ShadowRose's Open Salon Blog

Depression: Worse Before Better (Part III)

Wed, 1 Apr 2009 01:04:07 -0400

The repose of sleep refreshes only the body. It rarely sets the soul at rest. The repose of the night does not belong to us. It is not the possession of our being. Sleep opens within us an inn for phantoms. In the morning we must sweep out the shadows. ~Gaston Bachelard

As I touch my fingertips to the keyboard, poised to write the hardest experience during my bout of depression, I sit here verklempt. It is difficult because I lost a dear friend to the very thing that even still plagues me on occasion. A very beautiful person with a soul that ran deep and whose gentle way touched many people. As the tears fog up my vision, I nearly struggle with how to begin this next portion.

I don't know the trigger that transitioned my depression from painful to extreme. I can only guess that perhaps, after beginning anti-depressants and abruptly stopping St. John's Wort, my body went into heavy withdrawal. Either way, the depression became much worse.

Nothing changed with my feelings about life; I still worried about getting a job, still fretted about my direction, still only looked forward to a few things. What did change, however, was my sleeping pattern. Ever since the depression began, I always had trouble sleeping. Anxiety always startled me awake. But I slept. Sometimes with the help of herbal remedies, once with the help of Ambien. Somehow, even if for a small bit, I slept. But soon I became afraid of sleeping, of feeling the anxiety stab at my conscious. I told myself, "You aren't going to sleep..", thus training myself not to sleep.

I remember now that the doctor offered me, along with anti-depressants, a prescription for anti-anxiety medication. I have no idea why I didn't take it. Perhaps I felt as if wandering through life drugged out of my mind was a terrible thing. I didn't know that some anti-anxiety medications didn't cause the drowsy side effect. There were even some that weren't addictive. Had I known then what I know now, I definitely would have heeded her advice.

I went a full week with little to no sleep. And it was the most painful experience of my life. Had I been able to sleep well during the brunt of the depression, I would have become well quicker. That, I firmly believe. The lack of sleep I experienced drained my emotional capacity to think. It frustrated me to no end; the fruitless attempt to sleep, only to wake up five minutes later, completely and utterly drained... of everything. The internal screaming one goes through, the -audible- screaming that one voices when going through such an ordeal. The willingness to do -anything- to sleep. Even take a multitude of pills just for an hour or two of solace. This lack of sleep is utterly and completely different than the lack of sleep parents often experience when having a child. The unfortunate many who battle with insomnia have -nothing- pleasant to wake up to; not the sleeping face of a newborn, or the cry of a smaller entity in need. Nothing. It is the most empty experience I have ever faced. The constant murder of sleep due to the vengeful stabbings of anxiety was just.. too much to handle. I was deeply afraid of closing my eyes, deeply afraid of not being able to sleep, deeply afraid of feeling that anxiety again. Your soul aches and yet it's too tired to fight; you're exhausted, but you just can't sleep. No matter what you try. You begin to feel desperate. Incredibly desperate for something that you took for granted your whole life. Your eyes are too tired to cry anymore. Your brain too muddled to think. You simply have nothing left. And this is all on top of depression. On top of the loneliness and despair. On top of the isolation that you feel even from someone whose trying so hard to help you.

I remember walking to a bus stop and sitting on the bench in the bitter cold, crying so hard, and watching the cars drive by, asking them out loud as if they could hear me; "How is it that -you- can be normal? How is it that you're not afraid to even be outside?"

The last day of that horrible experience was the day before Christmas Eve. It was a day that I had had enough. I was so desperate that I was contemplating just ending it all. Taking all the pills in the cabinet and just being done. I was that desperate. I didn't care about anything else. I called a suicide hotline. I told them what I would do. During that conversation, it donned on me that I needed to call my doctor. So I did. Without seeing her, she phoned in a prescription for an anti-anxiety medication. Minutes later, I was down at my local pharmacy to pick it up. I think she saved my life.

Never before had I understood why others commit suicide. Then and now, I do. I understand. I understand the pain that others go through and the desperation to feel 'normal'. Feeling 'normal' is such a sacred state of being to those who are depressed. 'Normal' is what we all hope to be. Of course suicide isn't right. Of course it isn't the way out. But I -understand-.

