Category: Depression

Letter to Myself About Depression

GenevieveLeave a comment

Dear Future Brain,
It’s been some time since you’ve been where I am, and I wanted to remind you of some lessons I’ve recently learned about depression and self-care.

1. You matter.

I hope that by the time you’re reading this, you sincerely believe this one. I know that we often get lost in existential quicksand. Try to remember that the things you think are indicators of an inconsequential existence can be viewed just as easily as miraculous and precious. Yes, the lifespan of a human being is practically instantaneous in comparison to the existence of the universe. And yes, multi-cellular life may have arisen by accident. But consider this: the fact that you are here, a teeming community of human and bacterial cells piloted by a blob of electrified tissue, is pretty incredible.

2. Listen to your body.

It’s not always easy. In fact, I’m learning that it usually feels like I’m guessing. If this is something you’ve lost touch with, refresh your memory of #1. Natural selection may have screwed you over when it comes to the arrangement of your food pipe and your air pipe (thank you, epiglottis), but it did ok when it came to your nervous system. Yours in particular may be a little out of whack, but it still keeps you alive. Try not to discount your body; it probably knows what it’s doing.

3. You require deliberate (and likely extra) self-care.

Because listening to your body doesn’t come easily, it’s important for you to make an effort to hear it. If that means being a hermit for a few hours every afternoon, so be it. Hopefully you’ve got this one mastered and it feels more natural, but if you still have to work at it, that’s ok. It’s worth it.

4. Depression does not make you a burden.

‘Nuff said.

5. Needing medication is not shameful.

I know, you were mortified when you had to get a bigger pill organizer because you couldn’t fit all your pills for depression in your old one (to be fair, those vitamins are freaking huge). And every time you fill a new prescription, you worry that the pharmacist thinks you’re a nut, but I assure you, she doesn’t.

6. Movement is wonderful.

It’s easy for us to be sedentary for way too long, and since we’re a creature of habit, breaking out of that pattern is tough. Take my word for it though; moving makes you feel better.
P.S. exercise doesn’t have to be difficult.

7. Seek meaningful connection.

Being isolated is tempting, and it’s necessary at times, but it doesn’t serve you in large doses. Whether it’s maintaining your existing relationships or reaching out to someone new, social connection is a vital component of your happiness.

8. Keep growing.

Growth takes lots of forms, and it’s not always about taking a big risk. Stick your toe outside of your comfort zone every once in a while, and believe me when I say that you’re more than capable. If you don’t stretch yourself, your comfort zone will just keep shrinking.

9. Practice gratitude.

This is not to say that your pain is invalid because of the positive parts of your life. Instead, acknowledging the things that you’re thankful for can make the tough stuff a little easier.

10. Have hope.

Depending on where you’re at, this may seem like a meaningless platitude. If that’s the case, I don’t think I can convince you to believe it. Someone once told me that they’d hold the hope for me, so for now, I’ll hold the hope for you. You from the past is rooting for you. You’ve got this.

Love,
Your Brain

balance

Depression’s Secrets

Genevieve2 Comments

CW: mentions of self-injury and suicide

 

Carrying depression around only gets heavier. Like you were forced to sign a contract whose small print stipulates that not only will this weight of sadness and hopelessness sit on you for long periods of time, but it will also collect small, dense secrets. Pretty soon, you’re like a one-man band of mental illness and dark thoughts you’ve never uttered out loud. My band only plays a cacophonous combination of doubt, worry, and despair, and only inside my own head. I like to think that I’ve made a lot of progress in being able to talk about my feelings, but maybe that’s just on a superficial level. The really dark stuff is still jangling away in my one-man band.

Thoughts
The thing about constant noise is, you start to tune it out. You carry on with your life, compensating for the mental energy being drained away. And then suddenly, one of those dark thoughts crashes into your head. For instance, today I remembered that I have bottles of pills hoarded under my bathroom sink. They’re all failed antidepressants; they either didn’t work for me or I was allergic to them. I kept them all “just in case” and although I’m doing better, I’m still afraid to get rid of them. I’ve also kept the razor blade I used to use, tucked away in a sewing kit. That kit has been through hell; the thimble is rusted and my dog chewed through the case, but I never threw it away. Months after the last time I hurt myself, I sometimes pull it out and just hold it.

I guess I’ve kept these things because, deep down, I don’t believe I’ll ever be free from depression. Perhaps that’s the worst component of my one-man band. Or maybe, it’s the string that holds the entire monstrous instrument together.

Love,

Your brain

Depression and Dogs: A Creature of Trust

GenevieveLeave a comment

CW: mentions of suicide

When I brought Stella home from the shelter, she was skittish and timid.  It must have been such an abrupt transition for her; she has an address and a phone number hanging from her collar, and just like that, she has a home. I hope that she grows even more confident in her new life here, but it strikes me that what I’m asking of her is difficult for me to do as well. Every day, I try to teach her and guide her. I set boundaries and offer affection. I want her to feel secure as a part of my pack, and I want her to trust me.

And yet, sometimes when I look at her, I feel as though I’ve made a terrible mistake. At first, it was hard to pinpoint why, but I think it’s because she makes the door that is suicide close a little more. I’m feeling a lot better these days, but it’s reassuring to have my plan as an option. I simply don’t trust that this improvement in my depression will last. That’s not to say that the other sources and objects of love in my life aren’t enough to keep me here. They are why I’m alive right now, after all. But welcoming another creature into my heart only ties me more securely to life. She deserves happiness and security as much as I do. How can I ask her to trust that I’ll be there for her when I don’t even trust that I’ll be here for her whole life? I like to keep my options open, and it’s terrifying to willingly let one go. So I try to focus on the wonderful parts of having a new friend.

StellaL

Her personality comes out more and more each day, and each night, she sleeps a little closer to me. She loves belly rubs more than anything else, and will fall asleep on her back, legs askew. She’s afraid of lots of things, but she’ll walk toward them if you go with her. She wags her tail in a wide arc that’s more than 180 degrees, and the sound of her paws on the floor makes me smile every time. Sometimes at night, her round, puppy tummy goes up and down in time with the crickets, and I wonder if she likes the rhythm or if she and the crickets share a wild, natural pacemaker. And then her breathing breaks, and she sighs deeply, content to lie next to her human.
I think we both need time to build trust in order to get to where we want to be. I’m willing to wait.