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| Photo by Victoria Palacios on Unsplash |
I learned my triggers. That means I figured out what made me feel depressed. I realized that I had numerous triggers, some that I had no control over and being the control freak that I am, it only aggravated my anxiety once I figured it all out.
Steering clear of my triggers became an obsession and I took an unfair and unrealistic approach toward friendships, relationships, job opportunities and even food. I would often become very rigid all for the sake of preservation of my sanity but my unwavering approach only isolated me. It was a complete mess and I was the orchestrator of it. These periods of extreme discipline would be followed by periods of extreme carelessness. I would toss caution to the wind and do the opposite of everything I would do when exercising self-control. Bottom line? I would undo everything I had just done.
If I were on a strict diet, I would abandon it completely and eat every comfort food that came to mind. If I saved a significant sum of cash for a rainy day I would go to the shoe outlet and purchase all sorts of shoes in vivid colors and various styles just because I liked them. It was always one extreme to the next. Finding stability which I'm still trying to determine if that equates to normalcy ( I don't think I will ever truly know what the heck 'normal' is) was near impossible.
Eventually, I broke out into a sweat at work and thought I was going to pass out. This was going on for about two weeks and I began to suspect that my thyroid levels were out of whack. I was sweating profusely one minute, then hot as Hades the following minute. Fatigue was having it's way with me and no amount of sleep if I even managed sleep was enough. I went to the doctor and just began to cry. I told her I think my thyroid levels needed to be checked and my medicine dose needed to be adjusted. She checked my levels and told me that my thyroid levels were close to perfect and asked a few questions. Then she made her determination that I had depression and anxiety.
"Has anyone ever told you that you might be suffering from depression?" she asked.
"Jesus Christ..." I muttered under my breath. Too many people have asked me or flat out told me that over the past 12 years or more. I don't keep count. I was in misery. I thought I had beat depression. I didn't try to off myself in darn near two decades at this point and here I was sitting across from my physician hearing about a ghost. I couldn't shake this thing to save my life, literally!
So she put me on anti-depressants. I had already tried a few in the past and decided to grab the bull by the horns and speak to her like every other depressed person who knows the ropes. Us depressed people don't play around when it comes to meds. I recited all the drugs I have tried, what I liked and didn't and told her what I wanted to supplement what I was willing to try with. She nodded and had a knowing smirk on her face. This must not have been her first rodeo with the opinionated majorly depressed patient. I didn't care. Call in my script and get me medicated. I have kids to feed.
Ah, kids.
I have two of them. They motivate me to do so many things but at the same time caring for them often delays my opportunity to care for myself. Wearing the mask at work and at home has become among the most difficult things to manage as a person managing depression. Seldom do I have an opportunity to yield to my own feelings. I can't sleep in. I have to work. I can't cry at home, it would frighten the kids. I can't keep calling friends, they get tired of Captain Doom and Gloom texting and calling. It's very isolating to be so miserable. No one wants to be around that, and sadly "that" is harnessed to you like a cumbersome shell on a measly little snail. I just woefully meander along with it, leaving a trail of unfortunate evidence that I, in fact, was "here".
A lot of people will tell you that I'm a jovial type. They wouldn't be lying. I make jokes. I'm very silly. However, all aspects of my personality coexist with this illness, disability, bull$h*T, whatever you want to call it. I can be flirty, funny, serious, calculated, passionate, and more. I just happen to be depressed too. There are moments of reprieve when I feel good. I know it's there but it's not dictating very much in my life. Then there are the other times when every single thing I do from washing my hair to answering questions is a conscious effort. Every action is labored, a conscious effort, and deliberate.
Another issue is the judgment or at least the perception (okay, paranoia?) that everyone is judging you.
A depressed person can raise children, maintain a career, etc. It just takes a lot more self-awareness, patience, and honesty. My greatest fear? That my kids get plagued with this crap. I don't want them to have to go through this.
I had to tell my kids that I manage depression. I had to explain that it makes Mommy a little "funky" sometimes but I will always work to get well. They understand but it makes them nervous. They don't want anything to happen to me. I don't want anything to happen to me either, because if anything did, then it would affect them. I can't afford to be sick. ...but I am.
Part IV, and the conclusion of this series will roll out sometime this weekend. I'm thinking Sunday...
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