Where Are You?

After the tears stop flowing, after the anger subsides to a dull ache, after the sadness turns into a pink scar, after the emotions lose their rawness and settle into a familiar state, where are you?  What do you do now?  When the emotions were what drove your day and set the pace for your sleep no longer have the intensity to move you anywhere, what defines you?  When someone asks you, what do you do, do you answer with your occupation?  Does your job define you?  Does your adversity explain your position in life?  What do you do after all those ferocious feelings no longer have the power they once held over you?  Is there relief?  Is there fear?  When you can no longer hold onto the pity you’ve cherished and the pity that gave you the permission to be idle is no longer valid, what do cling to?

This past month has been the most intense emotional journey I have experienced to date.  Each time I’ve thought to myself, ‘there’s nothing harder than this,’ someone listens and tosses me something else to challenge me.  There was a moment during a long drive that I was listening to the radio.  I skipped around several stations and various genres.  I laughed out lout when I realized there wasn’t a single song that played that I couldn’t relate to on some level.  I said, “You’re a walking cliché.”  Whoa.  Epiphany.  Huge epiphany.  It made me laugh even harder at myself. 

I heard songs about longing, loss, desire, passion, need, unrequited love, use, abuse, escape, triumph, defeat, you get the idea.  I found myself thinking about the things that have gone on over the past 10 months.  The ups and downs came without warning and with the sharpness of a bitter cold at the end of a seemingly warm day.

So many times I’ve thought things were a certain way and discovered I was either lying to myself so convincingly that I was blind or I was lied to substantially for reasons I still can’t wrap my mind around.  I learned something through all of this.

I have thought for years that I am a realist.  It turns out that for the most part I am.  When it comes to love, I am an optimist.  I have created realities for the sake of sparing myself disappointment.  The optimism was so graphic, that realizing the actuality of things; it knocked me to my bathroom floor in a puddle of tears and snot.  The pain was so harsh, I couldn’t breathe.  I couldn’t stop crying for hours.  This was the first time I have had a hardcore break down in years.  I’ve cried and sobbed, but nothing compared to this.  Never before had I cried this hard.  Ever.  It took me two weeks to recover.

I thought about getting some medication.  I thought about checking out.  I thought about losing my mind and having myself committed and medicated so deeply that I just didn’t feel anything anymore.  The emotions ran through me so fast and violently that I couldn’t feel any one of them for more than a few seconds.  It was by far, the most manic I have every felt.  To go from fury to heartbreak in a matter of seconds is exhausting and frustrating.  To not be able to rest on one feeling long enough to expel the depth of their wells was so unbearable.  Writing about this right now is conjuring up some of the remaining remnants again.

Then something happened.  I can’t tell you exactly what it was, but I just stopped reserving my truth for the sake of anyone else.  I didn’t care if my words would injure.  I decided I was going to be selfish for once in my life with the way I want things to be.  I decided to eliminate any responsibility for another’s feelings.  Me.  I have to take care of me.  It had been said so many times over the past two years.  It has been difficult to do that.  I have put everyone in my life ahead of me.  Somewhere in the back of the bus, sat my spirit, alone and wilting.  I pulled her to the front and reacquainted myself to her needs.  Don’t get me wrong.  The welfare of my children and my siblings is still just as strong as it was.  The difference is, in order for me to efficiently tend to their needs, I have to make sure I’m as whole as I can be. 

No one is going to help me feel better about myself.  No one is going to hold my hand right now on this path to resurrection.  Just me.  At the end of the day, I’m the one who has to answer to me for the level of satisfaction I have with my life.  No one else is responsible for the esteem of my “self.”  Can others damage it?  Of course, but I’m the only one that can repair it.  Emotional deposits are great.  Ego boosts are marvelous.  What I do with those little building blocks is solely up to me.

I read a lot.  I try to navigate my life these days around the similarities of other’s experiences.  Where do I fall in this part of grief?  Am I stacking up to what others have done?  I’ll be the first to tell you that each person’s journey is unique and individual.  But, there are commonalities amongst us.  A common question or subject is that of redefining yourself absent of those who had been prominent.  Funny thing.  I know who I am.  I have for a long time now.  The big difference between the me prior to these past few months is I now have given myself the permission I’ve withheld to be the person I know I am.  Reread that.  That’s some powerful shit. 

