Day Thirty-one (extra content) -- Five Minute Friday: Leave

Note: This post is my weekly contribution to the Five Minute Friday community that is hosted by Kate Motaung on her blog Heading Home. Click here for more information about Five Minute Friday and how you can get involved!

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I have started this Five Minute Friday post four times now. Nothing quite sounds right when I type it. Leave. Time to take my leave of this subject of depression? I'm leaving this here for a while? Going to leave and take a break? Nah, none of them sound right.

So here I am, grasping at straws as I type furiously for five minutes. Perhaps I'm not meant to really compose a coherent thought on leaving. Maybe that is what I need to leave alone. I don't know.

Life this month has been a crazy mad whirlwind of words and activities as October always is and I am, in some ways, glad to leave it behind with the flip of the calendar into November. This time of year is always busy but with this 31 Days blog challenge, this month has been especially so. I kinda wish I could leave home for a few days and go have a rest and retreat. All while I've been writing about depression and the darkness and difficult of my journey through it, I've been working behind the scenes to try and figure out a way to leave my responsibilities behind for a while and get some decent rest. I've tried to figure out how to have a retreat, but nothing seems to be working out for me to leave home and recharge my batteries.

Throughout this journey that I've been on, I have earnestly fought against the urge to leave for good. That is the thing about depression. You want it to end and sometimes the only thing that seems like it will work is to leave life altogether. I've had those thoughts a couple of times this month as I've been writing all of this. It isn't that you want to leave. You just want the pain to leave. Thankfully, I am in a better place with regard to that kind of leaving now than I was a year ago. Yes, I still struggle with it, but I am less desirous of taking that kind of leave.

For now, I will leave this subject and go take a nap. Tonight is Halloween after all and we will leave our house to go out trick-or-treating, so I need to be ready and rested. Ciao amici!

Click here to read other Five Minute Friday posts and here for more information on FMF!

Day Thirty-one: We've Done the Impossible...

I began this 31 Days series with the idea of telling the story of my journey through depression and maybe helping provide some insight and education along the way, but what happened is that I stumbled.

I knew I would.

It's why I gave my series the title "Stumbling Through." I know myself well enough to know that I stumble a lot. The thing about depression is that it provides so many more opportunities to stumble through life, so when I was searching for an appropriate title, it seemed only fitting. The other thing about stumbling is that sometimes you catch yourself and sometimes you fall. I have, thanks to Gray and Pendragon, caught myself most of the time through this journey, but I have fallen too. I haven't really talked here on my blog about how I have fallen, but suffice to say that I've fallen hard enough that it put me behind schedule and very nearly made me stop altogether.

Trying out this Bloglovin' Thing

Apparently to claim your blog you have to do this whole copy and paste code thingie. So here's mine. Go follow me on Bloglovin! And if you do, comment below and I'll add you to my blog feed there too! 

Follow my blog with Bloglovin

Day Thirty (part 2): Swingin' and Swayin' and Gettin' Merry Like Christmas

Note: This is a continuation of a 2 part entry. To read part one, please click here. To read the entire 31 Days series, just click on the tab above.

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Later that day, Balinda and I go fabric shopping at my favourite shop and a couple of others and by the time we are done, it is almost dark. We stop at a local grocery store and pick up provisions for making tacos for dinner, but for me, tacos will have to wait until much, much later. I have plans with Sarah and my other sister in law, Olivia (who is married to Gray's little brother Andrew) to make good on my desire from earlier this summer when I was at the beach. I am going to get a tattoo. I have been thinking about this ever since this summer and the idea just won't leave me alone. I've looked at designs and local shops back home, but haven't done it yet. I know what I want and even have a picture on my phone of it but that's as far as I've gotten until now. Tonight, we are all going to get inked. Both Sarah and Olivia already have tattoos but they are eager to get another one and to come with me for my first one.

Day Thirty (part 1): Swingin' and Swayin' and Gettin' Merry Like Christmas

It is a few days before Christmas and we are in a hotel room somewhere in Virginia. Everyone is asleep except me. I am sitting here, trying to relax a bit, but struggling with it. Today has been a long day, but a good one. We left home early this morning and have driven all day, stopping as necessary for bathroom breaks, food, and gas for the van and we are finally here for the night. Tomorrow we'll start early again and should arrive at my in-laws' house by 5 or 6pm at the latest. Tonight we celebrated M2's 7th birthday with pizza from the local chain restaurant, cupcakes (one of which had 7 tiny candles in it!), and presents for the birthday girl. She is delighted with the excitement of celebrating her birthday in a hotel room and enjoying pizza and cupcakes in her new pajamas. AB was pretty delighted with the prospect of all the celebrations even though it wasn't her birthday. There is something kind of fun about being on a road trip and I have enjoyed it thus far myself.

M2 with her birthday cupcakes

Day Twenty-nine: Night of Silence

"Cold are the people/Winter of life/We tremble in shadows/This cold endless night/Frozen in the snow lie roses, sleeping/Flowers that will echo the sunrise/Fire of hope is our only warmth/Weary, its flame will be dying soon." -- from Night of Silence by Daniel Kantor

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Thanksgiving has passed and for the first time in my life, I have not been with any extended family. Because of this, the preparation for Thanksgiving dinner has fallen completely to me. I have never done this before, but have manage to pull it off with a precooked ham, boxed stuffing, homemade cranberry sauce, sweet potato casserole, broccoli casserole, store bought rolls, and a homemade pumpkin pie. It takes a lot of planning and a fair amount of effort on the day of, but everything comes out really tasty and is well-received by everyone, even my sometimes unpredictably picky big girls. It is the first time in a long time that I've felt a bit more like myself. Even so, I find that the effort of cooking and baking drains me and I am much more irritable than I have any right to be. 

Day Twenty-eight: Adrenaline

Note: This is a continuation of a 2-part entry and is a continuation of my story. Please click here for part one. To read the entire 31 Days series, just click on the tab above to access the index page for the series or click here to go straight to Day One.

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The next day I awaken and the dark fog is still there. The emotional anguish is still very present and this despite Gray having stayed home from work to make sure I am safe and his allowing me to sleep in as late as I like. I just don't want to endure this anymore. I fight with this darkness all day long while the big girls are at school and when Gray goes to pick them up from school, it is all I can do to not get in the other car and leave. Instead, I lay in our bed and go back to sleep. Pendragon calls, as promised, a little while after the girls are in from school. I tell him that I am still struggling with suicidal thoughts and urges and I just don't want to do this anymore. We have an appointment the next evening and he asks if I think I will be okay until then. I answer honestly that I don't really know, but maybe. I tell him that I am still struggling with wanting to leave but that I'm fighting it. He asks if I think I need to see him this evening instead of waiting until our appointment. Even though good sense would say, yes, I do need it, I find myself telling him that I will wait. I am not thinking clearly or I would have been more honest with him, but I don't even realise how bad it is.

