It has been over a year since I’ve written here, and I’d like to explain where I’ve been.
It’s not a quaint tourist trap or a place I’d ever want you to visit, though I know many of you will or have, for one reason or another.
Severe depression led me to rock bottom this year, and I’ve been stuck there a long time. It’s hard to say how long, exactly, because time takes on an elastic quality. It stretches and bends so that each minute is a marathon that leaves you breathless. Hours are viscous and vicious, hanging onto your clothes with a leaden grip, pulling down on your limbs until all you want to do is sleep.
I wish I could write a funny piece about how an episode of severe depression is the perfect time to break in a pair of raw denim jeans, because you’re going to wear the same pair of pants for months on end anyway.
I wish I could write satire about depression’s social benefits. Rather than needing to cull one’s friend list consciously, depression does the work for you, wrecking all but your very closest relationships (and even many of those) by rendering you unable to return a phone call, email, or text.
Some day I will be far enough from rock bottom to laugh at it, but not yet. For now I am grateful. Grateful that my marriage survived, though fully conscious that Mark deserves all the credit for it, not me. Grateful that my children are healthy and happy, and that we have not hidden my depression from them. We shielded them from the worst, but they are aware that I have been sick, and with what. My daughter can tell when I’m having a hard time, and she mothers me. She sits and brushes my hair. My son, always empathetic, has become even more so. These kids will be two of the most compassionate people on the planet.
Depression is not a new experience for me, yet this episode was absolutely traumatic. It was, by far, the worst depression I have ever experienced, including my postpartum depression.
So I need to talk about it, to write about it. It’s my attempt to make something good come from the inexplicable horror that afflicts every aspect of my life. And yes, I’m using the present tense “afflicts,” because though I’m feeling better, I cannot take for granted that I will continue to do so. Depression has proved a persistent enemy, ready to ooze from the shadows and envelop me in its iron tentacles without warning.
Talking about depression means acknowledging my pain, bringing validity to an illness that we don’t usually acknowledge with casseroles. Depression is as devastating as cancer, and can be more so. I say this with authority. In our marriage we have experienced both my depression and Mark’s cancer, and without question it is my depression that has produced more painful and far-reaching consequences for our family. Mark went through cancer treatment and wanted to live. I was depressed and wanted to die.
I need to talk about it because depression and cancer are treated so very differently. There’s a script for cancer. Calls, cards, compassion. Depression is usually hidden, and in the unusual event it is not, the scenario is all the more confusing for its novelty. Usually there is no community for depression, no carpool discussion of the mental illness that has as profound an effect on a family as any heart attack. Mental illness isn’t something we discuss as a matter of course.
Let’s change that.
<3
Xo
I’m glad you’re back. We’ve loved you all along. Xo
Me, too. Couldn’t have done it without my girls.
Oh, Angie. Sending up prayers for continued good health and praise that you are climbing your way out. And more praise that you’re having the conversation, here and at home.
Thank God for being a Mark-ed woman. Those Marks are good eggs! 😉
Marks are worth their weight in chocolate.
Thank you for the kind words and the prayers.
Oh, ladylove, I feel you. I FEEL you. And I’m glad you’re here. <3
Me, too. Xo.
so glad you left rock bottom behind you. I would make you a casserole any day – a German sweet cherry casserole, that is <3 And yes, we need to talk about this and make it a priority – we need change. xox
Thank you, dear friend. What time is dinner?
Talking is hard from both sides, but now that I’ve started, I can’t shut up. Not exactly a new problem for me …
So very powerful, Angie. I’m so glad you are writing about your story. I know that others will relate and be inspired by your words.
Thank you, Kim. I’m hoping others will be able to talk about their journeys as well. The isolation is so harmful. We need to create a community.
So very sorry you have been dealing with this for so long. I wish I had been more there for you. xo
Hugs to you, Robin.
I’m sorry you had to go through this. But if there is a bright spot, it is that you have come out stronger, for your family and for YOU. Love to you, Angie. We ARE here.
xoxo
Yes, though some days I want to open a window and yell, “Dammit! I have enough strength already!”
But that proves the point that I don’t, right?
Love you, too.
I’m glad to see you on the other side, though I am so sorry you had to go down that hard path of depression. Happy to see you writing. Sending you love. xo
Thanks for being there when I couldn’t write. Xo
You are wonderfully brave. Love you, my dear friend.
Love you too, my dear toadmuffin.
It made my day to see that you were writing again and then it broke my heart to read what you’ve been (and are going) through. I’m grateful that you are changing the discussion of mental illness – it is a shift that is long overdue and so desperately needed. Thank you.
Hey, girl! I never intended to stop writing. It gradually happened as I started to feel worse, and then I just … couldn’t. I couldn’t do much of anything. Now that I’m feeling better, though, it’s like, oh, the talking? I can do this.
