Kindness is Magic

Things I should have done, yesterday: run, strength work, shower, eat well, cook healthful food, clean, help kids with homework.

Things I actually did, yesterday: sat on couch, watched Rush videos, ate cookies, read a Sherlock Holmes story, napped.

But that's OK.

As you might have detected, from my previous post, I have extensive experience in being a jerk to myself. I have a habit of setting myself up with loads of lofty goals. Go back to being 100% vegan. Lose weight. Run a Boston qualifier marathon. Earn my BSN. Become a certified neuroscience RN. Declutter/clean/organize the house. Be more present, less anxious, more Zen. Don't sweat the small stuff. Stick to a budget. Be more crafty. Be a better parent. And so on, and so forth, etc.

All of it. Now.

That's how I started this blog, three years ago, all fired up, ready for a career change, going back to school, and qualifying for Boston. All at the same time. Didn't take long for it all to fall apart. Stumbled, in the new job. Dropped out of school. Posted my worst marathon time. And the self-loathing kicked in. Every few months, I mix up the lofty goals a bit, try again, fail again, loath again.

I'm going to Massachusetts for a solo vacation, next week. My plan was to be fifteen pounds lighter, by now, six weeks into marathon training, in peak condition. I thought that by switching from night shift to day shift, the end of June, everything would fall into place, and I'd finally have energy to accomplish everything.

I was wrong. I'm still plagued by fatigue. The constant zombie/ghost feeling I used to have has disappeared, but co-workers who have made the night-to-day shift transition have told me that it takes at least six months to start feeling "normal" again. And yet, I still managed to latch on to the belief that it should only take a few weeks, and promptly signed up for a November marathon. Can't imagine why I don't succeed, with reasoning like that!

Recently, though, I've ben thinking about how I can be kinder to myself, less judgy. "Be the change you wish to see in the world," questionably attributed to Ghandi, is still a great concept. If I wish for more kindness in my world, I need to start with myself. If I'm perpetually hateful to myself, that negativity is going to flow outward, to my family, co-workers, patients, and community, no matter how much I try to contain it.

There is a growing epidemic of self-lothing, surrounding us. So many of us are kicking ourselves for not being successful/fit/thin/healthful/youthful/crafty/organized superpeople. With all of that hating on ourselves, it naturally spills over, onto others, and drags us all that much further down into a swirling vortex of negativity. This is particularly toxic to those of us who struggle with depression.

Crazy concept time, here - what if we just started being kinder to ourselves? Will that kindness radiate out, like warm beams of happy sunshine? Why not? People are yearning for positivity, in their lives. That's what fueled the whole ALS ice bucket challenge, until all the Debbie Downers started crapping on it. People just want something to feel good about. It doesn't take much, and yet it seems so pie-in-the-sky, at the same time.

I worked overnight shifts for most of the past nine years, often sleeping only 3-4 hours, at a time. It's going to take time to get over that kind of extended fatigue. No, I should not have signed up for a Novermber marathon. No, I'm not going to BQ, this year. I'm tired. I need to rest and recover. And that's OK.

I don't have the perfect vegan diet that I once had. It's OK. I've made a lot of positive changes, in the right direction, and I continue to make positive changes. It's OK.

I dropped out of the BSN program, after one course, three years ago. It was too hard, at the time. I will go back to school, eventually, but, for now, it's still not a good time. I'm not quite ready to face the CNRN exam, either. I will be, eventually, but not right now. And that's OK.

I'm very far from being a perfect parent, but I'm more present, now, than I used to be., in my zombie/ghost state. My house is still a bit of a cluttered mess, but we keep taking on projects, to improve it. I still let anxiety get the best of me, in stressful situations, but I'm learning to control it, a little better. I haven't lost fifteen pounds, but I have lost three. I'm not as toned as I'd like to be, my hair is graying, I have wrinkles and age spots, but I'm 46, and I'm trying to take on this whole aging thing with grace. And it's OK.

It's good to have goals. It's good to keep striving, always working toward something better. It's not OK to berate yourself for not doing everything, all at once, now.

I've had a couple of very stressful weeks, at work. I'm an introvert, in an extroverted profession. I need recovery days, and beating myself up for not living up to self-imposed standards only wears me down, more. Kindness is restorative. I need to use that oxygen mask on myself, before I can help anyone else. Such a simple concept, yet so hard to internalize.

But that's OK.