Day Twenty-seven: Fighting to Leave and Stay

Note: This is a continuation of my story of my journey through depression in my 31 Days series. This entry takes place in October of 2013 and because it wound up being so long, I have split it into two parts. This is part one. Click here for part two. To read the rest of the series, click the 31 Days tab above or click here to go straight to the Day One entry.

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Fall leaves are everywhere now and the weather is cool enough that jackets or long sleeves are necessary for most mornings as we send the girls off to school, although the afternoons are still warm enough for shorter sleeves. The weather doesn't really affect my clothing choices though. They have been the same for months. Black. Black. More black. I really have about two outfits that I wear pretty much every day and they are both black shirts and pants. The only break in my parade of black is Sunday mornings when I wear a long floral printed maxi dress with a solid yellow shrug over my shoulders. To be honest, it is another reason that I hate Sundays lately. I don't want to wear flowers or yellow or any other colour. I have always dressed in colours that are reflective of my mood and as my mood is rarely brighter than perhaps a dark midnight blue and is usually rather black, I don't feel like dressing in anything else. I have tried to wear other colours in an effort to lift my mood, but they just wind up irritating me and pulling me down further. The only other time outside of Sunday that I wear anything except my black is when I absolutely must in order to pretend that I am feeling happy or at the very least, normal. I even have a black cotton nightgown that I wear a lot of the time. The black not only fits my mood, but it is, in an odd sort of way, comforting. Lately I feel so on edge and irritable that the least little thing seems to overstimulate me and makes me want to run away and hide. I am normally very comfortable in crowds and around strangers, but all of that has changed too. My normal extroverted nature has been swallowed up by the darkness of depression and the black that I wear seems to help insulate me a little when I must endure those situations that have a tendency to overstimulate me.

A Huge "Thank You!" and An Apology

I want to thank all the wonderful folks who have been reading this series and have been so very kind and supportive of me. I am absolutely amazed and humbled by your kindness and generosity of spirit and all of the love you have showered on me during this. In addition, I want to especially thank all the #write31days Facebook group folks who have commented on my posts there and been concerned about me and who have been lifting me up in prayer and thought. Y'all are such treasures and I am very grateful for each of you!

Now for the apology. I have been reading all of your sweet comments and have been so touched by them, but I haven't replied to any of them in days. I want you to know that I do so appreciate that you take the time to comment and give me your input and feedback on what I've written. Life has been kinda nuts the last several days and quite honestly, this journey that I'm on has pulled me into a deeper darker place in the last week and a half on top of all the insanity of life. When that happens I often feel like I am good for absolutely nothing and have a tendency to want to just go quiet and not say anything to anyone. In other words, my depression has been kicking my butt and my head pretty good lately and I want to apologize if you've commented and I didn't reply. Please forgive my reticence. I wish I could give all of you a big hug, but since I can't, just know that I'm hugging you in my heart and sending a very heartfelt thank you to all of you. God bless you!

Day Twenty-six: Poetic Musings on Depression

Note: I have been inundated with life lately but wanted to post something related to depression to help move this series along. To that end, the following are three poems I have written at various points along this journey. They are meant to convey some of what depression feels like from the inside. They are quite dark, so if you are easily disturbed or triggered, please be cautious about reading. 

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Into Black

The darkness steals over me again
And I feel quiet in its clutches
Despair washes through my brain

Day Twenty-five: A Cord of Three Strands

Note: After having had several days of struggling to write something and posting stuff that's not part of the story itself, I am returning to the story of my journey in this entry. Just to clarify, this part takes place in September of 2013. To read the rest of the story, click here for Day One or on the 31 Days tab above to access the index for this series.

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It is September and the temperature has dropped a few degrees. The nights are cooler and the air drier even if the daytime still feels too warm for fall. The trees have begun their slow transition from greens to golds, reds, oranges, and browns and fall flavoured treats are everywhere. It has been a month since that first meeting with Pendragon in his new office and we have met every week without fail. Unlike when he was at Green Tree, we are able to meet for longer than an hour if necessary and lately, the extra time has been very much needed indeed.

Day Twenty-four (extra content) - Five Minute Friday: Dare

Note: The following is my weekly five minute long contribution to the Five Minute Friday community. For more information on Five Minute Friday and how to join in this incredible community, click here to learn more at Kate Motaung's blog Heading Home. If you want to join in the fun and link up with all of this week's FMF based on the prompt below, click here.

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~Dare~ 

 

I dared to believe that the partial hospitalisation program at Green Tree could help me one more time.
I dared to hope that it would render the same results that it had the first time almost four years ago.
I dared to hope that God would help me through it.
I dared to trust in the people who run the program and in their abilities to help me.
I dared to trust in the therapist who I spoke with when I had that awful horrible no good day.
I dared to think that the worst of it was over after speaking with her.
I dared to feel "cautiously optimistic" when I returned to the program the following morning.
I dared to believe that it would all be okay.

I was wrong. I was horribly, horribly, irrevocably wrong.

But still, I dared.
I dared to believe after the trauma of being inpatient at Pine View that I could get past my anger.
I dared to believe that I could force myself to come face to face with those who betrayed me and ignore that betrayal.
I dared to believe that I could still get everything that the partial hospitalisation program had to offer and use to for my benefit.
I dared to tell the doctor exactly how angry I was at the prospect of coming back to that place.
I dared to fight for the opportunity to return to a place where I had been betrayed just so I could prove that I was stronger than that betrayal.
I dared to come back to that program and endure the entire three weeks of it.
I dared to do all of these things in an effort to get better, to recover, to move out of the darkness.

I dared to hope that through all the writing of this painful dark journey that things might be getting better.

I was wrong and foolish to have dared.

Five Minute Friday

Day Twenty-four (a bit late): Patterns and a Fever Induced Delirium

Note: This entry is the second part of a two part entry. If you missed the first part, just click here to read it. 

