Feeling Good

I've been feeling so much better the past while I've hardly written. Its so hard because when I am feeling fine I tend to forget about feeling depressed. Not that I want to forget, its just such a relief. So one way I am setting up a foundation for if I do get sick again is writing about these good days so that I will always remember that it does get better.
These are some other tools that help me make sure I don't fall on the other side of the fence: I try to make a schedule for myself everyday that includes being outside at least once. Fresh air is highly underrated and I've found in the past that although it may not eliminate the depression it does help numb the feeling to a degree. Having a schedule keeps me busy and keeps me from feeling I have no life and also keeps me from over-thinking.
It is extremely hard once you are in an episode of depression to bring yourself out, but sometimes doing a few of these things make it a little more bearable. On the other hand, its good to remember not to push yourself because if you get overwhelmed and expect too much of yourself that just has the opposite effect.
The worst thing is lying in bed when you're depressed but sometimes that is all you can do.

Unwanted

I know triggers are just that, triggers. But sometimes they seem to push my depression over the edge of fence I tend to sit on. The fence of emotion. I still think about my ex sometimes and it still makes me feel worthless. He left me for another girl. And that left me feeling like I am not worth holding onto.

Frustration

The reason I began recording past events and present on a blog was to share the life of a person dealing with depression. It can be extremely frustrating, just like any ailment, however, what increases the frustration and difficulty of receiving help is that you can't see it. Walking down the street you would not be able to tell I had depression. In fact, I'd say the majority of people I interact with in my life are not aware of my disability. There are multiple reasons, but to name a few: embarrassment, fear and misunderstanding. There is a stigma of mental illness, which is part of the reason I choose not to share.
Even sharing with doctors at times can trigger these reactions. I had a resident at my GP's office a couple years ago who told me that I did not need to continue on my anti-depressants since I had been using them for over a year and should be fine by now. I was so upset I didn't even get around to asking what I had come for in the first place. Another incident happened last fall after a very difficult break. My depression symptoms obviously manifested themselves more severely than usual and the psychiatrist I did talk to did not take me on because he attributed it all to the break up. My argument against that would be the break up was a trigger, but definitely not a cause of the depression. Again this summer I was approached in the same vague manner by a different doctor when I shared my worries about increasing symptoms of depression I noticed in myself. The advice I received was to make sure I was eating a healthy diet and getting enough sleep.
There have also been doctors that have taken the opposite approach and taken action to help me, however, I really wish depression could be taken more seriously.
It makes me not want to try anymore. But I do. I have three appointments this week to tackle various parts of my depression. I'm going to keep trying.

Dying vs. Escape

Sometimes the division of my thoughts of death and just not being present anymore turn gray. When I am depressed it is death I want, but my real self only wants an escape from the pain. My internal pain is indescribable, but I'll try. Imagine you are physically worn out to the point of not being able to move. Add a heavy weight bringing your head down. There is no rational thought but every thought turns to worthlessness, despair and hopelessness. My growing thought of depression near the end was that I was never going to get better, I was always going to feel like this. I don't know much about souls but whenever I fall into depression I feel I die a little inside, a little part of my soul is taken from me. If I am already in hell then how can not being alive be any worse.

When I took those pills I started out one by one, but then urgency grew to end everything so I took increasing amounts. I was ready to just fall asleep and never wake up. This happened temporarily.

The physical pain of an overdose is easily more describable but also extremely hard to imagine if you have not been there yourself. It was a heat wave of nerves lashing at my body and a sickly disorientation. 

The physical pain shocked me out of my mental pain which turned to the rational human emotion of shear panic. I got help. 

And thank goodness the person who brought me to the hospital thought to bring the pill bottle. Even in my intense pain it was still embarrassing explaining to the ER why I was there. After telling them I overdosed they asked, "Why?" A normal enough question but seriously? HOW DO I EXPLAIN WHY?! I was treated very fast. And I feel like I paid for my stupidity when I had to drink two bottles of charcoal which I was only able to down because my throat was so cut up from vomit that I needed liquid. 

I felt so so so stupid for my attempt. I don't know how to convince myself somedays that I was sick when I was making my decisions. Was I even making my decisions? Just like if someone who is mentally ill commits a crime, am I not responsible for my actions? I don't have an answer. The only thing I do know is what I am responsible for and that is advocating for myself. Getting the help I need so I never reach that place again. I don't expect to be cured but I don't want depression to dictate the rest of my life. And so far I've been depression symptom free (minus fatigue) for two weeks.