So, where am I now that the tears aren’t falling anymore?  Where am I now that I’m not consumed by that raging anger?  Where am I now that I’m not hanging on the moves of another?  I am at the starting line of the life I have full control of.  I am at the beginning of a beautiful new volume of my epic life.  Does my history define me?  Hell.  No.  I don’t want anyone to look at me and think, “Man, she’s had a rough life.”  I want people to look at me and think, “Man, she’s my freaking hero.”  I want my kids to look at me and see a person they don’t have to search in order to find qualities to emulate.  I want my daughter to see these moments, right now, five years from now, call me and say, “I get it.” 

Do I feel the need to find me again?  No.  I have me.  The future is not intimidating at all anymore.  The fears I have held like a grains of sand in my hand are now a string of pearls around my neck.  I feel liberation unlike anything I’ve ever known.  There is a bounce in my step.  There is a humble confidence pushing me through each day.  I am staring my depression in the face each morning and flipping it the bird.  I have the most amazing friends anyone could ever ask for keeping my focus correct and I am eternally grateful for their presence.  My family continues to be my rock.  My sisters are my best friends. 

I hate the way things have gone down.  I don’t go a day without missing my parents and wanting to talk to them about the things that are happening in my life and the rest of their kids’ life.  The most significant thing I have in my arsenal at this stage is the feeling of total competency.  Life has made damn sure I am prepared for things ahead.  I’m a little broken and definitely bruised up.  But, I’m not wasting the lessons that have been taught. 

Depression Part I

Disclaimer:  What you’re about to read is my story.  Not anyone else’s.  This piece is not intended to put anyone down or minimize the personal struggle associated with depression.  I respect everyone’s opinions fully.  I expect points I make to be disagreed with.  The intention of this blog is to share my thoughts on how I believe we can take control of emotions.  I’ve decided to break it up into parts because I have so much I want to address.  This first piece is just the start.

I’m going to go ahead and jump on the bandwagon of the latest conversation.  Depression.  It started with the word “suicide.”  But, it ultimately has lead social media to further discuss what leads to such a decision.  I want to be very clear.  I am not a doctor.  I’m not a psychologist.  Everything I’m about to write about has come from first-hand experience.  I am currently working on a degree in psychology and have always had a passion for the inner workings of our minds.  With curiosity and passion, I’ve come to profound conclusions that have shaped the way I cope with nearly everything that crosses my path.

It has become increasingly apparent that we are all in varying stages of depression.  Gladly, most of the people that I know are on the upswing.  They are in good places.  But, the human experience tosses hard situations at us constantly.  In defeats, we find some depression.  That depression may not last but a short while.  Depending on the coping skills of the individual, the length and severity of the depression varies.  

These days it seems that being diagnosed with depression is as easy as buying a loaf of bread at your local grocer.  It is an over-medicated condition and sadly, society has accepted the treatment of symptoms.  My opinion, and I stress opinion, is that we are very capable creatures.  We can overcome more than pharmaceutical companies are telling us.  It is that power that I remind myself of, daily.

I have openly addressed my struggle with depression.  It has been a constant battle for the last 6 years.  It began with the grief of losing an infant son.  There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t struggle with that loss.  A year after he died, I discovered just what level of disaster I was.  I was sitting in my bathtub and held a razor blade to my wrist.  A few days later, I sat with a revolver in my hand.  I found myself fantasizing about crashing my car into on-coming traffic.  That went on for weeks.  A series of isolated thoughts that all ended with me dead.

I thought to myself, “No one knows what to do with me.”  “This would be easier on everyone if I weren’t someone anyone had to ‘deal’ with.”  “I could stop hurting right now, with the pull of the trigger.”  It was bad.  I didn’t tell anyone about this.  After struggling with being heard for so long, I didn’t think there was anyone who would take me seriously.  I had secluded myself from my loved ones.  I had spent time screaming and shouting about how miserable I was.  I was patted on the head and told, “You’re stronger than this,” or “You are making this bigger than it is.”  My emotions were minimalized and further perpetuated my feelings of isolation.  I felt so far removed from reality that I was willing to live out the fantasy of absence.

There’s nothing quite as sobering as realizing just how disconnected you are from who you know you used to be.  I am grateful, all the time, for the ability I had to recognize how out of control I had become.  The last straw came, when I felt that sting against my skin from a rusty razor blade that had been rust stuck to the edge of the tub.  “What in the hell is my problem?”  I called a therapist the very next morning.

Here’s what’s funny about my experience with therapy.  I went to only two sessions.  Two.  What I learned about myself in two hours was so significant, that I realized I didn’t need anyone to fix my issues.  No one.  As beautiful as it sounds to believe that others can pull your out of the pits of despair, it simply isn’t the case.  I will explain.

