I read once that Depression is anger turned inwards. This definition has started to make more sense to me, the older I get. When anger at your situation can not be let out constructively, you turn it inwards, where it grows and festers and molders. Depression and I have a long and intimate relationship. The first time I remember being seriously depressed was in grade six. Back then I was depressed because I lived in fear of a local red headed bully named Jolene. I remember ducking from car to car on the walk home trying to avoid that flash of brilliant red hair. She was so good at appearing out of nowhere, and always grabbed my scarf and tried to choke me with it. I was depressed because it seemed my 3 years older brother beat me up almost every day. I was depressed because my single mom had been forced to take a second job as a janitor at night and I never felt I had time with her anymore. I was depressed because I stole from a desk at school in a desperate bid for attention and ended up getting the strap for it. This was a huge humiliation to a girl whose only real positive attention at school was from the teachers. It did get the desired attention from my mom however, and soon I was accompanying her on her rounds as a night janitor. I've never stolen anything since, not so much as a pen. Some things are just not worth it.
I've had many episodes of depression since then, some lasting days or weeks, some lasting months. However, I've always been a kind of Pollyanna at heart and inevitably I tend to pull up my socks, put on my big girl panties and move on with life. I try to look on the bright side, and I try to make the best of what is thrown my way, despite the melancholy nature I was born with.
It isn't until my husband left me after being together 15 years in May of 2007 that it became too much. It wasn't so much that he left me. It wasn't even that it seems he'd had nothing but contempt for me for some time and hadn't said anything. It wasn't that his tawdry computer affair with a married mom of four disgusted me beyond imagining. It wasn't that I found out about the affair when I was on vacation in Canada and my kids were half a country away in California with my in laws, left without me for the first time in their lives. What did me in was that he threatened to take my kids away. He said I was a horrible mom and that he was going to prove it in court and take my kids away and I'd only see them every other weekend. He got himself an ugly barracuda of a female lawyer (roundly despised by me, my lawyer, and every other person I met in the process) and started what my lawyer called a "shotgun prosecution", meaning they will shoot as many bullets as they can and hope a few hit.
It was the first time in my life I'd ever been to court (despite my short criminal career in grade six) and I had no idea that the judge sees this kind of thing every day. All I could think of was "can he do it? can he actually take my kids from me? Will the judge believe all these lies". My kids, since the moment they were born, became like the sun in my universe. They were the reason I woke up in the morning, the reason I walked about all day, and the reason I kept going when all else failed. All my energy went into them, and all my love was lavished on them. As my husband became more and more cold and hateful, the more and more it became me and the kids. He was not involved much at all in taking care of the kids prior to the divorce, and I was the one who did everything for them. They were my right arm and my left leg. The idea of losing them was incomprehensible. It was like thinking of them dying. I had been living in fear for a long time. Fear of my husband's disapproval mostly. It is very hard to explain unless you've been emotionally abused, but my husband had a LOOK. I spent a good deal of my time trying to avoid that look. It was a look that withered the soul. A look so filled with loathing and contempt you couldn't help but feel stupid, ugly, and four inches tall when it was leveled at you. I would walk constantly on eggshells trying to please him to avoid that look. The LOOK aside, I was now experiencing a level of fear that I had never known. A fear of my whole world being pulled out from under me like a rug. A fear of my reason for living being taken away.
I didn't feel depressed at this time. I was unhappy, oh Lord knows, I was unhappy. I Loved my husband, though God knows why because he didn't deserve my love. I'm just the type of person that once I love I can't just stop loving. My heart isn't given half way. I was unhappy he was leaving me. I was unhappy he wouldn't consider counseling, not even for the sake of the children. I was miserable at the thought of having to put my children through the trauma of divorce. My son, already a special needs child, is extremely emotionally sensitive, and I knew this would be super stressful on him. So I was unhappy, but I didn't think of myself as depressed. When I'm depressed I feel it is hard to get up in the morning, but I was full of action. I was doing what I needed to do to try to keep my kids. I was going around to teachers and doctors and friends and family and collecting affidavits of the truth to fight the lies ( I had 24 affidavits to his 4 when I was done ). I was a woman of action and prayer. Never have I cried out to God like I cried during those long months of the custody battle and divorce hearings. I was literally on my knees every Sunday in church, weeping and pleading with the Lord for his help and his mercy. After years and years of struggling with depression, it wasn't depression that finally drove me to the doctor for help.
It was sleep.
I fell into bed each night exhausted beyond belief. I'd usually fall asleep within minutes, or even seconds. The problem was, I'd wake up a few hours later, usually at 2 or 3 am. My brain would start spinning and I couldn't go back to sleep. The exhaustion was like nothing I'd ever felt before. It wasn't just physical - it was mental, emotional and spiritual exhaustion as well. I was constantly shaking, my stomach was constantly roiling like a pot of witches brew, and I felt as if the eyes I was looking out were not even my own. The disconnect from my own mind was huge.