I didn't know then that things would get better. Much, much better. Had I not survived that day, I know now that I would be missing incredible things, incredible victories and triumphs. And a beauitiful life.

Things always seem to get worse before they get better.

Observation: How Do You Portray Yourself? (Self-Esteem)

Mon, 30 Mar 2009 20:03:03 -0400

“I was not the lion, but it fell to me to give the lion's roar.” - Winston Chruchhill

How do you portray yourself to others?

Every day, we access others' actions, reactions, mannerisms and verbal clues, and open and close opportunities as a result depending on what we find. Therefore, everything we do is an advertisement to those around us on, not only our abilities, but how we perceive ourselves. And if we perceive ourselves in a negative light (read low self-esteem), others will catch on too.

If a potential car buyer arrives onto the lot with an unsure step, nervous glance, the car salesman may pick up on it and try to take advantage of him or her. Whether we know it or not, we communicate without moving our mouths. Communication is in our body language, our posture; even how one holds his or her head is an expression of oneself.

With every bit of communication, we open and close opportunities. The grumpy parent who comes home and snaps at an excited child may have closed the opportunity to receive a hug or a loving smile. The manager that arrives on scene with an objective outlook may open opportunities for employees to brainstorm more willingly, thus achieving goals.

These observations can be applied to the work place. If you are facing an overzealous co-worker that seems to micro-manage you, perhaps he or she has picked up on a non-verbal clue that you're transmitting. How do you portray yourself to the co-worker? What non-verbal clues have you been advertising about yourself? If you're unsure about yourself, how can you expect your co-worker to be sure of you? If you advertise yourself as being afraid of the phone by talking to others with a shakey voice, or stuttering words, how do you expect your manager to trust you with a call to a high-scale client? It's all in how we portray ourselves.

Lack of self-esteem can easily be translated into one word: fear. Whether it be fear of rejection, or fear of someone yelling at you over the phone, fear imprisons all of us. Fear is limiting your current and future opportunities. Fear can also be linked to the way you speak to yourself. If you tell yourself, "I can't do this..", you simply won't be able to do it. You've already defeated yourself and snuffed out any urge to try. Instead of berating yourself, encourage yourself. Talk out your fears and defeat it before it defeats you, and closes down your opportunities. Approach your fear with the repetition of a curious child.

An example of a fear-defeating conversation could go like this. I have this very conversation myself often.

- I have an interview tomorrow. I'm so afraid. > Why?
- What if I fail? > What happens if you fail?
- I won't get the job. > Why is not getting the job scary?
- I'll have to stay where I am. > Why is that scary?
- Because I don't have opportunities here. > Why is that scary?
- Because I can't provide for my family. > But if you don't get this job, aren't there others?
- Yes. > Okay, then. Why are you afraid?
- I don't know.

Don't let fear determine your future. More than likely, you're brilliant at what you think you can't do. Remember, if an opportunity closes, another one opens!

Depression: Grasping for Hope (Part II)

Sun, 29 Mar 2009 13:03:33 -0400

Depression: Growth Through Pain (Introduction)

Depression: Dawn of Something Dark (Part I)

I had lost my direction in life. Like a seed cast into the vastness of a field on a careless wind, I tripped through the days with no sense of where I was going. At that point in my life, all I could see was the rising, suffocating stalks of the field around me. I stepped timidly through my new surroundings. I was hopeless and everything looked the same. I moved yet I saw nothing distinguishable in my path, differentiating my new place in the field from the next.

Had I the knowledge then that I know now, I would have realized that, even though I felt as if I wasn't moving forward, or making any progress, I was. Each and every step somewhere leads you on the path that you're on. And even though it may seem like we have no direction, we are ultimately moving in -some- direction. We are never staying still. That notion is simply impossible. Our progress is in the days that go by. Each step we take is movement closer to recovery. The beginning of a journey cannot be born without taking a step, however unsure that very step is.

