared I wouldn’t be around to watch my kids grow up. My husband, therapist and psychiatrist all agreed Menninger was the next step. After going over my history, meds and different treatments, I was told I was a prime candidate for ECT (electroconvulsive therapy). It took weeks for me to wean off all my meds – an antidepressant, antipsychotic, benzodiazepines, anti seizure meds and Ambien.

While I was weaning off my meds, I underwent psychiatric testing and went to classes about how to deal with mental illness. I also had to go to the classes on addiction because I wasn’t great at taking the prescribed benzodiazepine the way I was supposed to, to put it mildly. When we weren’t taking classes, we were required to do therapy and meet with psychiatrists. The classes – and the teachers – were all very helpful. My diagnoses are Major Depressive Disorder, Generalized Anxiety Disorder, Dysthymia and Avoidant Personality Disorder.

I became close with a couple of patients who were in the same boat asI was. I still talk to them; sometimes it seems like they’re the only ones who understand what I went through since they were right there with me.

The facility was nice. It should be for how expensive it was, but hey, it did save my life. What stuck with me is that there were not rods to hang your clothes on, no drawers and no shower curtain rod – nothing a patient could try to hang himself from. At night we could shut our doors but the staff did checks every 15 minutes. The whole night. Every door leading outside was locked so patients couldn’t leave. We couldn’t have our phones but they offered cell phones for patients to use. We also had access to computers where all social media sites were blocked. It was a hard adjustment but it kind of made me feel safe, cocooned really. The girls had one wing, boys another and we all shared one common area with couches and a TV. On the weekends, we did movie nights and ordered food from outside the facility. Although it was scary and heart wrenching to be away from my family, I felt supported by the friends I made and never felt alone, despite my depression and anxiety.

When it was time to start ECT I don’t remember being scared, although it sounds scary to me now. I had three treatments a week for three weeks before starting a maintenance phase. At first, I got awful headaches after each treatment but those eventually subsided. By far, the worst side effect of the ECTs is the memory loss. Usually, it only affects patients around the time of treatment, meaning you might forget things that happened the day of treatment. But lucky me, my memory loss goes back years. I’ve forgotten people’s names, and sometimes, entire people. I still can’t remember how I met the majority of my Facebook friends. My short term memory has taken a hit, too. I can’t figure out how and what my brain is actually going to remember.

But as bad as memory loss sucks, the ECTs saved my life. And for that, I’m grateful. I relish in spending time with my kids and watching them grow. David and I enjoy each other more now, too. My mental illness takes a toll on him and I’m very thankful for his patience, love and support.

I won’t lie – there have been dark days in the past year and it hasn’t always been easy. My brain is not reliable and I have to remember during anxiety attacks or depressive episodes that it lies. It tells me I’m not good enough, that I should want to die, that there’s no way out. I ride out the pain best I can and turn to my support system – my doctor, therapist, best friends, parents and then to more ECT treatments. It’s not a perfect system but here I am.

I somehow learned when I was young that having mental illness made you weak, but after my experience I know that’s not true. It couldn’t be further than the truth but the stigma surrounding depression is certainly real. I could have easily overdosed on my meds or died any other way by suicide, but it was strength that saved me and what keeps me going now. I’ve been battling my brain for a long time – decades even – and I know I have more to go but I’m proud of the work I’ve done.

My brain has betrayed me (many times) but my dear, hardworking heart never will. Thank you to all who have supported me.

If you are suffering from depression and need help, the National Alliance on Mental Illness visit www.nami.org

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

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Fight Like Hell

by Heather Loeb
written by Heather Loeb

I write a lot about having depression and reaching out to get support but it has come to my attention that when I’m the one struggling I don’t reach out often. Maybe to my mom, husband and best friend but with everyone else I put on a happy face while inside it feels like I’m dying. I think it’s important I talk about the dark while I’m in it.

It started a couple weeks ago. I wasn’t being honest with myself about how things were going. I happen to have a therapy appointment and one with my psychiatrist that week so I let it all hang out. It felt good to come clean and it was decided I would get an ECT treatment ASAP. I scheduled it for next Friday so in the meantime I made an impromptu visit to my parents’ lake house. The kids were dying to get out of the house and I figured it would do me good as well. While the kids had a blast, I didn’t fare as well. I can remember one night eating steak with my parents and I was staring at the bright pink steak knife that cut the steak so well. I wondered how it would feel down my arms. Later, I told my mom to just hide the knives.

I decided to chat on the suicide lifeline messaging system. The lady was asking my history and as I told her that I had major depressive disorder, anxiety, I’ve done ECTs, been to a psychiatric facility, etc. She the said, “Wow, you’re a fighter.” Though I know it’s the truth, it’s not something I’ve heard a lot through my life. I’ve heard I’m lazy, that I’m basically useless, but not a fighter.

But I fight everyday. For my kids, my husband, my family, my amazing friends who support me no matter how depressed I am or how unwashed my hair is. And I know sometimes I’ll fall back on the idea that being mentally ill makes you weak, but I can’t stress enough how that’s total and utter bullshit. And then I’ll remember that I’m a Phoenix rising from the ashes, that I’ll regenerate and will continue to be born again. Because I’m a fighter and I will continue to fight like hell, even though it sucks, even though it’s hard, even though it tires my soul. If anything, I need to show my children that there are many ways to be strong. And that it’s ok if you’re different than others. It’s even ok if you need to go to a mental health hospital. And that self care is a necessity and doesn’t make you selfish. I’ve tried pouring from an empty cup and it got me nowhere (technically it got me to the mental hospital) so even though my journey is a messy one, my kids can still appreciate it one day. I hope.

