"Good morning, Eeyore," said Pooh. "Good morning, Pooh Bear," said Eeyore gloomily. "If it is a good morning, which I doubt," said he. "Why, what's the matter?" "Nothing, Pooh Bear, nothing. We can't all, and some of us don't. That's all there is to it." "Can't all what?" said Pooh, rubbing his nose. "Gaiety. Song-and-dance. Here we go round the mulberry bush."
You may have noticed that my blog suddenly ceased without any explanation. I stand at a crossroads: I can move forward sticking to topics that my readers will find amusing and uplifting, or I can discuss the reality of my life which is slightly - o.k., significantly - less pleasant for my readers to peruse with their morning coffee.
Hmmm.....What to do, what to do.
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by.
Which road is that, you ask? I think I'll take the one in which I risk being vulnerable and taking my readers behind the facade of "everything's good" into the reality of "I'm barely holding on again." Why? Precisely because it IS the road less travelled, at least it appears to be within the Christian community. To some, depression is often seen as weakness, or a lack of spiritual health. And to be sure, spiritual health CAN suffer when you battle depression. However, it is more than likely a RESULT of the depression and not the cause. Because you can't see depression with the naked eye, it is easy to hide. And too many Christians do. Though I hate the thought that others may begin watching me to see if I look happy or not, I think it's worth it. Hearing from others who have faced this disease has helped me know I'm not alone. It's helped me accept that even those with the strongest faith can find themselves feeling abandoned by God, yet still believe, and still come out on the other side intact.
You could compare this scenario to an episode of Hoarders in which the outside of the home looks picture perfect, but the inside reveals something else entirely. Some of my readers may enjoy and perhaps prefer just looking at the beautiful landscaping and nice exterior paint job. Don't worry.....I will continue to include some amusing and uplifting anecdotes. Others will welcome being invited inside, regardless of the discomfort of entering into the mess. For you, there will be plenty of opportunities to either relate, or say "Sucks to be her." I am willing to open my life up to public viewing for one reason only.....because I believe God is telling me this: "Endurance is not just the ability to bear a hard thing, but to turn it into glory." That means taking the chance that it will help someone else who is suffering from depression to know they are not alone. It means sharing what I know will be future victory, and daily little victories, to show the power of faith through trial. At the very least, it helps me believe in some miniscule purpose in the pain.
So....where did we leave off? December 3rd. I was taking Celexa at the time. You may remember that I posted a fabulously optimistic bit about my coming out of the pit of clinical depression. Well, it appears I spoke too soon. Or, perhaps, I was just so glad at the time to have the will to live back that my initial response to the medication was to convince myself that I SHOULD be happy, happy, happy. In truth, the Celexa DID help. But I settled too soon. "Well, I don't want to die anymore," I thought. "I guess it's working." A month later, that original rush of joy at being able to drive a car without the urge to steer it off a cliff had passed, and I settled into a routine of "better, but not BETTER." Though the darkness wasn't nearly as dark, I was still living in shades of gray. God had "brought me up out of a horrible pit, out of the miry clay, and set my feet upon a rock." But apparently it was a very slippery rock. He had "put a new song in my mouth," but I soon forgot the words. And I wasn't happy about it. Neither was my family, who suggested I change my medication to something that actually made me a more enjoyable person to live with.
So, I switched to Effexor. And I soon discovered a new version of misery. My joints hurt, I had constant hot flashes, I woke up all night long, and I ceased to care about anything. I wasn't happy OR sad. Just numb. I didn't want to be around anyone. Just the sound of normal family conversations overwhelmed me and sent me into isolation. But isolation was no party either, because I didn't feel like doing anything alone either. All I could muster up to do was to stare at the ceiling. After six weeks, I begged to go off it.
I am now on week two of Zoloft, and praying that it gets me to a place where at least I can have the willpower to do the hard work of reaching a point where I no longer need to rely on medicine. Right now I vascillate between hope and hopelessness. I'm still questioning God's purpose for my very existence.....it has been years and years since I've been physically or mentally healthy enough for any length of time to do any job well - motherhood, marriage, housekeeping, losing weight. I've been surviving. Waking up, surviving the day, and waking up to do it again. It's the depressed person's version of Groundhog Day.
"You want a prediction about the weather? I'll give you a winter prediction: It's gonna be cold, it's gonna be grey, and it's gonna last you for the rest of your life." ~ Phil Conners
I think Phil and I might just be kindred spirits.
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