It looks like this.
14 unheard voicemails.
5 days in bed. = 5 days no shower.
A gazillion hours of sleep. A gazillion
A gazillion hours with left eye. right eye.
It happened again. Again. I missed a week of work. I had been running on over-full steam but was feeling good. Productive. Funny. Social. Active. Accomplished. Safe.
And then. It bottled up. bottled up up up. The stress.
Between work and school. And the many social activities (that I need to learn to sacrifice).
I broke. I fell. I broke. And fell.
And now the ascent. Re-integrate in to the world.
Make sounds. Say things. Change clothes. Come home from a long day. Try to remember how to be ‘normal’. Attempt
to mimic who I was just the other day. before ‘the fall’.
Mimic who I am. take deep steady breathes. until the inhales/exhales synchronize with this moment.
Pick up where I left off and hyper-speed to now. To now. to now. This moment. Now.
That’s what it looks like.
As I’ve been observing my journey through this. As I’ve been seeking to pin-point the things that exacerbate my depression. To tease apart the behavior that enables depression to rear its ugly. (No head. Just ugly.) I’ve realized there are choices to be made here. Decisions to be made that have the potential to trigger the unforgiving ghouls.
Stress. The big one. The one I’ve over-looked. Grown accustomed to. Blindly sought out. Perhaps my body and mind have been conditioned to being in this state? When I think of my childhood. My adolescence. My early adulthood. My memories are contained within a tense-bodied Dawni. A tense quiet body. A loud mind and quiet body. lonely body.
My depression germinated and grew silently and unnoticed. It wasn’t until I was in my early 20s when I saw a counselor. I don’t remember what instigated that move. But I am so thankful for it. I count 7 therapists I’ve seen. No, 8; one of which was a psychiatrist. And 2 other psychiatrists who only took care of the chemical part of my depression. We chatted a bit and medication or dosages were determined. Oh, the many meds I’ve started and stopped. and started.
So here I’ve been. Here I am. Attempting stability. I’m on daily medication. I check in with my psychiatrist regularly. I go to bi-weekly therapy appointments. Get out when I don’t want to. I get out. Avoid what may be harmful to a sound mind. I dance. I stretch. I try. I’ve tried. And tried. And tried and tried. I try.
Working through depression is a practice, like anything else. If you want to run a marathon, you train. If you’re learning a new language, you practice and study and converse. If you want to play a song on the piano from memory, you practice. Over and over. First with sheet music then without. over and over. If you want to drown out the voice in your head that you’ve grown up with. The one that tells you you’re worthless, you suck, there’s no point, you’re damaged, [enter the most damaging and painful thing someone could say to you here]. The voice that tells you, its steamy breathe and sultry lips pressed against your ear, “Give up. Give. Up.” What do you do?
You seek support. Help. Therapy. Consider medication. Hospitalization. You learn to acquire a different voice to listen to and live by. One that believes in you. One that you trust and trusts you. Supports you. One that talks you into doing things like call a friend when you need your prescription filled and you can’t get out of bed. One that convinces you that those tempting suicidal ideations you’ve been daydreaming about incessantly are symptomatic. Not truth. Not spirited desires.
Written Tuesday, October 30th, 2012, 6:33pm @ Smith.
Photo taken on the Dirty Underground Tour in Seattle on Saturday,
August 18th, 2012.
“In this sad world of ours, sorrow comes to all, and it often comes with bitter agony. Perfect relief is not possible, except with time. You cannot now believe that you will ever feel better. But this is not true. You are sure to be happy again. Knowing this, truly believing it, will make you less miserable now. I have had enough experience to make this statement.” – Abraham Lincoln