If you need help, I highly recommend either calling the National Suicide Lifeline or using their chat function. Call them at 1-800-273-8255

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Bad Day

by Heather Loeb
written by Heather Loeb

For the past few weeks I have (mostly) been rocking the quarantine by staying on top of school work, baking, cooking more, sewing and I even learned to make bread. Good bread. I kept repeating myself, “When is this period of productivity going to crash down on me?” Because it always does, and today was that day. This whole week, actually. I stopped home schooling the kids, my sleep schedule is messed up, I haven’t done anything but lie on the couch and have a migraine.

I know everyone has bad days but why does something so good get taken away from me, just like that? Why can’t I go a long time being productive and happy?

I don’t mean to whine because there are people out there who have it so much worse and I want to remember that. I’m just sad. I’m in mourning of the me that got so much done, the me I was so proud of myself. It hurts to say this but I don’t know which one is the real me, the baseline Heather. I’d like to say the productive, happy one is but I’m better acquainted with this Heather – the one who feels buried beneath judgment, worthlessness, hopelessness and inadequacy.

I want to tell myself that it’s just hormones and/or only anxiety, and if I know anything, it’s that anxiety is a big, fat liar. It can take over your brain, meld your thoughts with those of the devil. And it feels so real. So, so real.

I know I’ll pull out of this little funk in time but I’m so afraid I won’t get back to the point where I was doing all the things I love, not just loafing on the couch wishing it would happen again. I waste so much of my life waiting for the good to come. But most of the time I’m too tired to breathe. So I just wait some more.

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Hindsight: 20/20

by Heather Loeb
written by Heather Loeb

7th grade photo

I remember it like it was yesterday, which is a feat because I don’t remember anything from all my ECT treatments. I was in the nurse’s office having left my 7th grade computer class. The nurse, who had seen me several times that month, called my mom from her office. I couldn’t hear everything but I did catch this, “Your daughter is in the nurse’s office again. I believe she has school phobia.” Little did I know that was the first “diagnosis” I would receive in the years to come. And there have been many.

The 7th grade was a difficult one for me and looking back I can see the first signs of an anxiety disorder and depression – extreme sadness, intrusive thoughts, and of course, anxiety. I thought it was normal to feel that way so I never thought to tell anyone about these symptoms. I can remember being scared, and it is scary to experience those thoughts and emotions, especially at the age of 12 or 13. My anxiety included being worried about dying, scared my family would die and I got nervous and agitated about school, fretting about projects due, homework and tests. Some of that is normal but what I remember is the sense of dread that went along with it. Every Sunday night (read my Sunday Night blues blog here) I would get anxious and my stomach would hurt. On top of that, I developed a phobia of thunderstorms. I began obsessively watching The Weather Channel, checking the radar and barometric pressure for signs of storms even when it was nothing but blue skies outside. When the weather did get bad I would experience more stomachaches and stress.

I also remember intrusive thoughts interrupting my daily life. I constantly prayed to God that my family or I would not die because my brain was telling me it was going to happen. There were milder thoughts like, “You’re a loser. Nobody likes you.” Thoughts that still plague me, even at 36 years old.

A lot still plagues me, including intrusive thoughts, anxiety and depression (I was diagnosed as having Major Depressive Disorder in my 30s). Even though it’s been more than 20 years, I still battle all of this every day. I might not be depressed every minute of every day, but it is a fight. Sometimes, a very hard fight. I still feel like that little girl, worried and anxious, trying to quell her thoughts. Only now I’ve traded little girl worries for big girl worries but at least I have support and a treatment plan.

It saddens me when I think of the kids struggling now – the ones who can’t verbalize their pain. According to the National Institute of Mental Health (NIMH), about 3.2 million 12- to 17-year-olds have had at least one major depressive episode (A depressive episode is characterized by low mood and other symptoms of depression that lasts for two weeks or more. Some episodes can last weeks to months). NIMH also says that depression in teens is on the rise.

If I could go back and tell myself it would be ok, that it would get better, I would in a heartbeat. More importantly, I would tell myself to come clean to my parents about the anxiety and dark emotions I was feeling so I could receive the help I needed.

It is my hope by blogging about my experience others will realize this can happen to anyone, at any time. I had a wonderful childhood and amazing, supportive parents. I always felt I had everything that I needed. Still, depression struck. It doesn’t discriminate, doesn’t care who you are and apparently, it doesn’t care how old you are either. Such a cruel disease.

That’s why support from family and friends is so important, especially for kids and young adults. If one of your loved ones is struggling, please reach out. Do research about depression and anxiety and educate others who might still buy into the stigma surrounding depression.

Here are some things to look for when it comes to adolescent depression:

  • Irritability and moodiness
  • Abnormal sleeping habits
  • Isolation, especially from adults and family members
  • Low energy

Something to note about depression in teens is that symptoms vary by age but also by gender. According to a study published in the Journal of Family Medicine and Primary Care, girls report feelings of sadness, guilt, worthlessness, punishment, tiredness, low energy, where as boys report irritability, depression and suicidal thoughts.

According to the CDC, only 20% of youth suffering from a mental health disorder receive treatment. That means 80% or 12 million youth are undertreated or not treated at all.

There are more alarming stats but I’m going to stop here for now. I know all the aforementioned symptoms may sound like “normal” teenage behavior but hopefully this blog and the studies I mentioned earlier will give you insight into teen depression and encourage you to support a loved one if you see them flailing.

Depression is difficult and ravaging for adults, let alone kids and teenagers. Let’s focus on supporting and taking care of each other. Thanks for reading.

Stay in the light.

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