Sick of Being Tired

Depression is more than just being tired. Its your body weighing down on you. Today I am still free of my usual symptoms of depression but I cannot seem to escape fatigue. I have been trying to maintain a good sleep schedule but after doing an activity, as simple as getting groceries this morning, I feel like I have to lie down and have a nap. Its so frustrating because in my mind I keep thinking, I need to do homework, clean, etc. That is when I have to make a point of reminding myself to slow down, because I'm sick. If I had the flu or a fever there is no way I would be as hard on myself as I am when I am feeling depressed. I should mention I am also anemic and have spherocytosis, which just adds a whole other layer to my fatigue. It makes me not want to write or do anything. But my mind never shuts off.

Remembrance & Learning From Mistakes

Today is Remembrance Day and I would like to acknowledge all of the fallen and those still in service for their selfless actions allowing us to live life the way we do today.
I am so lucky to be in this country and receive the health care I do. But there is still much work to do in terms of the help received for depression.
I received a call today from a doctor who runs a cognitive behavior class which I have been referred to by my psychiatrist (it's very interesting and for more info check out Mind Over Mood by Dr. Greenberg). But what I want to discuss is just like most medical wait times: the wait to get into this class is a month. With my depression that I was facing earlier this season I couldn't wait.
I've really tried (or rather my mother has) finding all resources to help me battle depression. I tried crisis hotlines and got put on hold. Even getting into counseling at my university was difficult. The worst I have to say was after I had my suicide attempt of overdosing in late August I was allowed to go home after three days. And because of the overdose they had taken me off my medication which I have been taking since I was 15 years old (grade ten). I saw my psychiatrist as an out patient once after that and then there was another two week wait. I began my spiral downwards once again. If I had not gone home at the insistence of my mother I probably would have reached the point of no return again.
As convincing as I can be when I am not in the middle of a depressive episode I think allowing me to return to normal life three days after my suicide attempt was irresponsible. I'm not blaming a particular person. But the system has to be adjusted. Even though I am physically sound I question where the blame would go if I were not treated for my disease and killed myself? Was it really me making that decision or is it the disease that could have killed me similar to cancer or any other disease?

For more information on cognitive behavior therapy check out this link for Mind Over Mood by Dr. Greenberg: http://www.mindovermood.com/

My first clues...

I think the first time I started exhibiting symptoms of depression was when I was in grade seven, twelve years old. Back then I mostly attributed it to teen angst, everybody felt this moody right? I'd always been a moody child, just like my dad I was told. Sometimes I would feel so drained and I would be angered because I didn't know the reason why I didn't want to get out of bed. And I would get even angrier when trying to be forced to cool down. Anger has never been a major part of my depression but sometimes on the outside I do express myself in a "bitchy" manner. So back in grade seven when I would have my "moody" days I would apologize to anyone I had hurt, mostly my mother, when I was in that state.
I think that's something still important. Even with depression not being my fault, if I happen to burn bridges while in my deep episodes I have to remember to talk with the person about it later in order to have clarity of what was happening. Usually the only people that I will let see me with depression are people I feel close too. They understand, but I still want to make sure they know it's not them, its just depression. So I am very thankful for my support system. They don't have to be big, you're extremely lucky if you can count the number on one hand. It's just good to talk it out with my supporters once I am feeling back to myself.
I'm still really scared of falling back in, my biggest fear. It makes me sick thinking about it. But today is day eleven with no symptoms of depression.

The Ending is the Beginning

I've been writing and keeping journals my whole life yet at the moment I'm having trouble finding a starting point. My ending was really my beginning, if that makes any sense. I guess that's the truth about depression, sometimes it doesn't make a lot of sense. As Michael Landsberg stated when talking about his late friend, Wade Belak, "1+1 does not always equal 2." I bet if you looked at a picture of me smiling in my tour guide uniform (I have a specific picture in mind) you would never guess that I tried to kill myself. I was driven to a point where being alive was far more painful then whatever else was on the other side. But I'm still here, right now, writing. And I want to get better. This is day number 10 for me with no depression symptoms. So I don't know about getting better, but I am learning to deal better. HM

To read more about Michael Landsberg's powerful statement after Wade Belak's suicide due to possible depression click on the link: http://www.tsn.ca/nhl/story/?id=375694