The other thing I have noticed is that when I have a few days in a row like this, it either starts to lift a little bit by the third or fourth day or it gets even worse. When it gets worse, the depression increases to a solid 9 or 10 and nothing in the world seems right to me. I become pretty much non-functional, don't want to eat at all (and have gone days without eating in that state), start actively considering suicide as a possible option, and struggle to put words to what I am feeling even with Gray or Pendragon. In fact, when I get that bad, I often wind up meeting with Pendragon for a crisis appointment (I really hate that it's called that) and he has to work very hard to draw me out. It's not that I am actively trying to not talk, it's just that when the depression is so heavy that I can hardly breathe, it fights with me and tries to keep me silent. I don't know why this is, only that it is so.

Day Twenty-three (a bit late): Rating My Depression

This entry is a bit on the late side as it ought properly to have been posted on the 23rd of October, but things being what they are, it wasn't. So, here it is. I've been struggling through a bad patch of deeper depression than normal and I'm not really feeling like continuing the story at the moment, but I'm trying to write something, so here's a bit of an aside, if you will. Oh, and it's two parts, just so you know.

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For me, depression is an odd sort of creature that mutates and bends and changes from day to day. Some days, it is easier, some days more difficult, and some days are so hard that I don't want to wake up to another day. It runs the gamut. You might wonder with such a wide variety of mood how I make sense of it or see patterns in it or how Pendragon knows what to do to help me treat it or how Gray lives with me and has any sort of understanding of what is going on with me. The answer is actually quite simple.

Day Twenty-two: Old Face, New Place, Same Old Struggle

Time marches on and, unfortunately, the darkness of my depression has gotten in many ways worse. After my last meeting with Pendragon at his Green Tree office, I feel a bit less nervous about his leaving that group, although there is still a part of me that is apprehensive about how this is going to work now that he's going out on his own. One thing that helps is that he has given me his new business card and on it is his phone number and not only can I call, but I can text him! That will make it much easier to get in contact with him if I need to set up an appointment or if things get really bad and I need to talk.

Day Twenty-one: Owning My Anger

It is almost a month now since I have been home from Pine View and I just "graduated" from Green Tree's partial hospitalisation program about a week ago. Since I only got through two full days of the program when I began it before my stint at Pine View, they just restarted me from the beginning. To be honest, I wasn't sure I was going to be allowed to go back.

Day Twenty: Home Again

Yes, I am a total geek. :)

Gray turns the corner and suddenly we are driving down our street. Less than a minute later, our house comes into view with the stately oak in the front yard and the juniper tree's branches moving gently in the mid-July breeze. We have just come from a late lunch at a local Mexican restaurant and my belly is full of delicious food, but more importantly, my heart is full from time spent with Gray and our girls. It is Monday afternoon and I am home at last. After five days of unspeakable pain, I am free. It is a bright sunny day and oppressively warm for this part of July, but I am not bothered by the heat or humidity. I am free. I am home. I am home!!! Tears spring from my eyes as we pull in the driveway and I swallow several times and sniffle a little bit. Gray reaches over and squeezes my hand and we get out of the van. The girls are chattering away and are halfway up the curved sidewalk to the front door before I can get out of the van and shut my door behind me. As I walk toward the back of the van, I see that they have, as usual, left the side door open and I slide it shut and stand staring at it for a moment. It is habit for me to check behind them and shut the door, but today it does not feel like habit or something that just has to be done. Today it feels like a "welcome home, Mom!" from my girls. Everything feels like it is welcoming me home and I am glad to finally be here.

Day Nineteen: Dearest Gray

18 October 2014

Saturday

Dearest Gray,

As you know, today hasn't been the easiest of days for me and that what I'm feeling as I type this and try not to cry (not that I don't feel that I can, I just don't want to have to stop now that I've finally started to get a tissue from the bathroom and wipe my nose) is the weight of all of this that I've been writing about of late. These memories that I've been sharing with the world have been even more sharply in my dreams the last several days which, as you also know, has caused you to waken me from nightmares. I told you today that I don't want to continue this writing of this. It hurts so much and I've cried so many tears over it. I told you too that I was starting to feel something akin to hope, only to have it smashed to bits this afternoon and evening. That is the way of this disease though and why I have learned that it is an exercise in frustration and pain to tell myself that I might be getting better or that things might be changing in some way because there is something about saying it aloud (or writing it) that seems to signal an ill wind to come and knock me back down into the darkness again. Two steps forward, two steps back again. Maybe not a whole two steps back, but enough that whatever infinitesimal amount of progress I am making is so miniscule as to be completely unrecognizable to my senses. All that said, my darling, you have encouraged me and lent me your strength and I am trying. As I said, today, I am writing this for you.

Day Eighteen: Playing the Game

I return to the ward following Gray's and the girls' visit and discover that there are snacks to be had at the nurse's station. I can't really recall when I last ate and although I'm not starving, something about the offering of juice and plain potato chips looks at least a little appealing. I take a bag of chips and a little container of juice and return to my room. As I sit down on my bed across from my roommate who is straightening her bed sheets, I realise that although I have tears still moist on my face, the need to cry has lessened. I open the chips and the juice and start to eat and drink. It isn't milk and honey from the promised land, but it isn't horrible either.

Day Seventeen (extra content) -- Five Minute Friday: Long

When someone says, "that's such a long time!" it is hard to know exactly how to respond. Yes, 21 months of struggling through a depressive episode IS a long time, but in the overall scheme of things, it's fairly short. I have lived 30 odd years and by comparison, 21 months is nothing. It's not that I am diminishing this sojourn through the darkness as nothing or as something I view as short, but just that when I look at it form the perspective of my length of life, it is indeed short.

Day Seventeen (part 1): Early Morning Blurred Lines

My unconscious mind is roused by a voice calling my name, but I can't put a face to it. "Therese? Therese?...." I am still somewhere betwixt dreams and wakefulness and the heavy sort of confusion of that state clouds my senses. "Therese? Therese, wake up. Wake up, Therese." The voice is insistent and somewhere in my half awake brain, I realise that whoever it belongs to must know me, so I roll over in the bed and automatically reach to turn my CPAP off. My hand grapples with empty air beside the bed and suddenly, a realization hits me. I am not at home. Oh God, it wasn't a dream. Despite my inability to see anything clearly without my glasses, I suddenly know exactly where I am. The voice says, "Therese, you need to go down to the nurse's station for a blood draw." I bristle. My CPAP continues to hum quietly and whoosh with each breath I take. The person belonging to that voice is standing in the doorway of my room and although she is less than ten feet away, I cannot tell that she is a she except for the pitch of her voice. Apparently satisfied that I am awake enough to have heard her message, she disappears. I am not getting out of this bed to go give them any of my blood. Too fucking bad. I lay back down and turn over on the hard foam mattress and refold the thin pillow beneath my head, hearing it crinkle as I lay my head down. I pull the thin waffle weave blanket over my head, close my eyes, and go back to sleep.

