I hate to say I suffer from PTSD and depression ... suffering sounds like such a self-flagellating word. Kind of like people who have a disease ... they say they are "living with cancer" rather than dying from it or suffering from it. It may not mean anything different, they still have cancer, but it sounds better.
So I have PTSD and depression. I live with them both. We are close room-mates who do everything together, go everywhere together, joined at the hip. More accurately joined at the heart, that's how closely we live together.
Depression has had a good sturdy grip on me for a long time now, but he's grabbed on a little tighter in the past few months. When I lost my grandfather in July and then recently a dear friend passed and that kick-started a roll down a hill that seems to have no bottom.
Things at home continue to get progressively worse; I recently had x-rays to confirm that I have significant arthritis in one shoulder from repeated trauma (i.e. being punched over and over and over again). The pain from that affected me in a few ways ... there's the physical pain that is often debilitating, I take T-3's on the bad days. Then there's the emotional/mental pain of the actual event(s) and knowing that there's likely more to come, particularly when he admires his handiwork (when there's an obvious bruise) and boasts about what a great job he did. This exacerbates the depression, it makes you feel hopeless, helpless and unable to conceive of a way to make things better.
Which brings me to this lovely picture. Yep, it's a dead raccoon. I was out for a walk last week and there he was. I stopped to look at him for a bit to make sure he was actually dead, though it was unlikely he was sleeping there in the middle of the morning, but he could have just been hurt. Then the practical, responsible part of me opened up the app to contact the city people that deal with this sort of thing and told them to come get him. I felt bad just leaving him there, so I stood with him for a few minutes then went on my way.
I was already having a bad day. It had been a rough week all around, but yesterday was particularly bad. A person can only stand so much yelling, berating, mocking, and when it happens every single day without reprieve it tends to build up until it threatens to smother you. So when I came across this little guy, as I walked away from him I was crying. Some people cry at the sight of any injured or dead animal, I'm not one of those people. I didn't know this raccoon personally, he wasn't my friend, I'm not super-sensitive to these things. But I was already on the verge and this was the tipping point. I found myself feeling kind of jealous of him. He was done. He didn't have to deal with predators (in this case likely a car) anymore, he had no problems, no worries, he was finished with it all.
I just went home after that. Outside I'd let some tears quietly slide down my cheeks as I walked, but when I got home and closed the door it was like a tsunami ... it was uncontrollable, I completely fell apart. I've never been a fall-apart person. I usually handle stress pretty well; I get things done that need doing, I can get crying babies to sleep like magic (a nurse at the children's hospice once called me the baby-whisperer), I'm the person people talk to or the shoulder they cry on when they need someone there. When my daughter is having a problem I do my best to talk her through it, get to the root of the problem, offer suggestions, work out the kinks, figure out what can be done to fix it. But when it's yourself, it's not that easy; it's hard to be objective and unbiased and just figure out how to get through it.
You see commercials on tv all the time about depression. I've seen it often described as walking up a down escalator, or swimming against the tide, trying to work your way through something that is pushing against you. All valid perspectives. For me it's like being in a deep hole. The hole is deep enough that I can't reach the top no matter how high I jump. There is nothing to stand on or hold onto to climb out. The sides are slick and smooth. Sometimes they are bright and glaring so I can barely open my eyes, other times they're dull and dark. There is no way I can get myself out of that hole by myself. I know this. I know that I need to reach out for help, but I am resistant to doing it.
People that don't understand depression sometimes think that's just ridiculous. Why would you not ask for help when you know you need it? That's all part of the core of depression ... you may not feel worthy of help, or of even asking, you may not want to burden other people with your problems, you might even just want to be completely done with it all. And by 'done' I mean finished, like the raccoon. When a depressed person hits that point, often referred to as "rock bottom", that's when things get really scary and dangerous. They may be reckless, or even do something to hurt themselves.
Right now, I am in a hole. I know I need help. I get offers or suggestions of ways to fix my problems all the time, literally weekly if not daily. A lot of people think they know what is best for me. They send me hearts on facebook and say "keep your chin up" or "get out of there". Thank you for the hearts, it does mean a lot to know I'm thought of and loved. It doesn't change anything but I appreciate it. My chin is up, I'm not moping, I'm doing my best to not drag anyone else down with my problems.