I'd been going to my doctor for years. He knew me. I told him what was happening and I told him I needed a sleeping pill. I told him if I didn't sleep I was going to die. I believed it, and at that point it may very well have been closer to the truth than even I knew. He told me he wasn't going to give me a sleeping pill. He told me he was going to give me an anti-depressant. I argued with him (we have a long history of arguing actually. I like having a doctor I can argue with). I'm not depressed, I tell him, I'm tired. He proceeds to explain that my nerves are completely shot. He said that there's a box we all live in and that I'm not even in that box anymore. He says the stress of what I'm going through has caused every nerve in my body to be like a split end on my hair. I'm feeling twice the sensation on every nerve ending, it's never ending, and it's blown the box wide open, ripping it at the seams. He says it's not about depression, it's about repairing that box so I can live inside it again and not be flying around in pieces all around it.
Well, I'm paranoid as can be at this point. My soon to be ex husband has been subpoenaing everything in my life, from my diaries, to my scrapbook pages, to my personal letters, to my date books. He's been trying to get ANYTHING to back up his claims. All of a sudden that cute scrapbook page I made of Sammy when he emptied a bottle of baby powder all over his room when he was two isn't cute anymore. It's an example of what a negligent mother I am! I'm constantly looking over my shoulder. Heaven forbid I forget to brush his teeth one day, or that I let him out of the house without socks on. Every little thing is now a big thing. I tell my doctor, no way. I can't be on anti depressants. He'll just use it against me in court. Say I'm unstable. That I can't care for the kids because of it. The doctor explains to me that no court in the world would hold anti depressants against me. He said if everybody on anti depressants glowed green, Atlanta could be seen clearly glowing from outer space. He gave me 30 days of a free sample. So I didn't have to go through insurance. Did I mention I love my doctor? I took the offering and went home.
It was about August or September of 2007 by this point. I was living in the same house as my soon to be ex. He had cut me off from all funds. I had to tell him what we needed and he'd buy it if he felt like it. This, after 13 years of running the household, the budget, the lives of the whole family, I was reduced to begging for food for the kids, or clothes for the kids. He did all he could to humiliate me, to take away any security I had, and to try his best to steal all purpose from my life. Though we never fought in front of the kids, the tension in the house was so thick it was like wading through molasses just to walk or breathe. My sensitive boy started biting me at random. He'd never been a biter. Never bitten a child or me. (except once when nursing and my reaction caused him to stop that immediately!). I'd have my arm around him and we'd be looking in the fridge for lunch and all of a sudden he would chomp down on my arm. HARD! We are cuddling on the couch and all of a sudden a sharp pain radiates through my breast as he takes a fair sized bite out of the side. It was horrible. My daughter, thank God, was young enough that as long as she had mommy she was okay. She was 4 going on 5 when he left. She was sad, but mostly because everybody else was. This weird divorced life is really all she remembers and all she knows. In a way it's a blessing for her. Sammy remembers a lot about when we were a regular family, and for him it is harder.
At any rate, the pills did help me crawl back inside the box. I made it to court, and I believe admirably represented myself. I only had to be chastised once by the judge as I angrily cut off the barracuda lawyer. I tell you, this woman could sorely try the patience of Mother Theresa herself. She was the perfect compliment for my cold hearted and merciless husband, who, by the way, was the only person who actually liked her. I prevailed in court, and got primary physical custody of my children. Joint legal custody. Final decisions if we disagree are mine. So good. But this isn't about my divorce, this is about depression.
I've been on anti-depressants of one kind or the other ever since then. The whole experience of the divorce I feel changed something physically and fundamentally inside me. My Anger burns hotter these days. Quicker. I've got a new kind of depression that seems to suck the Joy out of my days. It's harder to crawl out of, and it's harder to stay out of. Even though I've got a wonderful husband, two added wonderful kids, and a pretty good life. I've been on a spiritual journey lately, seeking God for the answers. He is the only one who has them. I know, and I've blogged about this before, that forgiveness is key. I feel forgiveness of myself is a crucial step. When you are slammed so thoroughly and dragged so unrelentingly through the mud, even the lies start sounding like the truth. Every little thing I've ever done that was less than perfect as a mother starts to look bigger and more evil. I'm harder on myself for the little things. Worse, I know my ex is still looking, still making notes. Everything I do, I do in light of what HE might think, what he might say, if we go back to court. So yes, he still has some control over my actions and that, excuse my language, pisses me off to no end. It makes me mad that someday my kids will have a choice of who they live with. My ex husband's house has very few rules, he has more money so they do more "fun" stuff. Our house has rules, chores, and no money. Our fun stuff consists of going to the Library for a new book, and occasionally a movie at the dollar theater. I can't compete with six flags and vacations to California. I just can't. The only thing I have to compete with is my love and my determination to teach them what they need to know to be successful and happy in this world. Do I fear them saying "I want to go live with DADDY!" when they turn 13 or 14 and I've said "no" yet again. Yes, I do. I fear it horribly. I can't raise them with no rules and no discipline and turn out spoiled little brats because I want them to love me though! I just can't. I'd be failing them, and failing my God. So I do what I must, and I trust God. Never again though, can I be the mother who just enjoyed her children without thought. Now I must think through everything very carefully. It has taken some of the joy and some of the spontaneity out of motherhood. That in itself, is quite depressing. Life changes though, and we adjust. We adapt. That's what human beings do right?