Day Seventeen (part 2): Rules and A Visit

I go back to sleep for a while and finally wake up around 10:00am, decide to get dressed, and walk around a bit to see the rest of this prison. As I consider dressing, I realise that there is only one tiny corner of my room where I can dress that is mostly out of sight of the wide open door. I would just close the door, but we are not allowed to close it and if we do, it will lock us inside the room. Ditto for closing the bathroom door. There is absolutely no privacy. Anyone and I mean absolutely anyone -- doctor, nurse, staff, or fellow patient -- could walk by and see me dressing or undressing. It is a degrading, humiliating feeling to be cowering in the corner, looking over my shoulder every other second to make sure the coast is clear and that no one is walking in unannounced.

Day Sixteen: Flood

The door clangs shut behind me and I am howling through my tears, barely able to see the orderly who is walking just ahead of me, carrying my two bags and leading the way to the place where I will be until....who knows when? The drive here and saying goodbye to Gray have taken all the fight out of me and now I am just a heartbroken shell. I cannot think of anything. All I can do is cry and I cry continuously as we get on the elevator, ride upstairs, and walk down the hall of the ward toward the nurse's station. I am bawling like a baby who is starving, cold, tired, and in pain. It is less cry and more wail and by all rights, I ought to be completely humiliated but I just don't care anymore. The pain of what I am feeling is so great that I am beyond caring about anything except leaving this place and being reunited with Gray and my children.

Day Fifteen: Poetry, Music, and Yummies!

Given the intensity of my story and the fact that I've been working on it almost non-stop for two weeks, I've decided to take a break from it for today. Instead, I wanted to share three things with you that are personal but not related to depression. Hope you enjoy!

Day Fourteen: Down the Rabbit Hole

Note: This entry is particularly long. I started to separate it into multiple entries, but I could not find a good place to split it that made sense to me. I am going to insert some pauses, if you will, in the form of asterisks, so that if you need to grab another cup of coffee, change a diaper, make a phone call or just take a break, you'll have some way of finding your place again. I apologize in advance for the length of it and offer my sincere gratitude to all of you who are reading. Thank you.

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It is Wednesday morning and I am on my way to Mass for the third day in a row. This morning though, there is a healthy lunch packed in my insulated bag and although I'm not what I'd call really happy, my overall mood is definitely lighter as I drive along. Yesterday on my daily assessment, I rated the intensity of my depression at a 9 out of a possible 10, although in all honesty, it was probably closer to a 10. I know I was trying to hide it a little bit though. Today though, I feel like it is sitting somewhere around a 6 or 7. It's not a complete 180 degree difference, but definitely a step in the right direction. With any luck, by the end of the partial hospitalisation program, I will be able to get that number down to nearly 0.

Day Thirteen (part 2): A Leap of Faith

****Note: This entry contains mentions of suicide (non-graphic). Please read with caution if you are easily triggered by this subject.

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I leave the house, head to Mass and make my apologies, tears streaming down my face from beneath my veil. My plan is to leave Mass, find somewhere that I can do it and then end it.  Perhaps it is the graces of receiving the Holy Eucharist, but I find that I cannot do it quite so easily as I thought. I had not planned to actually go to the program today, but I find myself in the parking lot before I know it. I go inside, sign in, put my insulated back (with my means inside it) in the refrigerator and go back to the main group room. As I begin my daily assessment, I feel as though I am visibly shaking, so I take my rosary out of my purse and hold it in my hand. I am not praying, but something about holding my rosary calms me enough that I can pick up my pen and actually fill in the assessment form.

Day Thirteen (part 1): Torn

****Note: This entry has mentions of suicide (non-graphic). Please read with caution if you are triggered by this subject.

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The night following my first day of the program passes by in a normal enough way. My kids need supper, Gray asks how the day went, there are clothes to wash, bottles to clean, formula to be made for the following day, bedtime prayers and kisses and tuck-ins to be done. All of these normal day to day things that comprise my routine float past with the hours and I find myself alone at the end of it, Big Book in hand, fumbling with the pages and trying to make some attempt at reviewing the material we covered today. I put the book down with a sigh. It's useless. It's the same stuff I learned four years ago. It's just not working. There is no way that it makes any sense that this will help at all. Why would it? There are no new insights to be gained in this Big Book and no new education to be learned about the diseases or treatments. It's all the same. Same isn't going to change anything for me. And short of something completely extreme like electroshock therapy, nothing is going to help this. There is no way out of this darkness. None. I don't want to leave...but I can't do this anymore. I sit in the rocking chair in our living room and make my plans. My means are still in the house and easy enough to lay my hands on. I won't do it here in the house. I will leave tomorrow, go somewhere out of the way, write my note, and do it there. That way at least the ones I leave behind won't find me. With that thought, I gather up the necessary items, tuck them inside my insulated lunch bag, and put it into the refrigerator as though it contains a sandwich and piece of fruit.

Day Twelve: Barbecue, Holy Oils, and Big Books....Oh My!

It is the day after my tears have returned and we are sitting around my parents' kitchen table, eating barbecue, potato salad, baked beans, and other assorted slightly special summertime foods. It is July 4th and there are fireworks on TV as we eat. I did not want to do this today, but felt like it was too late to back out of it. I am still wasted from yesterday's session with Pendragon and still trying to find right side up in my emotions. I take a bite of my barbecue sandwich, but don't really enjoy it. Truthfully, I barely even taste it. Although it may not look like it from the outside, I am miles away inside and want to just eat and go, but we won't be able to get away that quickly. After our late lunch, we will have to wait a bit before dessert and then a bit after that before we can make our excuses and go. Gray and I have already discussed that he will say that we need to leave so we can get home before too late and he can get to bed at his regular time because he has work the next day. It is true, but it is also an excuse.

Day Eleven: Breaking the Dam

The rest of the weekend following that horrible day has flown by in a blur and now my appointment with Pendragon is almost upon me. Today is Wednesday and although it has been five days since that horrible event, it seems like it was only a moment ago. I pull into the parking lot at Green Tree Psychiatric, the massive psychiatric group where Pendragon practices. Dr. Alt is a part of this practice and he works closely with Pendragon. The building looms before me as I slide into a space and cut off the engine. I am early and my stomach is twisted in pretzels. I feel nauseated as I step out of the car into the early July heat. The humidity makes the heat feel oppressive, or perhaps that is just the normal heat with the addition of my nerves.