Yes! This! I’ve recently prayed for two families reflecting just what you write: one struggling with a 2nd grader with cancer and another with a 6th grader who recently was admitted to a mental health facility. The former has a Caring Bridge page, a meal train website, 5ks planned with hashtags for medical expense fundraising. The latter, a handful of friends who are sworn to secrecy not even letting the child know we know. And I get with a kid it’s different. It’s the child’s story to tell not the parent’s. But as a momma who struggles with depression and debilitating anxiety to 4 kids half of whom struggle daily with mental illness, I applaud you for shining a light into the dark loneliness our family often finds itself in. I pray my kids who struggle befriend compassionate kids like yours.
That is it exactly. The difference is heartbreaking. When we whisper, we imply shame. This is not shameful. It is difficult at times to speak about because there isn’t much of a roadmap for speaking about mental illness in polite conversation. Heart problems? Sure. Depression? Uh-uh. It is hard for both the speaker and the listener, and I have sympathy for both as they attempt to chart a new course.
Leaving you so much love here. I get it. I truly do. xoxo
Thanks, friend.
Sending you so much love. This is so important to talk about. xo
Thank you for reading, Shell.
Thank you, Shell.
Thank you for writing it out, talking with us. Thank you for letting us in, letting us help, nod. I’m glad you’re here.
Me, too, babe. Me, too. And thank YOU for listening.
Love to you, my darling friend. Keep walking to us. We are here.
Lori! I have missed you, dear one!
I’m so glad you’re here, Angie, and for sharing your experience while it happens. It’s important, this communication with those who might not realize how devastating this illness can be. Thank you for daring to reach out to those who know and those who don’t. xo
It’s sort of while it happens, Andrea, but not really. I’m testing in full remission from depression right now after 36 sessions of transcranial magnetic stimulation. My last session was about a week and a half ago, and I tried to write during treatment but it just wasn’t happening for the most part. So you’re getting me post-treatment, feeling better, but with vivid memories of how I felt recently. Xo.
Angie, you are loved. This is a brave outpouring that is going to help a lot of people feel less alone. Keep pushing against the dark my friend, you are one of many lights in my life and I love you.
Thank you, Kir. If it helps in that way, that would be great.
So much love to you, my friend. I know the words will help make sense of it all, but I am so sorry to hear how hard it has been. Sending strength to keep moving through, and I guess alongside, this.
That is the goal right now–to make sense of it, or at least as much sense as can be made.
I’m so glad you’re back. And I hope you know that we will always be here for you. Up or down or sideways.
Thank you, Jennifer. Xo
Angie I’m so sorry to hear this. I can only imagine how painful this time has been for you. I’m glad you are coming out on the other side and I hope you have a great team around you providing you care and support. <3
I actually feel pretty damn good right now. Better than I have felt in a long time. I did transcranial magnetic stimulation (TMS), and it was a godsend. Thanks for reading, and for your kind words.
I’m mentally pinning helium balloons of lightness to your shirtsleeves and sending clouds of protection under your feet and blowing winds of grace into your lungs.
And I’m praying that God makes the path level so you can leave the tentacles of death behind as you go from strength to strength. (Thinking of Psalm 18:4-19) I’m glad you’re back.
Oh, Jennie, what a beautiful image. Xoxo
Oh, Angie – I’m so glad you’re sharing this. Surely you shared w. others, but I’m so glad you’re writing this here.
You made it because you’re a powerful woman, with a strong force of shielding support that shows you how loved you are.
I’m among the many who love you. And I’d bring you a casserole or a batch of cookies any day, if only to sit and talk, to sit beside you and listen, or to sit with you silently so you’d know I’m there. xo
I did share with others. Probably later than I should have, but I had to. I needed the prayer and the support, even as I felt unworthy of either.
Thanks for reading and for your kind words.
Oh Angie. So much love to you, friend.
I attended a wonderful session a BlogHer about authenticity – which I know we hear way too much about sometimes – but they touched on how important it is to share your truth with your readers. Because more often than not, the outpouring of support will outnumber the negative, and that can be life saving. xoxo
Thank you, Leigh Ann.
The beauty of speaking about your experience is that you will help countless others feel less alone through their own journeys. While each is unique – it can feel isolating, stifling and shameful. We have to take the negativity from mental illness so support is the norm and healing is started (hopefully) much sooner.
Cheers to you and the coming year, one that is brighter than the one prior and very deserving of peace and joy.
The isolation and sense of shame that go along with depression are truly horrible. So your words are much appreciated here, because if I can help anybody feel less alone and ashamed, that will be a wonderful thing. Thank you for reading.
Angie, we’re glad that you made it to the other side. It’s too bad that no one has ever been able to leave a trail of breadcrumbs to help all of those climbing from the bottom. Keep heading toward the sun. Much, much love.
So sorry you have been going through this and I hope things continue to improve. I’m sure your writing will help and inspire others too!
You are brave and beautiful and compassionate yourself for speaking up and sharing your story. I’ll be sending good vibes your way that you continue to have loving and supportive family and friends. L&L – Mary Cay
Thinking of you and sending hugs. Proud of you for sharing what many people feel or have felt but can’t articulate. Miss you!