Hey, remember a couple weeks ago when I wrote about depression and how it’s like addiction. And remember how I gave that great little list of things I do to pull myself out of it when the sad comes knocking? Well, as it turns out, that little crying episode that inspired my wonderful insight was the launch of a full-fledged relapse.
A while ago, when I wrote my series on depression I finished up by talking about my plans to wean off of my meds. Well, I saw the shrink and I started decreasing my dose a few months ago. Things were going well, I had a few bad nights here and there, but I was always better the next day so I didn’t worry too much. Then summer came.
Have I mentioned that me and the heat don’t get along so well? Well let me tell you, this body was not designed for heat waves. Sweat in moderation helps your body cool through evaporation. Sweat in the amounts that I produce just makes you feel like you’ve got an insulating layer of sweat and sunscreen keeping you hotter than a basted turkey. Add to that all of the body image issues that arise when I’m forced to choose cool(er), less flattering, less “me” clothes. Then throw in a dash of “Holy crap she’s not in school I can’t afford the kind of childcare I need how am I ever going get through this with my bank account intact” anxiety. With all of that in the mix I found that I was constantly clenching my fists and my jaw and the tension headaches were becoming more frequent.
Then my birthday started peaking around the corner. I love my birthday. In the abstract, “yay it’s my birthday” kind of way. But it’s an August birthday and I don’t have a huge circle of friends so I also kind of dread my birthday. I want so badly for it to be special and yet I know from experience that it’s near impossible to get much of a showing. I know it’s not personal, people are busy in the summer, but it hurts nonetheless. And this is where my serotonin took a holiday.
I’m not going to go into all the details of my relapse. Suffice it to say that I was crying frequently, often a few times a day. I felt like I was in a thick gluey fog and all of my old pernicious insecurities started rearing their ugly heads. I’d say one of the worst things about having cycled in and out of depression over so many years is that you reach the point where you can’t bring yourself to make your friends and family listen to those insecurities one more time. I mean seriously, they must be sick of hearing the same shit over and over again right?
Perhaps trying to wean off of my meds in the summer was a bad idea.
About a week in I decided I had to put my dose back up. I wasn’t sure how long it would take but I knew it had to be done. Over the next few days I was crying a little less but I was still feeling pretty raw. Then I had a day with no tears. I felt noticeably less miserable than I had, but I still didn’t feel quite right. It’s hard to explain but it’s like this fuzzy fog that makes you feel just a little bit apart from all the people around you. To have all of those normal daily interactions with baristas and bus drivers takes a tremendous amount of energy. And oh how you hope nobody asks you if you’re okay. After a couple of hours I was exhausted.
The thing is that because I wasn’t thinking horrible thoughts or bursting into tears I felt like maybe I didn’t have the right to say I was still depressed.
The next day, my meds fully kicked in. It was like a switch was flipped and suddenly I was me again. I was laughing, I had energy, the last patch of fog had been burned away by those little pink pills.
It wasn’t until I became me again that I fully appreciated the degree to which that previous day had been defined by depression. And that’s when I realized that all of those times when I was younger and un-medicated and “not in a depression” I was. I thought that because I had come out of the pit of despair I was not depressed anymore, but in reality I was just less depressed. I was going to school and doing my homework and hanging with my friends, but it was bloody exhausting. I remember once when I was sixteen I realized that I hadn’t felt happy for three years. I had forgotten what happy was.
So here’s my metaphor. Someone who doesn’t suffer from depression floats along, just above the water. Sometimes they dip down, sometimes they even dip below the water for a second, and sometimes they fly a little higher above the water. But mostly they’re just bobbing along on the surface, taking in the view.
An untreated depressive, on the other hand, alternates between desperately treading water and hovering below the surface gasping for air. Just like a person who’s really drowning, the very reality of drowning makes it nearly impossible to cry out for help or do anything to help yourself. If you’re lucky you’ll float back up to surface long enough to get some air so you can start treading water again for a little while before the next time.
A few days ago I was treading water. Now, I’m floating above the surface, and I can see the sun again.
So, you may ask, does this mean I’ve given up on going off my meds? No. It means that I realize that now is the wrong time. I’ve decided to wait a few years until Mae is in full days at school and my business is more established. Also, next time I’ll start in the fall.
Stay tuned, my next post I’ll be getting back to parenting when I share how I talk to my kid about depression.
And now, I'd like to leave you with a little pick me up:
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