I have lacked strong support.  Over the last decade, my list of truly reliable people has been less than three people.  If you really dissect those people, you’d find that the truest support came from one person.  Wow.  One person I could 100% rely on to listen to me cry.  One person to let me know they had my back.  One person to (over the phone) allow me to rest my head on her shoulder and regain my composure.  I tell her all the time just how lucky I am to have her friendship.

Sitting on the sofa during that last session with a therapist, I looked her right in the eye and said, “Thank you.”  I drove home with an attitude that I had forgotten I possessed.  I had given control to the depression.  I had relinquished my very being to the despair my grief had created.  This wasn’t a finger snap recovery from depression.  But, I had finally seen just how much say I had in how the depression impacted things.  As silly as it seemed, it was an epiphany of sorts.  Suddenly I remembered how well I had handled previous bouts with depression.

I had my ups and downs before Connor died.  I certainly had pity parties and invited the whole damn town to witness.  But I got over it.  I got back to life and let things go.  It wasn’t until I was faced with a deeper, more ferocious depression, that my strength was tested.  I reviewed journal entries and looked at myself long and hard.  I was letting this ruin me.  It was annihilating my relationships with everyone.  It nearly ended my life.  Depression is a vicious monster that doesn’t give a rat’s ass who it kills.

I decided in that moment that I was going to take back my life.  I was going to make every effort I could muster to push through this.  I decided my will to live and experience the rest of my life to the fullest would be my shovel that would dig me out of my pretty little hole.  I felt reborn and renewed.  No one else was going to have to get dirty but me.  I had to change myself.  No one could do it for me.

It was not easy.  I had to force myself out of bed each and every day reminding myself that the fatigue and lack of damn was the depression fighting to keep its hold.  I had to make myself eat.  No longer was my diet going to consist of coffee and nicotine and the occasional candy bar.  I shoved food down my throat as my stomach refused to accept.  The nausea I felt was hunger.  But, trying to eat also made my stomach wretch.  Hard to eat when you feel like you’re about to vomit.  The more consistent I became with eating, the less sick I felt and color came back to my skin.  My hair stopped falling out so badly.  I was hydrated.  Over the course of a month, I was feeling much better, physically. 

Then, came the most hysterical news I could have heard.  I was pregnant.  How’s that for a kick in the depression.  Fear.  How could I possibly get excited about having another pregnancy when the last two had ended in either a miscarriage or an urn.  Yep.  I laughed like a crazy person for a week.  I didn’t become attached to the pregnancy until I reached 7 months.  I held back so much emotional vulnerability during my pregnancy with Alex.  It wasn’t until he was screaming and healthy that I was able to breathe correctly again.  He became my focal point that deflected all of my depression.  Two months later, my mother died.

Connor was born June 9, 2008.  He died on June 20, 2008.  Alex was born April 2010.  My mother died, June 3, 2010.  My father died March 11, 2014.  Ben was born May 2014.  My divorce will finalize sometime in the next few weeks.  Since my mother died, I have not once lost control of my depression.  Have I been depressed through all of that?  You bet your sweet ass I have.  I even went so far as to taking Prozac (which I am adamantly against) after I had Ben so you wouldn’t read about me in the paper.  “Mother of three, suffering from postpartum depression, kills herself.”

I am not ever going to judge another person’s battle with depression.  We all have to do what works for us.  Our depression is so personal and intimate, that no other person can really know what it feels like.  You could sit a dozen people in a room together to discuss their depression and the only things that anyone can relate to are the symptoms.  The cause of the depression is as unique as a fingerprint.  So too, is the way to treat it.

I have read several blogs over the past few days that impress people to talk.  If you’re sad, call someone.  Anyone.  Tell someone you’re feeling so bad you’re afraid of yourself.  Be BRAVE!  It is NOT weakness to tell someone you’re not ok.  It is not weakness to ask someone for help.  But NEVER succumb to the lies depression tells you.  Fight like hell against the thoughts.  Find something that will distract you from that path.  The second you find you’re thinking yourself into a state of chronic woe change the subject.  Don’t let depression keep the upper hand.

New

Big changes.  New baby.  New house.  New life beginning.  I’m on the hunt for a new job that won’t make me nuts.  There’s so much adjustment going on I’m feeling nothing short of overwhelmed.  I have a lot of focus, but I’m easily distracted by the cuteness of little Benjamin.  I’m trimming the fat in my life and the shape this life is taking is feeling fairly lean.  I find myself frequently wanting to call my parents.  I feel their pride as I’m handling all of these changes.  Crying these days is hit or miss.  I have struggled for years with crying.  The past couple of days, the tears have flowed a little easier.  I get my pep talks and vent and regroup. 