Letting the Light Shine In

Dusting off this long (and quickly) abandoned blog, to come out, publicly. I am living with clinical depression.

There. I said it.

This is frightening, for me, because I've always been wary of the effect it could have on me, professionally. Yes depression is protected by the Americans With Disabilities Act, but, let's face it, management has plenty of ways around that, no matter where or who you are. So, I've always been reluctant to make a permanent, public statement, regarding this private matter. But, it shouldn't be that way, which is exactly why I need to do this. Now.

I've never been a big Robin Williams fan. Oh, sure, I loved Mork and Mindy, when I was ten. I enjoyed several of his films - Garp, Dead Poets, Fisher King, Awakenings. Most of the time, though, he was just too over the top, for me. I respected his talent, however, and related to his struggle, so the news of his suicide evoked a sense loss, of a comrade in arms.

And then, the inevitable flood of new stories, tributes, and comments. Oh, the comments. I knew I should have stepped away from social media, for a while, but, for whatever fool reason, I didn't.

"Suicide is selfish."
"I don't understand."
"How could he choose to throw away God's most precious gift?"
"I don't understand."
"He had so much to live for, always bringing joy. How could he do that to his family?"
"I don't understand."

I understand.

I understand that it is not a choice, and it is not a selfish act. I understand, because I have struggled with intrusive ideations for over twenty years, a steady, flowing stream of irrational, negative thought.

"I am worthless. I am a colossal fuck-up. I am a burden on everyone I know. I am a waste of space. Worthless. Fuck-up. Burden. Waste. Worthless. Fuck-up. Burden. Waste."

Most of the time, I can filter the stream. When I'm relatively healthy, I can identify the irrational thoughts, and counter them, keeping the stream contained, living my life, outwardly appearing normal. "Not worthless. I have value. I make meaningful contributions to my world." But the stream is always there, flowing steadily through my mind.

Inevitably, storms come along, in varying forms. Sometimes, I can see it coming, and brace myself for it. Other times, it blindsides me. Sometimes, I don't recognize it, until I'm already engulfed. The storm floods the little stream, turning it into a raging river, overwhelming my filters, and I get sucked down into the vortex, where the irrational thoughts swirl freely.

When a storm blows through, it doesn't matter how successful I am, how happy I am, how much my family loves me, how smoothly my life is going. Everything becomes impossibly dark. I feel like I'm wearing an iron suit, heavy and impenatrable. Making a cup of tea is overwhelming and entirely too complex. Talking on the phone is unbearable. And the intrusive ideations become gospel truth, unchallenged.

Worthless. Fuck-up. Burden. Waste.

It's not a matter of being sad. It's a matter of being swallowed up by darkness, unable to see a way out.

This.

This is what people can't understand, unless they've experienced it, themselves. It's not rational thinking. It's not something that can be snapped out of, by will. You need a lifeline, dropped into your hands, to pull back out. The problem is that the lifeline is always changing, differing from person to person, episode to episode. There's no way of knowing what it will take.

Sometimes, it's a kind word, from just the right person, at just the right time. Sometimes, it's a bowl of ice cream. Sometimes, it's a crisis, happening to someone else. Sometimes, it's going for a run. Sometimes, it's a good sleep, or a change in weather. Sometimes, it's all of this, and more, or none of it.

Therapy and medication can help, but not always. They are tools you can use, but they can be difficult to access. Finances, insurance, availabilty, transportation, time, employment, childcare, indifference, or even just picking up the phone can become insurmountable obstacles.

So, I have multiple tools in my toolbox. Cognitive behavioral therapy. Meds. Clean diet. Journaling. Mindfulness meditation. Running. Sleep hygiene. Church. Work. Volunteering. Family. A trusted friend. But, I never allow myself to think that I am safe. The storms are always looming, always a threat, and I know there is the possibility that all the tools I have won't be enough, that the right lifeline might not come in time.

Depression is not an attitude problem. It is a disease of the brain. It can be fatal. It affects an estimated 10% of the population. It is a major cause of disability and lost productivity. How is it possible that it is so tragically misunderstood, undertreated, and stigmatized? Why do those of us living with recurrent depression fear exposure, face blistering criticism from the ignorant, and endure so many challenges to getting any meaningful help?

This. Must. Change.

Change requires awareness. Awareness requires exposure. And so, I am exposing myself.

I am living with clinical depression. Every day. Let the light shine in.