Day Ten (extra content) -- Five Minute Friday: Care

Do you eat every day?
Do you sleep enough at night?
Do you exercise regularly?
Do you exercise at all?
Do you brush your teeth?
Do you shower or bathe regularly?
Do you spend time talking with friends and family?
Do you pray or meditate?
Do you read?
Do you attend worship at a church of your choosing regularly?
Do you do stretches?

These are all questions that a therapist might ask you if he/she is trying to find out how your depression is affecting you. If there is a significant lack of activity in these things, it may be a clue that your depression is interfering with your regular life. These are basic self-care activities and while it may seem like a no-brainer that you would do these things, for someone who is depressed, these things may be almost impossible.

I have struggled with a number of these. For me, the two big ones are eating and sleeping. Because depression so profoundly affects my appetite, I have been known to go multiple days in a row without eating anything and as a result, wind up nearly passing out from low blood sugar. I had one session with Pendragon where I'd not eaten in about two days and I'm pretty sure I was darn near incoherent at times. Sleeping is another common one. For me, I do good to get about 5 hours a night but most nights it's closer to 4. I do try though and Pendragon has, at times, made it a therapy goal for me to try and focus on self-care.

Self care is very important for healing and can make a huge difference between a delirious fever sort of suicidal fog and being able to convince yourself to put one foot in front of the other and live another day.

Day Ten: Just Breathe

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

Just breathe. Just keep breathing.

It has been less than 24 hours since I almost attempted suicide. We are in the van and headed to a local botanical gardens for a family photo shoot with my parents. The five of us are dressed in semi-matching outfits that feature khaki, white, and red as an accent colour. It is a picture perfect late June morning -- sun shining in a crystal blue sky with a few white clouds floating lazily along. It is warm, but not oppressive just yet and I am immersed deeply in the music that is pouring through my earbuds.

I really don't feel like doing this today. But there is no way out. This photo shoot has been scheduled for a good two months and how would I explain my inability to do this to my parents without telling them how depressed I've been? I am so tired and my mask is very thin today. I don't know that I can smile for pictures and pretend that the world is the same place that it was before yesterday. My world has been shaken so hard that it feels dizzyingly upside down and backwards. I feel my stomach lurch with anxiety as we get closer to the gardens. I didn't eat anything this morning, but that is nothing new. I could do with a bit more coffee though.

We arrive at the gardens and after a final glance in the mirror to check my hair and makeup, I take a few deep breaths and get out of the van. Gray extracts GB from her car seat and situates her in the stroller along with her diaper bag and a separate bag I've brought along with snacks and a few other possible necessities for being outside and doing a photo shoot. As we walk through the parking lot, I let out an audible sigh and Gray says softly, "You going to be okay, hon?" I look at his concerned face and remember yesterday evening after he arrived at Sif's place. We sat by the side of the pool with Sif and talked for a solid hour while the kids swam and he could hardly take his eyes off me. After we got home, he stayed by my side and we fell asleep clinging to each other. I think he was afraid to let me out of his sight for fear that the darkness might steal me away.

I shake off the ghosts of yesterday with another deep breath which I exhale sharply and bite my lower lip. I nod and give him a meaningful look. "Don't have much choice, do I?" I reply and he lets go of the stroller with one hand and reaches over to squeeze mine. It is a familiar gesture of comfort, loyalty, and steadfastness. It says so many things to me in the space of seconds while our hands touch and embrace, fingers entwined.

I love you. I'm here. I've got your back. We're in this together. You can do this. I know you don't want to and don't feel like it and I'm sorry we have to. We are one flesh. I love you. 

The gate to the gardens comes into view and I shift into mommy mode, grabbing a hand of each of our two big girls as we enter an area busy with cars. As my hands grasp theirs, I also shift into actress mode. My well-practised mask that shows the world that I am well, thriving, and normal locks into place. I take another deep breath and we enter the gardens to face the music.

Later, at home, I collapse into bed, exhausted by the morning's activities. The photo shoot went well and I don't think anyone suspected for a moment that I had come so close to dying not quite 24 hours ago. I smiled, laughed, and played the part of the well-adjusted wife, mother, and human being quite well, but the price is that I have no energy left at all. If I'm being honest though, only part of my exhaustion stems from the photo shoot and lunch afterwards and all the pretending to be something I am not. The rest of it comes from looking ahead to Tuesday when I have my next appointment with Pendragon. I am dreading it almost more than I dreaded today. I know that I have to tell him what happened. I don't know how I am going to tell him. I don't even know if I can. All I know is that just the thought of saying it out loud makes me want to crawl into our bedroom closet and hide.

Oh help.

Day Nine: Of Water, Wine and Sirens Song (part 3b)

****Note: This entry contains very intense mentions of suicide (non-graphic). Please read with caution if you are triggered by these subjects.
 

All three girls finish lunch and the older ones go to play while I clean up their baby sister, change her diaper, and get her ready for her nap. She looks up at me as I'm changing her and cracks a wide, single-toothed grin. The gravity of what I am actively planning to do hits me with her smile and I inhale sharply, give her chubby little feet a kiss, and whisper, "I am so sorry, mi osita. I love you..." as I snap her onesie closed and put her tiny pants back over her bottom. I scoop her up and she leans her small head against my chest with a little yawn. I feel her soft weight resting against me and the surge of emotion that fills me is almost more than I can bear. You can't do this to her. You can't do this. Don't do this. Reach out to someone, anyone. I should call Gray. No. He will just drop everything and come rushing home and there's nothing he can do. His employer wouldn't understand. He needs to keep his job. No. Pendragon. Call him. No, I can't. The crisis line? Oh hell no. Email Chez? No. He has more to worry about than me. Plus, you barely know him. There is no one...

Day Nine: Of Water, Wine, and Siren Songs (part 3a)

****Note: This entry contains very intense mentions of suicide (non-graphic). Please read with caution if you are triggered by these subjects.

It is hard to believe that it is the end of June, and yet, it seems to have gone on forever. It is so hot and humid outside, much too hot to go out and play unless there is a swimming pool or sprinkler to keep you cool. The older girls are restless and have been all week. They miss the activity of playing with their cousin E-beth and have been wanting to go visit "Aunt" Sif and swim with her at the pool at her apartment complex. Frankly, I could do with a nice long visit with my best friend too. Sif and I have been texting and calling each other all week. She and her son Raffie have been swimming a lot lately and we have a standing invitation to come over. We could have gone earlier in this week, but it takes a huge amount of effort to get all four of us ready to go over there and my energy has been seriously lacking since Balinda and E-beth left last Saturday morning.

