Posted on by leohblooms

Mutterings

There are times when I find that even thinking about thinking about what I’m feeling is enough to induce a sleep-like coma for an additional three hours of the morning. I could easily get out of bed, as I did for years, around 6am every morning when my brain snaps to attention and begins its daily factoring, searching and planning regimen. I could. I could if I wasn’t so scared of the empty feeling that engulfs me within seconds. A solid core of emptiness with layers of what ifs and insecurities wrapped tightly around and around like the inside of a golf ball.

This week I will go to the doctor and ask for medication. Despite all the bravado and planning ahead in the case of this emergency, I feel like a failure. I’ve managed well for a few years now with meditation, vitamins and supplements. I’ve made it my mantra to be fearless and do the hard thing first as a way of keeping my emotional-self healthy. I’ve made decisions with machete perfection as to what situations I’m willing to walk in to regarding work, family and my social calendar. And now, it seems, that even with all my careful planning and attention to detail, I’ve not taken two steps back but more like a mile. This from the same mind and mouth that recommends to anyone that if medication is needed then grab it with both hands and don’t look back. I’m a hypocrite.

My practical self tells me I will do well to take care of this soon. My reasonable self knows that the thing to do is to call right this minute so that all the time I spend with my kids this week will be as great as it can be. My intellectual self tells me I have not failed and that everyone’s life comes in waves of highs and lows, in seasons of sunny and dark. My clinically depressed self tells me that I am alone, ugly, unlovable, inconsequential, worthless, unworthy of being in the same room with my kids who might get some of my poison on them and that in not secluding my person in a dank, dark place to merely exist until I die I somehow endanger them. By just being alive I endanger them. That the best gift I could ever give them is to disappear from their lives. That voice worked once before and I struggle to keep it at bay.

23 Replies to “Mutterings”

  2. You write so beautifully and bravely that I’m in awe of you. Your honesty pinches a little at my heart and forces me to recall the ugliness of this world that grips us so tightly from which we flee. And the motherly qualities you possess remind me of our humanity and how difficult it all is.

    Then, I remember that picture of your daughter that I commented on not too long ago and I am, all at once, your sister who wants to wrap you in my arms and tell you that you are wise beyond your years. Also, that you have people who are there for you. Call on them, Leah. They are waiting.

    Smooches to you, babe.
    xoxo

  4. Huzzah. Good for you. Your illness is as fatal as cancer, and you are geting treatment for it.

    Don’t listen to the voice. The depression just wants to stay alive, when you need to surface again. I’m happy there’s still enough of you left to recognize you are ill and to seek medicine.

    Keep us up to date (especially six weeks from now when you think, “I’m fine! I don’t need medicine.”

  5. I am so proud of you for knowing to take care of yourself. I hope I can be as strong in many parts of my life. (and hey, maybe meds will make you feel like wearing some of those fancy new bras. or maybe not if you are anything like me. argh! itchy)

  6. Me too. I have an appointment tomorrow, 2:30, hello Prozac. Fortunately I also have an ear ache. If not I would have put off the appt for the Prozac but, since I have to go to the Dr. anyway….throbbing ear and all… You’d think I’d get it by now. After weeks of crying, and crying, and crying, and more crying, over anything, and everything and all things, my husband finally says, “uh, you haven’t been taking your Prozac have you?” Damn Prozac. I hate it. And, love it. I love that it works but I hate so many other things about it. I wasn’t even going to ask for the prescription until I read your post tonight. So, thanks for that. You saved me from waiting until I really hit bottom which is often what happens. Funny how I can read your post with sympathy and understanding and want to cheer you on and tell you how much you’re loved and cared for and yet when it comes to my own depression I find it necessary to be so hard on myself. Brutal at times. Unforgiving. What’s with that anyway? Thank you for being so honest. Without knowing it, or me, you gave me a hand-up when I needed it so thanks for that.

  10. Glad the clinically depressed self is outnumbered and soon, I hope, transformed. You have been fearless and your reluctance is not a form of hypocrisy. There is nothing your children need more than you, with all your selves and all your wisdom.

  11. Thinking of you, Ms. leah. The only failure I can see is if you didn’t seek out a little help if/when you need it. People have done that far too long, avoided treatment for when they’re head feels a little sick. You’re not a failure.

  13. Even when you (intellectually) know that the (purely emotional) failure you are mired in is a symptom of the depression, it’s almost impossible to avoid it. You’ve been here before, you know the way back, and you are following a map you made for yourself when you were healthier. Trust yourself, because you are a wise woman, despite how you are feeling now.

  15. Already said it in an email, but am halfway through your book and it’s as honest and heartwrenching as this post. It’s been difficult for me to put down. And it’s really helping me understand more about depression, which I haven’t had to address in my own body/mind, but have watched in my dad my whole life. Always, it was so difficult for me to grasp, and equally difficult not to think, “Why can’t he just pull out of it? Why can’t he just ‘be happy’?”

    What an idiotic thought. I’m ashamed I ever had it.

  17. I love what Mocha said… and you are not alone.
    Reaching out from within that Ping (hocky puck for me) is difficult enough.
    *Sending you positive thoughts*

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  21. As Bossy – always the procrastinator says – “I am getting ready to maybe start thinking about this problem.” You are doing more than that, way more. Cheers, you.

  22. Leah,

    The description of your dark experiences resonates deeply within my own existence. I too have gone on and off meds seeking escape from that ache inside.

    Please know Leah that you are a valuable individual to many of us who know you. I want you to remain a part of my life.

    Hugs.

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