The first beginning days after I had quit the clinical nursing position felt like a fresh breeze. I had shrugged off the anxiety of going to the job, yet.. I was still wracked with the anxiety of, "What do I do now?", "What's next for me?", not knowing that it would be months and months until I found the answers to those very questions. Always having been a very brave young person, it was very disturbing to me that everything under the sun caused me to be afraid, caused the fangs of anxiety to rip into my skin. If I wasn't afraid about the job situation, about money, it was simply being afraid of even going outside. Even when the stress of money completely flew out of my mind (I cashed in my 401k and was set for months), I still stressed and worried about everything. Staying at home for hours on end while my husband worked, set me up for hours and hours of thinking, stressing, and creating a prison of self-doubt for myself. I never left the house. I barely even got out of bed. And these were all precursors of things yet to come.

I had trouble sleeping. I don't even think I ate well either. And I couldn't bear to think that I was depressed. Me? No. Depression was for other people. Not for me. Not for how strong I thought myself to be. It was for my mom, for other people. Not me. Yet, I found myself looking it up, taking online tests to see if I was indeed depressed. I found myself in a holistic store, buying St. John's Wort and herbal remedies to help me sleep.

I don't know how I ended up going to a therapist. I don't know what triggered the need to go. I had never liked therapists. I knew inside that they couldn't help. Even going to the therapist, leaving the house, spurned the anger of anxiety. I went a few times, and never went back. It wasn't helping. I didn't want to talk. Somehow then, I knew I could only help myself. In the haze of sadness and despair, I knew that I only had the key. During my few sessions, however, we tried breathing exercises. She tried to teach me to breathe through the waves of anxiety that always seemed to conveniently wake me up just as I was about to fall asleep. The exercises didn't help. At this point, I was too far into my own labyrinth of mental self-destruction to even give it a chance.

I somehow too found myself at the doctor's office. I remember the many days before, while taking St. John's Wort, being afraid of beginning to take an anti-depressant. Me? Anti-depressants? 'I am not this thing, this depressed creature', I thought to myself. I am not this. But I was. Back then, I thought it was some horrible thing. Depression was a badge of shame, of something being wrong with you, something horribly wrong. Somehow, because I was depressed, it was all my fault: "If I just hadn't quit; If I had just stayed with the company, my family wouldn't be going through this; my family wouldn't be suffering." I never let myself rest from my constant barrage of self-destruction.

The only rays of hope in my life at that time was my husband and the things we did together during those dark days. The bitter cold walks at night; the light of the fireplace while my husband and I watched our favorite new T.V. show. Nothing else. I looked forward to nothing else. It is an incredibly lonely existence to look forward to only two things in your life. I wandered aimlessly through the days. The hours of my day while not doing the things that brought me some semblance of joy was filled with regret, despair, and anguish.

And I didn't know that soon it would get worse.

Depression: Dawn of Something Dark (Part I)

Sat, 28 Mar 2009 12:03:51 -0400

Depression: Growth Through Pain (Introduction)

Regardless of how your depression was birthed, and under what circumstances, be aware that, no matter how small you or others perceive the core issue to be, your reason for feeling the way you do is valid. The root of anyone's depression is never silly. It doesn't matter if your goldfish died, or the dark winds of change have blown over the inner sanctuary of your soul; if it's bothering you, if it has summoned the dark cloud of depression, it is a valid concern and issue. Does not a pearl begin with a piece of sand? What right is it of ours to discount anyone's feelings, or the root cause of such a devastating condition? What right is it of ours to tell ourselves that our issues are stupid and silly if it creates such an avalanche of heartache and pain?

I grew up in a great home with a great family in a small city in upstate New York. My mom stayed home with us, and my dad was a dentist. Even though I lacked the motivation to do well in school (and I didn't), I know now that somewhere within me I wanted to be successful. Even still, I never really had a direction. I just let the winds of change blow me through school, through graduation, and into a stagnant year after high school in which I didn't particularly do a thing. I never went to college and I still haven't. Oddly enough, however, a volunteer effort turned into a job in San Diego, and from there, the road of my life ended at a career I had done nothing to deserve. Twenty-two years old and I had a career making a ton of money that most folks at that age wouldn't have dreamed of for several years, and maybe even never. I had it all.