It is Friday morning though and I have been promising the girls all week long, so I fire off a text to Sif, asking her about a swimming date this afternoon. I don't expect an immediate text back as she is likely busy with Raffie, so I set it aside, open my laptop and reach for my cup of coffee. The steaming hot, sweet, creamy drink warms me and for the briefest of moments, the darkness that has been my companion recedes a little. Then the moment evaporates and the numb ache grips me all over again. It was all I could do to drag myself out of bed this morning. I haven't been sleeping or really eating much at all. My weight has dropped almost 40 pounds in the last three and a half months and most days, if I eat at all, it's one small meal in the evening. I stopped counting calories with my phone app about three weeks ago just before our trip to the beach. I realised that my daily intake was so low (less than 500 calories most days) that if I kept focusing on it, I might just calorie count myself into an eating disorder. Pendragon told me it was a wise decision and pointed out that I had plenty to manage without adding that on top of it. I wouldn't even be weighing myself anymore if I had not noticed such a dramatic change in the way my clothes are fitting these days. I have long worn the same plus size clothes, but now they are much looser than they used to be. I realised this one day when I had to visit the ladies room rather urgently and forgot that I was wearing blue jeans. I shoved my pants down and realized when I went to pull them back up that I had not even needed to unbutton or unzip them. My face looks thinner in the mirror and my skin more pale and wan, as though I am wasting away with some illness. But then I guess I am. This depressive episode has been so intense that I am seeing Pendragon weekly (instead of every other week or once a month) and have been since late April; however I have already seen him this week and must wait until Tuesday for my next appointment. It is Friday and Tuesday seems like forever away.

I turn on my computer and pull up my email and Facebook. There is nothing new or interesting in any of it, so I make my way over to a support website for people who are struggling with mental illness like I am. It has a place for leaving messages for others, discussing topics related to mental illness, and reaching out for support and help. There is also a chat feature that allows you to talk with other people in real time. I open the chat window and log in. There are not many people here this morning and I know none of them. They say hello and then go back to their conversation. I feel suddenly even more alone than before and the darkness in my mind goes darker. I can't do this anymore. This hurts so much. I want to die. It would be so easy to just fade away. I could take those Xanax with that vodka based homemade vanilla extract and I know where an X-acto blade is. Two central nervous system depressants and a backup just to be sure. Yes. That will work....but I can't do this. I can't. But I can't bear this either. Oh God, please help me. Please. Please. If I could just cry...just release all this madness, escape from these dark thoughts and all the anguish I feel. Please. I glance up at the image of the Divine Mercy above our sofa and the crucifix above the mantle and the pain is so heavy and thick, that these things that normally bring comfort and peace elicit no feelings at all. Nothing. There is just nothing.

After some time, my older girls are clamouring for lunch, so I put the baby in her high chair and make their lunch. My hands automatically go through the motions of washing grapes, opening yogurt cups and string cheese packages, pouring fish shaped cheesy crackers onto plates, and filling lidded cups with water, but I am miles away in my mind. I automatically reply ("Mmhmm," "Okay,") to their innocent chatter without really hearing it. They settle into their chairs and out of habit, I lead the blessing, but it may as well be gibberish for the sense that it makes to me. There is no comfort or peace in this familiar ritual and the words that accompany it.

As they start on their lunch, I pour myself a diet soda and check the location of the homemade extract, pills, and the blade. I don't know when I will do it, but the plan is crystalising in my head. Even as it does, I look at my three beautiful daughters and my heart wrenches. How can I do this to them? To Gray? Poor Gray...oh Gray, please forgive me for this. Please forgive me for leaving you. I am so so sorry. By all rights, with the emotions that are flooding me as I think of saying goodbye and leaving all those I love most behind to grieve and deal with this mess I have made, I ought to be crying so hard that I am collapsed in a heap in the middle of the kitchen floor. Instead, I am in such anguish and distress, with no way to let go of it that I feel an actual physical ache in my neck, shoulders and chest. My arms and legs feel like lead. I consider calling Pendragon, but dismiss this idea because it will involve talking to a myriad of people before leaving a message for him and then having to wait for him to call me back. I don't have the energy necessary to jump through all those hoops. I need this to end now. I can't bear it for the rest of the day.

(Click here for the continuation of this entry in part 3b.)

Day Nine: Of Water, Wine, and Siren Songs (part 3c)

****Note: This entry contains very intense mentions of suicide (non-graphic). Please read with caution if you are triggered by these subjects.

Out of the nothingness, I hear a sound.

It sounds strange, muted, and far away, but familiar, like birds chirping. As soon as that thought goes through my head, my brain clicks a little and a dim realization penetrates that the sound I heard is my cell phone's text message notification sound. Instinctively, I reach for the last place I recall laying it and my fingers close around the hard outer case. As I glance at the screen, I open my messages and see that it is from Sif. 

Day Eight: Of Water, Wine and Siren Songs (part 2)

******Note: This entry contains more intense mentions of suicide and mild alcohol abuse. Please read with caution if you are triggered by these things. 
 

**** 

When we arrive home, there is barely a moment to spare as the older girls and I are due at the airport very shortly to pick up my mother-in-law, Balinda, and our niece, E-beth. The older girls have no idea where we are going or that their Nana and cousin are coming to visit. I just tell them that I have a surprise for them and that we have to leave soon to go pick up the surprise. They are delighted with this and after a quick trip to use the bathroom, we head out. Our ride is uneventful and they are over the moon when they catch sight of their Nana and cousin waiting by the baggage claim. 

I drop a kiss on E-beth's head and pull her into a hug before turning to embrace Balinda. It is always wonderful when she comes to visit and I count myself very blessed to have her as my mother-in-law. We have always had a close bond, so it is unsurprising that she sees through my smile and asks, "so how are things?" I know that she isn't just inquiring as to the general state of everything and everyone. I would like to be completely candid, but there are three little sets of ears nearby, so give her a half smile and say, quite honestly, that I am tired. We head to the car and after deciding we'll get some dinner to take home, I tell her in a roundabout way (because of the ears in the backseat) that things have gotten worse, but that I had some good moments at the beach. She is glad to hear this and tells me that we'll have some good moments this week that they are here too. I suddenly feel the urge to cry, but the tears are still absent. Instead, I take several quiet, but deep breaths as we ride along home.

