Tag:

Mental Health

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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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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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It started with wanting to escape – the need and yearning to feel something other than pain every single day. At least, that’s how it was in my case.  

When I first tried Klonopin (Clonazepam), I truly needed help with my anxiety, which got worse after having my two kids, but it didn’t help with my anxiety, so much as it made me avoid my anxiety. With it, I became a more tolerable version of me – a sedated one. Klonopin is categorized as a benzodiazepine, which works to calm or sedate a person by raising the level of the inhibitory neurotransmitter GABA in the brain.

With Klonopin, I didn’t care about my flaws, but looking back I see that I didn’t care about anything. It all just melted away. After a while, I began taking the pills to feel nothing and not for my anxiety, and it was always more than I should’ve taken. My depression and anxiety kept worsening.

I eventually built a tolerance to it, and after the kids would go to bed, I’d take six or seven a night just to get a high. I should say a low, because no matter how many pills I’d take, I’d always return to myself, where I didn’t want to be.

I didn’t mean to get addicted. I don’t even know if I’d use the word “addicted” so much as I’d say I abused the pills. I just couldn’t stop chasing that delicious feeling that I wasn’t actually myself and the warm flush of the medicine wiping away my dark, and sometimes scary, thoughts.

It’s sad when I think about it. I wonder if all addicts feel the same way, that they just want to be someone else. They just need to escape.

Even now, I catch myself longing for those pills, or rather for the ability to escape. It’s so alluring, going to a warm, happy place inside of you. But that place doesn’t really exist. Any happiness I might’ve felt was always frustratingly temporary. At midnight, I’d just turn back into a pumpkin – a sad, rotting pumpkin, with no glass slipper to speak of.

Now that I can’t rely on pills to make me feel better, I try to find other ways, but it’s no different than the pills. Everything is temporary. I might binge eat and take pleasure in the food that I eat, but that pleasure doesn’t last. Just another failed escape. It’s the same way with compulsive shopping – I always feel guilty for spending money, and the high of buying something disappears.

I’m sitting here wondering why the hell do I feel the need to escape? And I truly don’t know. I have a great life, with a great husband and amazing kids. We have a new house that’s truly a dream and I’ve never wanted for anything in my whole life. I’ve been fortunate, yet I know tonight I will take one of my anxiety pills (that I’m not abusing), and I’ll wish it would take off the edge.

My therapist has asked me the same question – why am I always trying to leave? Why do I crave a dissociative state?

And for once, I have no words.

Does anyone out there ever feel the same?

Stay in the light, friends. Stay present.

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This past week was very stressful and anxiety-inducing. On Tuesday, the day of the election, I was a ball of nerves and after putting the kids to bed, I glued my eyes to the TV to watch the returns.

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I was shocked. I thought it would be a landslide for Joe Biden. For a while, it wasn’t looking good and I flashbacked to four years ago as Trump won the presidency. I cried. I cried, and I lashed out at my parents and brother, who voted for Trump. I remember feeling so much disappointment because it felt like hate had prevailed over love. I watched over the past four years as Trump erased what I considered progress. It felt like evil had trumped (get it?) good.

As the election dragged on, I felt so disappointed there were still so many people who supported Trump, for whatever reason. I had resigned myself to four more years of disappointment.

And then, the mail-in ballots started to favor Biden, and Trump’s lead in battleground states dissipated. It felt like a miracle.

Yesterday, news outlets called the election in favor of Biden/Harris, and the two spoke that night. I listened to their speeches, and I cried happy tears. I’m happy that my kids get to see a woman as VP. I’m so happy for little girls of color who now have someone who looks like them in one of the highest offices in this nation. I’m happy that Biden mentioned LGBTQ+ people in his speech. I’m happy for progress.

Some negative comments have been made on Facebook about a Biden/Harris picture I posted, including one comment my aunt left that said, “Disgusting” but I don’t care. There’s no home for negativity in my heart, and if others want to live that way, that’s fine by me.