It's the "get out of there" that is the issue. Get out and then what? How? Walk? Do they propose that I beg friends and family for money to travel to impose on other friends and family for a place to live? What about the things I have where I am? Sure, "things" are only things, people think they can be replaced. They can't. Not all of them. I lost pretty much everything the first time I just Got Out of There and I just can't do that again. Could you? I'm betting not. So getting out itself is a problem, plus I do own things that I need to take with me. And I won't force myself on other people to house and support me. I can't do that to them, they have their own lives. So it's as simple as that ... very NOT simple.
Recently two of my uncles were diagnosed with cancer. Growing up they lived with their families, my cousins, on either side of us. We were all very close and this is hitting me hard. So I'm doing what I can do, getting things done for other people, while still stuck in this deep, dark hole of my own. I usually manage to put on a pretty good show of "normalcy". Anyone looking at me on the outside would never know what's going on inside me, inside my home, the physical and mental pain I'm in all the time.
Then every now and then when I least expect it, the facade I put on for everyone else just shatters and I fall to pieces. I head down the rabbit hole and that's when things get really real ... scary and dangerous. Today I had the sense to reach out to my sister via text and she talked me down. I don't know what would have happened if she hadn't been around, if she'd been off doing her own stuff, too busy to check her phone. I'm so grateful she was there this time, but what about next time?
You see commercials on tv all the time about depression. I've seen it often described as walking up a down escalator, or swimming against the tide, trying to work your way through something that is pushing against you. All valid perspectives. For me it's like being in a deep hole. The hole is deep enough that I can't reach the top no matter how high I jump. There is nothing to stand on or hold onto to climb out. The sides are slick and smooth. Sometimes they are bright and glaring so I can barely open my eyes, other times they're dull and dark. There is no way I can get myself out of that hole by myself. I know this. I know that I need to reach out for help, but I am resistant to doing it.
People that don't understand depression sometimes think that's just ridiculous. Why would you not ask for help when you know you need it? That's all part of the core of depression ... you may not feel worthy of help, or of even asking, you may not want to burden other people with your problems, you might even just want to be completely done with it all. And by 'done' I mean finished, like the raccoon. When a depressed person hits that point, often referred to as "rock bottom", that's when things get really scary and dangerous. They may be reckless, or even do something to hurt themselves.
Right now, I am in a hole. I know I need help. I get offers or suggestions of ways to fix my problems all the time, literally weekly if not daily. A lot of people think they know what is best for me. They send me hearts on facebook and say "keep your chin up" or "get out of there". Thank you for the hearts, it does mean a lot to know I'm thought of and loved. It doesn't change anything but I appreciate it. My chin is up, I'm not moping, I'm doing my best to not drag anyone else down with my problems.
It's the "get out of there" that is the issue. Get out and then what? How? Walk? Do they propose that I beg friends and family for money to travel to impose on other friends and family for a place to live? What about the things I have where I am? Sure, "things" are only things, people think they can be replaced. They can't. Not all of them. I lost pretty much everything the first time I just Got Out of There and I just can't do that again. Could you? I'm betting not. So getting out itself is a problem, plus I do own things that I need to take with me. And I won't force myself on other people to house and support me. I can't do that to them, they have their own lives. So it's as simple as that ... very NOT simple.
Recently two of my uncles were diagnosed with cancer. Growing up they lived with their families, my cousins, on either side of us. We were all very close and this is hitting me hard. So I'm doing what I can do, getting things done for other people, while still stuck in this deep, dark hole of my own. I usually manage to put on a pretty good show of "normalcy". Anyone looking at me on the outside would never know what's going on inside me, inside my home, the physical and mental pain I'm in all the time.
Then every now and then when I least expect it, the facade I put on for everyone else just shatters and I fall to pieces. I head down the rabbit hole and that's when things get really real ... scary and dangerous. Today I had the sense to reach out to my sister via text and she talked me down. I don't know what would have happened if she hadn't been around, if she'd been off doing her own stuff, too busy to check her phone. I'm so grateful she was there this time, but what about next time?
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