Day Seven (extra content): A Mindful Drive Home

If you are in any way familiar with the concept of therapy, then you are also likely familiar with the concept of coping skills or tools to help you get through the challenges of your particular mental illness or life struggles. Since there have been a number of folks who have said they are reading for insight to help someone else or help themselves or just because they have experienced depression too, I thought it might be good to occasionally post some extra content that is helpful for coping or helpful in giving assistance to those you love who are dealing with mental illness. To that end, today I'm posting something on mindfulness.

Mindfulness is, in short, being really and truly present in a particular moment and noticing everything you can about it. It can be helpful for calming anxiety and getting yourself out of a dark mood by way of focusing on the present instead of the past, the future, or the flood of emotions you are feeling. It's a great way of sort of disengaging yourself from your illness, even if only for the duration of the exercise. Obviously, if you are (or someone you know is) in a crisis situation, that is not the time for this. The time for this is before you get to that point and can be a means of helping you avoid getting to that crisis point.

There are many ways of practicing mindfulness, but when I employ it, I like to write about my surroundings or what I am experiencing in a mindful way.  To that end, I am going to cut and paste something I wrote after driving home one evening this past April (2014). The back story is simple in that I had gone out to get some sandwiches and fries from a local fast food place for our family's supper and was driving home. I don't really know what possessed me to start noticing everything in such a mindful way, but I did and wrote it down later. Without further ado, here is my unedited mindful drive home.

****

The smooth plastic cylindrical signal lever slips easily between my fingers and I deftly flick it down with practiced facility as I apply pressure to the brake pedal beneath my right foot to bring the car to a halt at the traffic light. The light changes red to green but I don't see it and instead move forward with the rhythm of the cars in front of me. Hand over hand, the steering wheel moves beneath my palms in a fluid motion done almost without thought and turns the car easily left across the intersection and onto the main road. The smell of the food in the bag on the seat beside me pricks at my nose and although objectively, the smell is pleasant, it does not tantalize or excite me into wanting to eat. It is simply a means to an end. I glance at the sky as the car moves beneath and around me, propelling me forward along this stretch of road I know so well. It is painted thick with clouds that hang heavy and pendulous, full of unshed raindrops and darkening the early evening sky. The sky on this late April evening would normally be almost fully light because of the shift of the earth's revolution toward the sun, but it is muted, an ashy dark grey tinged by palest blue. I look toward the south as I roll along and see the barest peek of pink near the horizon's edge, obviously the edge of the storm that is closer to clearer skies and brighter sunlight. As I drive, my speed increases a bit too much, so I lift my foot from the accelerator and coast, letting the downward incline of the road both slow me down and keep me moving forward. I feel a small swoop in my stomach, almost akin to the sensation of flying but it is mostly in my imagination and passes in a blink, further obliterated by the application of the brakes as I again come to a stop at another light. The light changes quickly and this time, I notice, the bright green of the arrows urging me to turn left seems brighter, more electric, almost as though the lights are possessed of some ability to compensate for darker skies and storms. I am through the intersection before I know it and feel the rumble of the train tracks beneath my wheels as I continue the drive home. It is only the first set of tracks I will cross as there is another yet to come. Over and over, I make the motions that move the car in the direction of home, nearly all of them without any conscious thought as they are contained quite fluently within my muscles' memory and well-worn neural pathways that need precious little to fully engage them. Outside the windows, the trees sway in a heavy wind, leaves dancing and branches waving. The colours of the trees, grass, and even flowers seems somehow less vibrant, less green, less bright, possibly indicating that spring is at an end and summer is fast approaching. Perhaps the lack of colour is a reflection of the tenebrous nature my own inner thoughts or simply the fast fading light. The second set of tracks approaches and as I cross, my mind flashes on thoughts of dark nights and even darker thoughts. The thoughts are gone in a moment, but they have succeeded in unsettling my mind. Another application of the turn signal lever and the familiar sight of our neighbourhood comes into view. Houses built when I was born, various designs and nothing the same about any of them. Some have one level, some have two, some, like our own, are a split level design. Some lawns are meticulously tended, some need mowing. There are flowers planted and shrubs here and there, but nothing consistent except the trees. Lining our street like sentinels, each house has trees in its yard - junipers, dogwoods, Bradford pears, and stately oaks reach their branches into the sky, greeting me along the final stretch of my journey. As I near our home, I see our oak tree, very old and very tall standing proudly in its place, so sturdy and determined to withstand anything. I love that tree. It is beautiful in any season and in any light. Although we have not lived here long, I already have many memories of it - our children playing beneath its branches, pictures of them in front of it on the first day of school, the beauty of a sunset filtering through its leaves, the lovely shape of it against the sky on a cold and snowy winter day. It is a beacon and a symbol of hearth and home. I park the car and get out to go inside. The warmth of the air and its humidity are ominously oppressive, almost syrup like and in the distance I hear a low rumble of thunder as I open the front door, home once again.

Day Seven: Of Water, Wine, and Siren Songs (part 1)

The slightly warm days of spring have given way to the much warmer and occasionally hot early days of summer. It is the first week of June, school is out for the summer break, and we are en route to the beach for a week. As much as I am dreading spending a week in close proximity to my family, I am also looking forward to the sound of the waves, the salt infused air, and the sun on my skin. We are almost there, driving down a smaller state highway, headed toward the coast. Several small towns flicker past the window. I have travelled this road so many times in my life that the names are as familiar as old friends. I know which ones are bigger and which are so small that only a city limits sign lets you know that they exist. Before much longer, the small inland towns give way to the area that is nearly on top of the beach highway. Where there were once city hall buildings, schools, soccer fields, farmhouses, and churches, there are now seafood restaurants, souvenir shops, grocery stores, and an eclectic mix of outlet shopping malls, art galleries, and tattoo parlours. 

Day Six: After These Messages, We'll Be Right Back...(a little break)

Today I am taking a bit of a break from my story, as it is, to give you a little background and post in a way that is related to the subject of depression, but not as deeply immersed in it as my previous posts. Today I want to talk about a member of my tribe. I have written about this previously (see my post:Finding My Tribe), but I want to tell you a little bit more about one of my tribe members who has acted as a huge support for me during this particular episode of depression.

For the purposes of this blog, I call him Chez. I know he wouldn't care if I used his real name, but it would be kinda strange to do that and then assign pseudonyms to all the other people in my life who I want to mention and who would probably rather remain private. So, Chez it is.