Love always wins.

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I’m struggling.

Recently, I blogged about gaining 15 pounds (thanks, COVID) and how discouraged I was. I know it’s not the end of the world, but I ruminate about each pound every day. It makes me feel ugly and unworthy. I try to make healthier choices, but I get dismayed any time I veer off my healthy course.

And then another part of me takes over, and I’m empowered. I tell myself that I’m beautiful no matter what. That I need to learn to love myself despite what the scale says.

I’m battling low self-esteem and an eating disorder (Binge Eating Disorder). A year ago I had the gastric sleeve surgery, hoping it would physically limit the amount of food I could eat, but I didn’t resolve my issues with my eating disorder, and I pushed the limits of my smaller stomach, eating so much that it was hard to breathe, not to mention painful.

Now, I can’t stop bingeing. I feel like I always need a treat, something to escape into, but I can’t figure out why I feel the need to escape so frequently. Maybe from stress of the pandemic? And my “treats” often turn into a punishment because I eat so much, too much for my stomach to hold. Too much shame to derive any pleasure in the binge. So, maybe it’s all punishment — for what, I don’t know.

It definitely doesn’t feel good, aside from the initial pleasure of the food hitting my palate, but it never lasts. It’s temporary, but the shame and pain from doing it is often permanent.

And then, in between binges, I stare into the mirror and try to love and appreciate my body, which has birthed two amazing kids. I breastfed them, sustained them with this body. I live here, in this 180-pound body that holds all my essence and what makes me me. I reject the idea that I’m ugly, fat and less than. I’m a child of God and wonderfully made. I’m just as beautiful outside as I am inside, and my light shines regardless of my weight. My worth is not tied to my weight.

But I get lost navigating the conflicting messages these two polar-opposite sides of me are sending. And for some reason, it’s easier to believe the negative ones: I’m ugly, I’m a fat ass, people are judging me, nobody loves me because I’m fat, etc. But I do feel like the other side of me’s voice is growing louder. It’s not a distant whispering anymore — she’s getting stronger, and I pray that she continues to do so, because I’m weary from fighting this division inside me. I wonder why everything has to be so hard. Isn’t having Major Depressive Disorder, General Anxiety Disorder and Avoidant Personality Disorder enough? Why are there so many things wrong with me? Maybe I don’t need to pull at that thread, but I’d really like not to collect any more diagnoses.

I want to find a balance where I can eat healthy, occasionally indulge and truly appreciate my body. I don’t want to tiptoe around the house anymore, thinking my footsteps are too heavy sounding.

I want normalcy. I don’t mean to complain and whine — I know that I’m the only one in charge of what food goes in my mouth. But it’s still so hard, and not just for me — about 30 million people have an eating disorder in the U.S., according to U.S. News and World Report. That roughly 20 million women and 10 million men. That’s a huge number, and eating disorders, like mental disorders, are often unreported so you can expect those numbers to be a little higher.

A lot of those people also suffer from a mental disorder. The National Association of Anorexia Nervosa and Associated Disorders reports that 33 to 50 percent of people with anorexia also have a mood disorder. I don’t have numbers of what percentage of people with Binge Eating Disorder have a mood disorder, but I’m confident I’m not the only one.

Another alarming statistic is that 26 percent of people with an eating disorder attempt suicide. It’s beyond hard to have an eating disorder — you can’t give up food like an alcoholic can give up alcohol (Do not get me wrong. Battling any addiction is very difficult. I do not mean to imply otherwise). You have to fight your brain while learning new methods on how to nourish your body in a healthy way (such as intuitive eating or mindfully eating). It’s hard as hell for me to break old habits when it comes to food, but I know I need to do it if I want to be around for my family and friends later in life. Having an eating disorder is so hard on the body and mind. With everything else I’m battling, my body could use a respite.

