Some time in September, I sat in my car in a crowded Wawa parking lot and with trembling fingers, dialed the number for the local Family Service Association. I picked the Wawa because it was in the middle of the lunchtime rush and I felt like there would be no eyes on me to make this call. No one was there to overhear. It was just me and my phone.
Particularly, I was looking for behavioral health services.
"Hi," I said to the all-business receptionist on the other end of the line, "I am sad and scared and I think I need help because I don't know what is happening to me."
With that, I got myself an appointment a few weeks in the future. After a lot of hand-wringing and second-guessing myself ('Do I REALLY need this?' 'I think I'm feeling better now' 'This is probably just all in my head'), I did in fact go to that appointment. And after an hour with a therapist, she looked and me and my tear-stained, blotchy face and said ever so matter-of-factly:
"My dear, it sounds to me like you are in the middle of a major depressive episode."
Since then, I have come out with the following diagnoses: generalized anxiety disorder, depression, and C-PTSD. My anxiety and depression? Severe. The PTSD, not so much, but just enough to be a concern.
I've always been a fairly anxious person. Worry and over-preparation are the name of my game. Fretting over details, constantly ruminating on the unknown, and deconstructing every plausible scenario or outcome in my head over and over are all things I'm no stranger to. It's easy to joke about it, because I feel like everyone has anxiety to some extent--except now my anxiety has gotten to the point where it has caused my depression, and I am not okay with this.
It's a particular struggle for me right now, because it hit me like a ton of bricks that I don't remember the last time I've felt unquestionable joy. I feel love toward the people I care about, I can smile and laugh on good days with the rest of them, but I honestly cannot remember the last time I felt genuinely joyful, or hopeful, or at peace. And at the same time--I have every single freaking reason to feel these things. My amazing boyfriend, finally getting back on my feet, work is great, taking a giant leap of faith and building a new family unit...these are all good things!
Joy, hope, peace--these things have been replaced with unease, fear, and worry, and it has become all-consuming. This is what frightens me the most. I cry a lot, I'm irritable and grouchy, I'm jumpy and easily startled, and some days it feels like I could climb out of my own skin with panic. I have inadvertently hurt the people I love, and it is not a good look by any stretch of the imagination.
Have you tried explaining to the person you love more than anything that you just...simply need to hide in bed all day because your own thoughts have pushed you to the very brink of exhaustion and you feel like you're thisclose to a full-blown breakdown if you don't? I got to do that for the very first time not too long ago, and it's something I don't think I'd like to do again.
What's frustrating to me the most is that I pride myself on my ability to walk away from an abusive marriage stronger and better than I was before. I am organized, detail-oriented, productive, and hella good at spreading myself too thin. Proving to myself and everyone else that I've got this. For a single mom, it's the standard. A badge of honor. It's what we do.
But did you also know that people with anxiety are REALLY good at micromanagement almost to the point of compulsion? I didn't. Yet here I am.
And then I realized what I thought were my strengths and things I was proud of were actual outward manifestations of a mental health disorder. That new consciousness has brought on a whole new level of self-awareness that I was not quite prepared for. If these things were just my anxiety and depression talking--what are my strengths? Where is my value? WHAT IS HAPPENING?!
So, yeah. I'm back in therapy now regularly. My therapist and I are trying to work this out without medication, although the creeping despair and dread I feel is escalating and I think I may be changing my mind about that. I feel like I can't stay out of my head long enough to disassociate myself from my thoughts and feelings to recognize negative patterns and accordingly apply the things I work on in therapy. My thought patterns are so well-learned that my rational self is at a complete disadvantage. I need to level the playing field, so to speak.
I'm proud of myself for taking the step to admit that something isn't quite right, because I know in the long run I'll be a better and healthier mom, partner, daughter, sister, friend, and person because of that lunchtime phone call--but I also think it's no coincidence that these things I've been desperately missing and dwelling on their absence: joy, hope, and peace--are at the forefront of the season of Advent, which is 1.) right around the corner, and 2.) my favorite time of the year.
The groan of despair--and then the weight removed by hope alone.
Discouragement--obliterated by anticipation and the joy of a promise to come.
Dread--covered by the most perfect peace in simply being present.
Advent is pretty awesome and something I miss about belonging to a church that utilizes the liturgical calendar. It's a perfect reminder, during the darkest time of the year and now, as I find myself in one of the darkest periods of my life, that hope is obtainable. Peace is within reach. Joy is a promise kept.
And yeah, it'll take work, science, and patience on my end. I know I can't just magically snap my finger and miraculously be better. I wish. But I can somehow find it easier to rest in the promises of things to come.
--
If you are dealing with depression and anxiety--please stay. Hope is not lost. We need you here. Here are some resources to help you:
National Alliance on Mental Illness Helpline: 1-800-950-NAMI
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-TALK
Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration: 1-800-662-HELP
