I got bitch-slapped
On the outside, last week was perfectly fine: Rich and I were living our happy little life on the farm as always. The dogs were as loving as ever, the weather was mostly nice, we checked out something exciting (that we ended up buying). Everything was as it should be.
Nothing bad happened.
I even bought myself a few new items of clothing, something I haven't done in a while. New clothes always make me happy.
Usually.
This time, they didn't do the trick.
Because I got bitch-slapped hard last week.
By my old nemesis, depression.
Despite the medication, despite yoga, despite the knowledge that I'm loved - once in a while she will come out and knock me down.
You won't know it by looking at me. I have decades of experience hiding it. On the outside, I look normal: I still smile. I still function. I get up in the morning, feed the animals, go to work. On the outside, I look healthy.
You won't see me cry, because I cry at night.
I cry in the car on the way to work.
I cry in bathrooms.
I cry during walks.
If I break down in front of others, I will make up excuses for those tears that come unbidden, and that I can't explain, not even to myself: I will invent fights with friends, or trouble at work, or family problems.
Because, how would it look if I would tell the truth: That I don't have a reason for crying?
I don't cry because I'm sad.
I cry because my depression tries to convince me that I'm worthless.
She tells me that I'm stupid, that I can't do anything right, that I don't try hard enough.
She knows exactly how to hurt me most, because she knows me so well. The tender, fragile parts of me, the ones that are most vulnerable, my doubts and insecurities - those are the ones she will attack.
She is quite predictable, really.
Pretty uninspired, when you think about it.
But you know what?
Two can play that game.
She may know me, but I know her too. And I know one thing for sure:
She is a liar. Depression lies.
Unfortunately, the knowledge alone is not a magic wand that cures you from depression instantly.
You will still feel sad, or hollow, or worthless, or numb, or unspeakably exhausted - or all of them combined, which is the sucker-punch bitch-slap, and the speciality of my unique brand of depression.
(Everybody's depression is different. Yours may not have any of the above symptoms - there are as many different variations as there are people. Isn't that fun.)
But, before you despair and think all is lost, knowing that depression is a filthy, dirty liar does help a lot.
For example, I received an email last week that was disappointing. It was from work, and it was about the distribution of shifts for March. There were 6 shifts, and every single one had been given to the same person (which wasn't me). Seeing it laid out in black and white was like a punch in the stomach.
Instead of reading it the way it was written down:
March 19: Doris
March 20: Doris
March 21: Doris
March 26: Doris
March 27: Doris
March 28: Doris*
*Pst. Her name isn't Doris
I saw it like this:
March 19: You suck at your job
March 20: Nobody wants you there
March 21: You're a loser
March 26: You shouldn't have made that joke
March 27: You should talk less
March 28: You should talk more
Predictably, my initial reaction was to burst into tears.
But then, I remembered who was talking - the old bitch who lies whenever she opens her mouth.
Why should I believe her?
To calm down, I went outside to hang with my furry pals for a while. They are my cure for everything.
And I reminded myself that this was temporary. This awful feeling of hopelessness and despair would pass. It always has, and it always will. I know that.
I talked it out with Rich, who is an old hand when it comes to my frenemy D. He has seen it hundreds of times, and after many, many misunderstandings and failed attempts to make me feel better, we have figured out the formula that works for us: He gives me lots of space, but is always available for lots of cuddles. I'm both extra needy and want to be left alone, which is a delicate mix that provides plenty of room for disaster.
If possible, I will read and sleep a lot, because all I want is to escape from reality.
If I can muster the energy, I will go for a walk, because walks always give me a burst of much-needed energy.
The most important part? To be kind to yourself. To realize that it's not your fault. To know that you can't just "cheer up", or will it away, or that you should pretend that everything is fine.
Talking about it is difficult - but only in the beginning. Once you can accept it as part of you - not a defining part, but a little piece of the big picture that makes you, you - it will get easier. I promise.
My friends and family know about my depression. It's not something I talk about often, but I also don't hide it any more. When they ask me how I'm doing - and not in the meaningless way we ask each other all the time, but in the real, caring way - I can tell them if I've been down because of my depression.
It's like getting regular migraines. Admitting that you suffer migraines is not a taboo - neither should mental illness.
Oh, and the situation at work? I talked to my manager, and she gave me a few shifts.
Plus, I have an interview at another small hospital next week for a temporary part-time job.
D lost this round, again.
By now, she should be used to it.
Know this: You are not alone.
There are many of us out there, way more than you may realize. Once I started talking openly about it, I was stunned by the amount of people who shared their own story of depression or anxiety with me.
We are a huge tribe!
If you think you are depressed, I hope you will find the courage to talk to somebody about it. You can do it!
You are much stronger than D wants you to believe.
Remember: She is a notorious liar. Don't believe a word the bitch says.
Lots of love my dears! I hope the new week will be good to you.
xoxo Miriam
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Vol. 8