I know a lot of us are in the same boat when it comes to weight gain during the pandemic. I don’t have any pointers because I’m still learning, but I do want to say be patient with your body. Give yourself some grace. Try to love the body you’re in, because you’re not getting another one. Weight can come off, and maybe it’s OK if it doesn’t.

You are not your eating disorder.

I hope y’all stay well and in the light.

If you are struggling with an eating disorder, please reach out to your doctor or visit the National Eating Disorders Association website. They also have a crisis text line — just text NEDA to 741741.

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Fat Footsteps

by Heather Loeb

Ever since I had Isla, I’ve made a conscious effort not to talk about my body in a negative light, talk about dieting or get on a scale in front of her. I NEVER say the F word (fat, not the other F word. I say that a lot)

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I do this in hopes that she develops a healthy body image, unlike her mama who struggles with body image and weight on an almost daily basis. 

I don’t want Isla to suffer the way I have. I have an eating disorder — Binge Eating Disorder. I’ve been a size 10 and a size 20 (and everything in between), I’ve gained and lost the same 30 pounds over and over. I even had gastric sleeve surgery and had a tummy tuck and breast reduction because I was so unhappy with my body. And still, I suffer. 

But here’s the thing — if I know I shouldn’t do those things in front of Isla, why do do I do them at all? 

There’s no reason to talk to myself any way but kind. My body carried and birthed two beautiful babies. And even though I’ve had some struggles with my weight, my body has been good to me. It’s not my body’s fault that I haven’t always treated it right. My body is deserving of love and appreciation. And it needs grace and patience.

Sometimes the way I talk to myself isn’t the nicest — and I’m trying to change that — but I would be heartbroken if I ever heard Isla say these things about herself:

You’re fat. 
You’re ugly. 
Your stomach is huge. 
Nobody will love you if you’re fat. 

It’s not going to be easy undoing all the damage (physical and mental), but it’s time for change.

Last month, my parents came to visit for Isla’s birthday and they stayed at our house. I have no idea why, but I was embarrassed that I had gained 15 pounds. I felt guilty and shamed even though my parents are so loving and supportive. They would never mention my weight gain.

Here’s the scary part of the story — we have wood floors in our house and I noticed that while they were here, I tiptoed around the house.

I TIPTOED AROUND THE HOUSE BECAUSE I GAINED WEIGHT AND MY FOOTSTEPS SOUNDED HEAVIER (in my head).

I literally thought my footsteps sounded fat — crazy, I know. So crazy.

I’m a little embarrassed telling this story, but I’m more bewildered. Even my therapist was bewildered. How can I be that damaged about my body?

To reverse the damage, I have to silence my inner critic. She can be so mean and hateful. When an ugly thought about myself pops up, I simply say, “Stop,” I tell myself that thought doesn’t serve me. That I’m doing my best to be healthy (I quit Diet Coke and started eating healthier), and that’s all I can do. I say something positive about myself. I don’t know if the negative self talk will always be there, but I can’t let my inner critic gain control again. If I tell myself negative things all the time, I’ll start to believe them. I’ll slip into a depressive episode. I’ll stop taking care of myself. I can’t afford any of that. And I have to remember that Isla (and Eli) are watching and listening. They need to see me taking care of myself and loving myself.

Also, my voice will become their inner voice. How I talk to them is how they will talk to themselves, and that alone is enough to make me walk the straight and narrow. I want them to love themselves, because they are amazing, and I hope they never know any different.

It’s not easy, and I have a long road to undo some of the damage of hating myself but it’s worth the work.

Below are some body positive affirmations that help me:

My body deserves love and respect
Food is not the enemy and I thank the food I eat for nourishing me
My weight isn’t tied to my worth
I am beautiful
I love myself
I love my body, as it is today
I accept my body the way it is

I hope those help. Stay in the light, my friends.

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Even though more than 16 million adults in the U.S. suffer with depression, it’s still grossly misunderstood. I’m guessing that’s because of the stigma that’s attached depression and other mental illness. If nobody talks about it, then people can’t educate themselves about depression and the stigma can’t be eradicated.