So yes, I do what I need to do, I take my anti-depressants, and I pray for the best. I try really hard to enjoy the little moments, to take pleasure in the smallest things. I try to realize that my peri-menopause is wreaking havoc with my emotions and that I'm riding out a long and crazy storm that I'm going to have to learn to fine tune for years to come. I know that GRATITUDE is key. I need to be thankful for the small things. I am. I'm grateful that my baby Abby sets her alarm for 6:30 in the morning to have a little private time with mommy before the day starts. Those few moments of her cuddling in my arms in the dark living room are moments I treasure up in my heart. More importantly, I think she treasures them in her heart. I am grateful for the moments when my Sammy smiles and laughs as he gets some joke I've shared and we meet eyes and I know how much he loves me. I'm grateful for his long, totally wasted on a boy, thick eyelashes. I call them black diamond ski slopes for the Whos down in Whoville. He finds that very funny. I am grateful for my Jackson, who will grin at me with that megawatt smile and strike a goofy pose and make all my troubles melt away for just that minute. I marvel at the things he builds with his building toys. I am grateful for Elizabeth, who loves me so much. I tell her not to cuddle me while I'm trying to eat supper so she'll slide down and give my foot a hug before bouncing away. "I figured you don't eat with your feet" she'll cheerfully say. When I'm crying, she is always the one who can make me laugh. I'm grateful for my husband making up goofy songs about things. I'm grateful he keeps singing them even when I'm in a mood and just glare at him. I'm grateful that he never holds a grudge. I'm grateful I have a God who loves me and that Jesus died for me on a cross 2000 years ago. Forgiveness and gratitude. I keep working on them both. I know they are key. Forgiveness, gratitude, and let's not forget my "happy pill".
I've come to learn that real, lasting depression is a disease. It's not a sin. It's not something you can just turn off or turn away from. You don't need a good reason to have it. Your brain decides for you. It takes medication, it takes therapy, it takes understanding family and friends. It takes Jesus. It takes your all just to keep on keeping on. You will have your good months and you will have your bad months. I'm just now to the point where I can stand back and look and really try to figure it out. I find it imperative to do so, because I can see that my son tends towards depression. I keep a very close eye on him. He is blessed, because he has a mom who is very aware of him. I will not let things get to a point of crisis with him. I am on the job. I am watching. All the time.
Life is a blessing People. Even being a person with depression I can see that. I will fight the monster of depression lurking inside me every day because life is so beautiful in so many countless ways, and living to the fullest is something I will never give up on. I have so much to live for. I have four beautiful children with limitless futures. I have a husband who loves me no matter what. I have a God who loves me even more than that. I have a roof over my head, I have food in my belly. I live in a country where I can speak freely about whatever it is that is on my mind - where I can worship my God without fear of state persecution or jail or death. Even on the verge of bankruptcy, I have more than most of the people in this whole wide world do. Life is beautiful, even if depression causes me to sometimes see the beauty through a fog.
I waited a long time to get medication for my depressive tendencies. If you are waiting because you feel shame or fear, don't. Just go get help. It isn't anything to be ashamed of. It is part of who you are, and there is help out there. Sometimes you don't even realize you are depressed. When I started to attend therapy as part of the divorce proceedings the therapist asked me "why are you so terrified of your husband?" I didn't know I was terrified. I'd lived in that state of being for so long, it didn't even register as fear. It was just life. she told me I was depressed and that is why I was so tired all the time, and why it was so hard to focus, to clean house, to get organized. I just thought that was life too. Sometimes you've been coping with a way of being for so long you don't even realize you live there. If you suspect you live there, go talk to your doctor. Try some medicine and see if it doesn't help a bit, or a lot. You'll just be one more glowing green dot that you can see from space, but you might be a happier dot.
D is also for Decision. Make the decision to put yourself first for a moment. D also stands for Destiny. It is hard to fulfill your destiny when you are wading through the pits of depression. I wish I would have received help years and years ago. I'd probably be much farther along on this road to self discovery and fulfilling my potential if I would not have spent so many years in the dark. If you are feeling your way blindly along in the darkness of depression, as I was for so many years, please come towards the light. You are so worth it.
Blessings, Tanya
