Depression, part 1

I struggle with depression.

I have for years.

It's not the easiest thing to admit or talk about.  But there it is.

I didn't always know that's what it was.  Depression was such an ugly word.   Depression meant you were extremely sad and pathetic. You were at the brink of ending your life. You never laughed or smiled.  You saw no reason to go on. Depression was a death sentence.

I was none of those things, so I couldn't be fighting with depression.

I didn't know what to call it, but I struggled.

I blame some of the struggle on my over sensitive sense of empathy.  It's difficult for me to hear bad news because I immediately feel like I'm right in the middle of whatever is going on.  I'm not trying to sound like I understand everyone's pain in difficult situations.  Not at all.  But if I hear about a tragedy, or loss of life, or even something as simple as a person doing something that is embarrassing, my mind immediately relates to that situation as if I were the person being told the bad news, or whose face was turning red.  My gut turns, or my pulse races, or my head pounds.

I quit watching the news years before 9/11.  I always said that if something were bad enough, someone would call me.  My heart and my head just couldn't handle all the bad news.  And sure enough on 9/11, a friend called and said that I needed to know what was going on.

I didn't start taking anti-depressants until my ex-husband told me he wanted a divorce.  He told me on a Sunday evening and I was at a therapists office on Tuesday morning (first available slot she had) and had an anti-depressant/anti-anxiety prescription that afternoon.

The fact that I'm on meds is also not easy to admit.

I hated the fact that I started taking medication.  I also knew that I needed something to help me deal with the hurricane of emotions that the beginning of the end of my marriage brought flooding to the forefront of my brain.

And now, at least, my struggle had a name.

So now, four years of anti-depressants later, I'm still taking them and I still struggle.

The massive chaos of the breakdown of my marriage is over.  It's no longer the stomach churning, life shattering earthquake it once was.  There are still occasional after shocks, e.g., I live in Texas and two of my kids still live in Pennsylvania, not everything financially has been completely settled, and I'm still hurting for my kids, but the dust is beginning to settle.

I'm also starting over at 43 with no resume and very little job experience. I regularly question my ability to actually "adult" very well. And then I feel guilty that I struggle and get frustrated when I know others have it much worse that I.

It's worse in the mornings and when I'm very tired.  There have been days, when none of the kids were home, where I just couldn't get myself up out of bed.  It was a monumental task to just get up and get going.  Or days when I'd just rather sleep the day away than fight the heavy feelings that often weigh me down. Life just feels exhausting.

I don't struggle with suicidal thoughts.  That's not where my depression takes me.  I just feel tired, so very tired.  The everyday struggles of normal life wear on me, and fall so very heavy on my shoulders.  And often it's not even the struggles in my life.  It's hearing about the struggles in another's life.  Or better yet, worrying about the struggles my kids will face.

I'm not a worrier.  So I don't mean handwringing worrying about something bad possibly happening.  I mean like on a global scale sort of worry.   What kind of world are my kids inheriting? What sort of struggles will they and their children have to face because we, as a whole planet, are not doing a very good job of adulting in order to leave them a clear path forward?

I feel tired, tired of fighting.

I'm tired of fighting for peace and justice.  I'm tired of fighting for love.  I'm tired of fighting against hate.  I'm tired of fighting against the 1%.  I'm tired of fighting along side the other 99%.  I'm tired of fighting bigotry, and ignorance, and intolerance, and greed.

I am tired of fighting. It all makes me so very tired. I'm tired of thinking about all of it. I'm just tired. Did I mention that I'm tired?  Literally achy in my physical bones tired!

To quote in the good ole KJV I know "from whence cometh my help."

I just wish I didn't feel like I needed the help so damn much!