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Hopefully you know that depression is more than just sadness. There are a whole host of symptoms that can be very debilitating, and depression can affect you physically, too.

Here’s what you might now know about depression that I’ve found out through my experience.

  1. A lot of medication I’ve tried, mainly antipsychotics, make you gain weight. While on Abilify, I gained 30 pounds in about four months. The meds helped me but gaining weight made me feel worse about myself. Often patients have to choose between a drug’s physical toll it can take and gaining weight. Normally, I would advise that you stay on a medication if it’s helping you, but because of the weight I gained, it just made me more depressed and fueled my body dysmorphia.
  2. Depression is misunderstood by A LOT of people. As I mentioned early, people don’t know that depression is more than sadness. It can affect your memory, concentration, sexual drive, appetite and sleep patterns. When I’m going through a depressive episode, it’s hard to get out of bed. I’m fatigued and it can be daunting to complete small (and usually easy) chores and tasks. People don’t understand that depression can affect all areas of your life.
  3. It’s lonely. Sometimes it feels like I’m on the outside looking in on the world go about their days and be happy. I feel out of place, because if you’ve never experienced major depression, it’s hard to understand. Just ask my husband. He’s the most supportive person in my life, but he still doesn’t understand completely. You start to think that everyone else is happy (they’re not) and that you never will be.
  4. People will judge you and you’ll feel guilty. That stupid stigma rears its ugly head again. People will think you’re lazy, that you’re not trying, that you can just “snap out of it,” but it doesn’t work like that. Sure, I fall behind on housework and take a lot of naps when I’m going through a depressive episode, but normally, I’m motivated and get things done. When depression hits, you are so fatigued it’s hard to even brush your teeth for two minutes. When people assume you’re lazy and not trying, it just means that they haven’t been educated on depression. That’s why we have to talk it. We have to say, “Screw the stigma,” and accept who we are. Then maybe others will better understand.
  5. You’ll experience fatigue and other physical ailments. I’ve already touched on this, but I wanted to talk about symptoms you may experience besides fatigue. I get migraines, stomach aches (mostly from my anxiety) and back pain. My sleeping patterns change, only leading to more fatigue.
  6. You’ll feel like a burden. I struggle with this so much. I feel guilty and like I’m a strain on my family, which sometimes I am. I went to a psychiatric facility for six weeks, leaving my husband in charge of most everything. It was hard. It was also very costly. And when I’m going through depressive episode, my husband has to pick up the slack with the house and kids. I also feel like I talk and think about my mental health 24/7, so I can tell if I get off track and am heading into an episode. I’m sure all my friends and family are tired of reading about and talking about my mental illness.
  7. There are “Impossible Tasks” that you will feel you can’t do. Mine is showering. When I’m depressed, I just can’t summon the strength to take one. I’ll go a week without doing it because it seems as hard as running a marathon with no shoes on and a bodysuit of armor. It may as well be. Brushing my teeth is also hard — any personal hygiene is hard for a lot of depressed people. You might find it gross, but it’s the truth.
  8. People won’t think you’re sick. Going back to thinking depression is sadness — they won’t understand if affects more than your mood. People don’t think depression is a disease like any other. Again, that’s the stigma talking.
  9. Family and friends may drop out of your life. It’s a lot to be friends with, date or deal with someone who has depression. We have unpredictable moods, we can’t always go out and socialize and we might even make others feel sad because we are. I get it can be draining, especially if your loved one feels like a caregiver at times.
  10. You’ll buy into the stigma at times but none of it is true. There have been times where I have thought I’m lazy, weak, useless, not trying hard enough or would be better off dead. No matter what, you should reject those ideas that are born only from ignorance. You’re not lazy or weak. Matter of fact, the strongest people I know struggle with mental illness.
  11. Sometimes you might feel like you want to die. I have treatment-resistant, major depression, and because of that, most medicines don’t work and it took a long time to figure out with meds did work with what therapies. In between that, I experienced severe bouts of depression where I felt suicidal. I didn’t want to be suicidal; I didn’t want to die. But my brain was telling me the only way to escape the unbearable pain I felt was to kill myself. It’s scary and overwhelming. If you are depressed and dealing with suicidal ideation, please call your doctor, reach out to a trusted friend or call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255. Read my blog on what it feels like to be suicidal here.