The yearning for a total melt down is strong.  The permission to fall apart is still wavering.  I feel very strong and capable.  But, there’s a constant desire to not have to be.  This life hasn’t been written for me to be dependent that way.  Words have been said to me that have shaken my confidence and jolted my sense of self.  I’m being challenged in my ability to remain constant to myself.  I’ve been careless and vulnerable.  Silly me.

Benjamin is growing and doing fabulously.  He’s still small compared to other babies his age, but he is working hard at catching up.  He’s a chunk and adorable.  Alex is a ball of energy that keeps me on my toes.  Isabelle is legally driving and is coming into her maturity.  She starts her junior year on Monday and it looks like it will be a fantastic year.  She’s already settled into her leadership role with JROTC and loves it.  I’m so proud of how much she’s taken control of her wants. 

This new house is so wonderful.  It represents so many things.  I feel full sunlight on my future.  I’m going to have move steadily and at a slower pace, but the direction I’m heading is clear and thrilling.  Even though 2014 is half over, I feel like this is a new year.  This is a new everything.  Fresh start.  I feel more grown up than I ever have.  There are wounds I’m licking, but I finally know that they will heal.  Waking up in this house is Neosporin for my injuries. 

I’m terrified of a lot of things yet to come.  The emotional rebirth is scary and I’m going to set myself up some time with a counselor.  I refuse to revert back to old behaviors and I’m going to need help in making sure that doesn’t happen.  I can look you in the eye and specifically tell you where the changes are vital.  Implementing those changes is the hard part.  Creating my own consistency is necessary and is going to take work.  A lot of work.  Being whole again is going to be a while off.

I see so many awesome things in my world.  I am paying closer attention to those things than ever before.  I have avoided too many pity parties.  I do them in private when I do.  Yesterday was a bit rough.  Tears were a little easier to shed.  I deserve them, though.

Careful...This is a biggie.

The past few months have been somewhat of a whirlwind.  So much has happened as so much remains to accomplish.  We are, overall, doing fairly well.  The school year ended with big plans for the summer, which include a big move for my kiddos, Rachel, and me. 

Joel graduated from high school!  He is a big bad adult now and moving into his new world. 

Sarah, Sam and Joel have moved into their first house together and are doing awesome getting adjusted to their new living arrangements.  Rachel is going off to La Grande for a visit with a good friend for a few weeks.  Isabelle has commitments to her new First Sargent status in JROTC all summer and prepping for the new year’s competitions in archery.  This fall, I’m looking forward to Alex starting preschool and starting his path towards education.

I finished the spring semester with very satisfying grades.  I’ll resume classes this fall.  I’m also looking forward to getting back into the workforce this fall.  I’m going to be busy as soon as summer is over.  Especially since…

Isabelle and Little Alex welcomed home a new sibling!

Meet Benjamin Oliver!He was born at 4:00 pm on May 17^th at TMC.  He weighed 4 pounds 3 ounces and was 17 and a half inches long. 

When I was pregnant with Alex, I was losing my mother.  The same is now true in regards to my dad.  When I had Alex, my mother kept referring to him as Benjamin.  I had to correct her repeatedly.  She insisted I had a Benjamin, too.  Well, it turns out she was 100% correct.

Because I can’t have things happen simply and without chaos, I had to have Ben via emergency C-section at 33 weeks gestation.  He was delivered screaming and healthy.  He was and still is super tiny.  He spent two weeks in the NICU, but never needed anything to help him breathe or eat.   All things considered, he has been a dream baby.  The nurses and doctors were constantly in awe of his development and behavior.  He was doing everything as though he were a full-term baby.  He needed a little help maintaining his body temperature, but even that only took a little over a week.  We are home now with a healthy boy who eats constantly.

Alex is in love with him, but is learning how to share his time with me.  I’m learning how to do this all, too.  I’ve never had two tiny people in my home at the same time.  Kudos to those mommies who have done it or are doing it.  This is not easy. 

Big things going on in my life.  Big things will continue to come down the line.  With each challenge, I take deeper breaths.  Navigating these events has been mostly smooth.  Within reason, I have moments of, “Whoa.”  But, all things pass and life is just this never-ending series of challenges.  Some are easier than others.  I am looking forward to the day I don’t have a blog to write so full of intense events.