And then something happened.

Several years later, tired of the management, not knowing an ounce of what it was to be a 'good employee', I quit my great career, justifying my knee-jerk reaction to management reprimanding as my desire of 'changing career paths'. I wanted to go into nursing. And that's how I looked at it. I was done with upper management and their unfair treatment (years later, in this point of my life now, I realize it was indeed fair.). That first night without the cushion of my career was a very difficult one. I can remember it even today as if it happened last night. The lack of sleep. The constant surge of anxiety as if someone had poked my brain each time I almost fell asleep. Little did I know then that those nights would be common in the next months. Little did I know then that anxiety would nearly be my undoing later. Then, on the cusp of a new adventure, I didn't know about the ugly monster that looked down at me from further up the road, waiting to devour me. The monster we know as depression.

I began my incredibly short journey as a clinical nursing assistant and never made it past the first couple of days. I had forgotten one key thing about me: I am extremely empathetic. I will adopt anyone's pain as my own. Seeing others in pain… it never would have worked out. I still remember the event surrounding my decision to turn away from the path of nursing; a stroke victim whose children and family never visited her, and who, while attempting to wash her own face, gently stroked the air in front of her instead with a sponge in her hand. It was the saddest thing I had ever seen. And that's when, while running through the dark forest in my mind, I took my first few steps into the pit of despair.

I hadn't quit the new-found job yet. During the day, I told myself, "I can do this. I can do this." and at night, the shadows of my self-created negativity and anxiety suffocated me. I thought to myself, "If I can get out of this job, I'll be okay. I won't be afraid anymore." I begged my husband to let me quit, asked him if we would be okay if I didn't have a job. Thankfully, he let me... and I safely walked through the gates. Gates that I saw were pristine and golden, but were, in truth, decrepit and broken. I had walked through the gates of depression.

Unbeknownst to me, it was the dawn of something dark.

Depression: Grasping for Hope (Part II)

Depression: Growth Through Pain (Introduction)

Fri, 27 Mar 2009 23:03:19 -0400

During my encounter with depression, a poignant description from a friend has haunted me through the years: Imagine yourself on a steep mountain when thick fog rolls in. Your friends and family on the ledge below you can't see you, can't hope to reach you through the dense veil. And you're just too scared, too trapped, to find your own way out. Isolation. Numbing cold. You're blind. Helpless. No one can reach you and you're left alone with no one but yourself.

Now imagine that the dense fog is the veil of your mind, shielding you from those you love, people who are desperate to save you. Imagine that the numbing cold is your own negativity, beating you endlessly with fear and anxiety. Imagine that the rocky embrace of the mountain is the prison that you yourself have created with the self doubt you continuously drill into your senses.

And that's just the beginning.

The above scenario, coupled with despair and a deep and nearly unshakable sense of being alone, is just a taste of what depression feels like. Until one has been there, or has lived through a loved-one experiencing it, depression is just a word. To us, the many, it is the dreadful toll of a bell singing a forlorn tune.

In the following posts, I hope to guide you through my experience of what depression was for me in hopes that it'll help a lost family member understand, or encourage the desperate inmate going through the ordeal to engage in an open dialogue with friends, family, or even themself.

There is a happy ending. The doors to that part of my life have been well-closed for years now. I have undertaken a project that inspires me to revisit that part of my soul, to take down the boards that has closed a forgotten room in my mind long ago; to a place of remembrance of those dark times, to dance with the shadows that had once held me down. At the end of the day, at the end of my posts, I know I can board that space in my mind back up, and leave those figures behind. Your friend, son, daughter, father, anyone going through the pain, can and will too one day.

Though it may be difficult for you to see, my weary friend, there is a light at the end of the tunnel. Though you can't see it beyond the tears blinding you, you will recover. Your loved-one will recover. And one day, you too will see the sunlight.

Trust me. There's growth through pain.

Depression: Dawn of Something Dark (Part I)