Day Five: No Tears

The days fly past and my appointment with Dr. Alt is upon me before I realize it. As he calls me back, I take a deep breath and exhale, trying to shake off the anxiety that has been with me since Pendragon mentioned that I needed to consult with him to talk about the possibility of medication. It doesn't really work and the knot in my chest tightens a bit as I follow him to his office. His office is cozy and interesting with a myriad of things all over it to look at as I sit down on the cushy sofa across from his desk. He shifts a stack of what look like patient files from one part of his desk to another, removes mine off the top, and opens it to the first thing inside it. He peers through the bifocals perched on his nose, reading silently for a few seconds and then turns his attention to me. "So," he says in his pronounced German accent, "I spoke with Pendragon and he said you've been having symptoms of the depression, hmm?"

Day Four: Symptomatic

I pull the car into a parking space at the large psychiatric group where Pendragon's office is and where I have been going for the past four years and turn off the engine. 7:50am Ten minutes to go. I have never felt like this going into an appointment with Pendragon. Over the past four years, I have come to trust him implicitly. I have gotten to a point where there is absolutely no subject that I cannot discuss with him and no vulnerability that I feel it necessary to protect in our sessions. Despite this immense trust, as I walk toward the door and feel the cool metal door handle beneath my palm, I realize that my heart is racing and I am, for the first time since I began therapy with Pendragon, nervous.

Day Three (extra content) -- Five Minute Friday: New

Note: Obviously I am rather immersed in the 31 Days writing challenge at the moment, but I am going to try to continue with the Five Minute Friday posts too. It's a good way to keep my writing skills sharp and also to foster good habits with regard to writing daily (which is a goal I set myself about three weeks ago). I thought about writing something totally unrelated to my 31 Days topic of depression for these FMF posts, but I think I am going to try and use the prompts given at Kate Motaung's blog to continue some of my ideas or write a bit more briefly on a particular facet of depression or my experience with it. If you don't know what Five Minute Friday is all about, click the link in the previous sentence and go check it out! It's a fantastic community of folks. Speaking of the community there, I will be continuing to link up with that community as well. So now, without further ado, here's today's Five Minute Friday prompt and post:

New 

 

Writing about what I'm going through is a new experience for me. Sure, I've written about depression before, but never like this. It is new inasmuch as it is something kind of public and much more detailed than I've even shared with some of my closest friends. Beginning this was an interesting and, I'll be honest, very scary thing. I felt my heart racing rather fast the first time I hit the "publish" button and sent my words out into the ether. Baring your soul and sharing your heart on something as personal as depression can be a new experience every time you talk about it. I have shared some of it with friends and family and of course, my therapist has heard pretty much all of it, but even he hears different things every time we talk about it. Obviously, that's his job to push me to new insights and a better understanding of this illness, but I think that just points out how incredibly complex a disease depression really is. Most people see it as an unrelenting sadness accompanied by certain other symptoms, but that only scratches the surface. A list of symptoms is just that -- a list. It doesn't even begin to encompass all the complexities and nuances of this experience. If I'm being totally honest, in some ways, each depressive episode is new and different from the one before it, although there are patterns there. For me, the current episode I am experiencing has been the MOST different from any I've ever been through and the longest lasting. I think that's why I felt it important to embark on this new experience of writing and sharing it. It is my hope (again with my discomfort at that word!) that it will provide a new understanding or insight for those reading along with me.

Day Three: Fighting Back and Falling

Some people who feel a cold coming on will employ various methods of staving it off like taking certain vitamins or getting more rest. After that Sunday in February, I had a moment of clarity and realized I had a few tools at my disposal to perhaps ward off what appeared to be on the horizon. In the past, I used to sort of slog through a depressive episode and just do the best I could to get to the end of it once it took full effect, but this time, I decided to take the bull by the horns and fight back. Since our minds, bodies, and spirits are inseparable and often improving one winds up affecting the other two, I decided to work on my physical health by way of exercising regularly and eating more healthfully. I was going to fight this thing like a boss, so with that in mind, I started using our Wii Fit Plus to exercise. I began counting calories on My Fitness Pal while trying to eat smaller portions and less processed, fatty, sugary junk.

For a few weeks, it seemed like it was working. I was dropping weight and being more active. I found more focus for housework and other necessary tasks. I still had the odd day of what I'd call a significant blue mood, but it wasn't persistent. By Easter, I felt reasonably confident that I had successfully put the smackdown on this depression thing before it was able to really begin. Ah, hubris. What fools these mortals be! Not only had I not been successful, I had so convinced myself that what I was doing was working, that I had failed to really see how bad those blue mood days were and how quickly I was sliding down the slippery slope that plunges into darkness.

Day Two (extra content): A Little Plug for A Fellow Blogger

If you are interested in the subject of mental illness, there are a lot of great resources online and elsewhere to educate you about it. You can find information about any illness, treatments, medications, support groups, doctor recommendations, and even personal stories like the one I am attempting to tell here, but one of the areas where there seems to be a dearth of both information and support is for families of people who suffer with mental illness. There is even a shortage of personal stories out there because of the stigma attached mental illness as a whole and a lot of the misunderstanding that surrounds it.

As they say in the public service announcement, "knowledge is power," so in that vein, I wanted to share a blog from Tara Ulrich, one of my fellow 31 Dayers, who is writing for 31 Days about her experience as the daughter of a mother with mental illness. I came across her blog and immediately knew it was one I wanted to follow and one that deserves a wider audience. To quote my friend Chez, "check thou it out!" While you're there, give her some love in the combox too! In addition to posting it here, I'm going to add it to my blog roll on the sidebar of my blog so you can find it there too! Happy reading!

Living As A Daughter: 31 Days of Mental Illness

Day Two: The Beginning

Looking back on it, I can see now that it wasn't quite as stealthy as I initially thought when it happened. Everything began on a Sunday in February of 2013. It was an ordinary Sunday and our family was driving home from Mass. The day was cold enough for a jacket and long sleeves, but not freezing. The sun was shining in a clear blue sky with only a few white fluffy clouds scudding along. It could not have been a more lovely, happy looking day. The earth was turning as it always has since creation began, but then everything shifted. I felt the sun dim and the sky fill up with gray clouds. The change happened so dramatically that I was dumbstruck by it and felt very much as though I'd been hit over the head with a sledgehammer of depression.

Day One: Stumbling through the door

I don't want this.

I don't want this.

I don't want this and there is absolutely nothing I can do to stop it. The decision is made. We ride down the road together, rain making rivulets against the glass pane and mirroring the tears that streak my face. Every time I think I have cried all the tears within me, I begin all over again. What I don't know in this moment is that these tears are only the first of many to come over the next several days and months ahead.