When I was first diagnosed almost 20 years ago, I didn’t realize how hard it would be to deal with depression. Now, not everybody with depression deals with all this and is not as severe, but I think it’s still important to know.

If you would like to read more about depression, I urge you to go to the National Institute of Mental Health.

Thanks for reading. Stay in the light.

If you have something to add to this list, drop it in the comments.

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One False Move

by Heather Loeb

Recently I was speaking to my mentor and dear friend of many years, and he made the comment that I seemed to be doing a lot better than I was a year ago. He then said, “I bet you have to work hard to keep your depression at bay.” As always, he was spot on.

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Many people think that because I went to a psychiatric facility for six weeks, I’m “cured” or “fixed.” But for me, and so many others, major depression is a life-long struggle. I have to be diligent in following my treatment plan and there’s just not much room for error. One false move can cause me to slip into a depressive episode, and there I am — Alice, fallen down the rabbit hole. But it’s no dream, it’s a living nightmare.

Accidentally skipping my pills, going to bed later than normal, skipping therapy, not exercising — that all costs me. Even if it seems so inconsequential, like not brushing my teeth before bed, it’s not. It takes only one thread to pull a tapestry apart.

I try to follow a strict schedule, where I wake up and go to bed at the same time everyday. I adhere to a self-care checklist, which holds me accountable to all the small chores I must do to maintain my mental health (brushing teeth, taking a shower, exercising). It doesn’t sound so bad, and I’m not seeking pity, but sometimes I’d like to stay up late every once in awhile or sleep in (with the kids, I guess this is moot). I crave flexibility and spontaneity. It doesn’t help that I’ve developed a very rebellious side that tells me, “You can’t tell me what to do!” And sometimes I’ll indulge her, which is never a good idea, but one I can’t seem to avoid.

Looking deeper, what I really want is to not have to look over my shoulder so much, in fear of a depressive episode. I don’t want to worry what that would mean for my family. I want security — safety from depression —and the thought of never having that is so overwhelming, it’s hard to breathe. The thought of having an ECT treatment every four to six weeks for the rest of my life, makes me want to sob. The idea that I will be suicidal again, is heartbreaking and scary as hell. It all feels so damn heavy, especially when I think about how my depression is present in my daily life, even when I’m not going through a depressive episode. It’s always there, lurking, making every little thing I do harder.

I would love not to have to question every emotion and investigate every bad mood. Sometimes I feel like I can’t even admit to a bad day without someone questioning if I “fell off the wagon” of good mental hygiene. I wish I could have some normalcy and not be at the mercy of my disease. I’m sure everyone is sick of hearing about it, I sure as hell am. But again, one false move could crush my fragile psyche.

Odds are that I will enter into another depressive episode. I’m just being realistic. I’m grateful that I’m better equipped now if that happens, but it’s still scary. I’d like to think I’ll never get as lost as I was before going to The Menninger Clinic, but if I do, I know my family and friends are there to support me. And that’s more than a lot of people have.

I’ve always been careful to thank God for all my blessings, and I’m so blessed. I know not everybody can go inpatient at a top psychiatric hospital. Not everybody has such supportive family and friends. And as messed up as it sounds, I’m grateful for my depression because it has taught me empathy, strength, resilience and patience. I wouldn’t be the person I am without it (and I’m pretty proud of who I’ve become).

Still, it’s scary knowing that I could return to that lonely, dark place.

Here’s to staying in the light.

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