I haven’t posted a blog post in ages. I thought I should complete my Depression series,or at least post the last of the three posts in my intermission series. But when I was feeling better in the fall the last thing I wanted to talk about was depression. And then when I fell into the deepest hole ever, the last thing I wanted to do was admit it. I’ve gone to the bottom and maybe someday will talk about it, and now feel like I’m on my way back up.
Last spring, I was on a spiritual high. I so wish I was still posting things like I did then. Mostly I so wish I was feeling like I did then. It brings to mind warnings I heard in my Southern Baptist upbringing. To beware of Charismatic beliefs and churches. “They’re emotion based, and when you don’t feel the emotions, you don’t know God is real.”
They were so wrong about that. It’s precisely because of those feelings that I know it was real.

But I do long to be there again, no matter what I said. Back then the reality and newness was so over whelming. I prayed, God, just let me go back to my ordinary life. Being on fire all the time was just too much. Can’t I just think about everyday things like I used to? Why is everything about you? That question today just pains me to ask. But that was my question.

Of course it’s all about Him all the time, as it should be. But what about me, when I don’t feel it? I know it’s not about me and it never was. But then again, it always has been. Everything You ever did was for me.

For me.

So this disconnectedness that I feel, this “just something’s not right” You did for me? Yeah, that was for me. That was for me to know there’s so much more outside myself. So much more I’m capable of. So much more I can do. And WILL do.

From someone who deals with chronic self-reliance…and even still sees that as a virtue…this post really spoke to me. Really? How do I admit that *I*…who am capable of doing great things…simply just can’t do this thing. I need someone?? Even if God is the One I need, and of course He is way greater than I can even imagine possible; it still feels like I failed. I should have…could have…would have…but just didn’t. The answer is somewhere in that “could have” part. I can’t. And I don’t like to admit it.

Bob Hamp’s second post in his series on depression. Please read!  

You may have noticed that I’ve taken a little break from my Depression series.  When I started the series I had no idea how much writing these posts would impact me.  It’s a lot to take on everyday…even every week.  And for the past few weeks…well…I don’t want to “jinx” it, but I’ve been getting better.  Woohoo!  I’ll take it!  That said, that last thing I’ve felt like doing is wallowing around in the mire of depression to give others an inside look.

I feel like I’ve finished the first half of what I wanted to post.  The descent down, so to speak.  I do have more to post about what the recovery from depression looks like, and I promise to start that second half of the series soon.  But during this intermission, I wanted to share this link from a person I respect and admire greatly, Bob Hamp.  Here’s the first in his series on Depression.

September 26, 2012 is my 5th birthday. It was five years ago today that the new me (the new physical me) was born. The reborn spiritual me is an entirely different, yet strangely similar, story. Five years ago today I had Weight Loss Surgery (WLS), gastric bypass surgery, to be specific. First, let me say I believe it was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. I only wish I had had the courage to do it sooner. So much of my adult life was a needless casualty of morbid obesity. But I also believe in God’s perfect timing. I would like to have had the physical results sooner, but I have no doubt that, had I done it earlier, I was not mentally or emotionally prepared for the challenges that accompany the surgery.

First let me address the “surgery is the easy way out” mentality. Those of us who have had surgery hear that all the time. It doesn’t particularly bother me, but I know it deeply offends friends of mine. It doesn’t bother me because that kind of statement is so dripping with ignorance that the person’s opinion on the subject doesn’t even matter. If by “easy way out” you mean, I chose a solution that actually works, then yes, put me down for taking the easy way out, every single time. And, of course, there’s nothing easy about taking the surgery path. It’s only a tool to combat obesity, it’s definitely not a cure. And it brings with it as many side effects as any prescription could.

As I researched the surgery options, I think what tilted my decision for surgery more than anything else was all the before and after pictures…like mine below. When you browse sites that show before and after pictures for WLS patients there is one thing noticeably missing. The asterisks. The little disclaimers next to everyone’s name that says “results not typical”. Because with the before and after pics you see from WLS patients, the results ARE typical. Why would I NOT choose to do what works?

I’m not saying that dieting and exercise won’t produce results. If someone diets and exercises consistently they will definitely lose weight. If they keep up their good eating habits permanently, they will definitely keep the weight off. It’s no magic formula. Diet and exercise DO work. Well, it kinda works. It WOULD work, if only people would do it. I don’t know why I didn’t stick with it. I don’t know why everyone doesn’t just go that route and see it through to success, but the cold hard fact is that people don’t. Diet and exercise fail as a solution because people self-withdraw from the treatment. An overwhelmingly large percentage of people choose not to continue with the program. I can count on one hand (with fingers left over…and yes, I only have five on each hand), the number of people I personally know who have lost over 100 pounds through diet and exercise and maintained their weight loss for 5 years.

On the other hand…well, it actually takes way more fingers than I have on the other hand…I personally know hundreds who have successfully lost over 100 pounds and kept the majority of the weight off through WLS. Anyway, I’ll get off my soapbox now. OK, maybe not quite yet. One more thing…WLS is NOT easy. Statistically speaking, it brings with it a host of complications…divorce, health complications, vitamin and mineral deficiencies, alcoholism (and every other kind of -ism), depression, anxiety, and neurological issues, just to name a few. And these are not minor side effects. I’ve seen friends die from these complications. There’s nothing easy about that.

But even with all that, I’d choose WLS all over again today. Even now, with the depression, my quality of life is so much better than I had ever dreamed prior to surgery. That should give you some clue as to the hell that is morbid obesity. Underneath all the excess layers of weight, I didn’t even know who I was…who God had created me to be. I thought I was lazy. And I didn’t just THINK it, I was convinced of it. It was part of my identity. It was just me. Lazy. I wanted better for me, for my family, for my home, but I was just too lazy to make it happen. Before losing the weight, I would never have guessed that there’s no laziness in me. I know now that given the stamina and ability, nothing’s too difficult for me. Nothing is ever too much trouble. Before the depression set in, I never, hardly ever, slowed down. There’s too much I want to do. And I do it now just because I CAN. Work all done…check. Clean house…check. Laundry done…check. Healthy meals prepared…check. Time spent with friends, laughing and encouraging…check. Quality time with my kids…check. Outreach to the needy, locally and globally…check. And I’m not putting these on a checklist to make light of them. I’m accounting for these things because they’re a few of the things that are important to me. All of that and throw in a half-marathon on the weekend. That’s the life I wanted and thought I was incapable of. That’s the life that WLS gave to me…until the depression stole part of it back.

I firmly believe that the WLS and the depression are directly related, but I’ll explore that medical connection in a future post. For now, let me just leave you with a couple of really awesome pics! And a big shout out to all my fellow WLS friends!!! Love you all!!!

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If I’ve learned anything over the past year, it’s that when dealing with depression, I can never predict how I will respond to anything.  My last couple of posts were pretty intense.  I wasn’t feeling great when I wrote them, and expected them to be a little difficult to recover from.  But what do I know?

All I know is the last couple of days have been really good ones.  Maybe putting words to the feelings was actually cathartic.  Maybe realizing how many people I have really pulling for me, and praying for me, and believing in me changed my perspective.  Maybe the treatments have been working.  Or maybe my roller coaster of crazy is just on an upswing.  Whatever the cause, I’ll take it.  Aside from learning that depression is unpredictable, I’ve learned to really appreciate the good days, because they can be few and far between.

So with that… I’m taking a break from this series for a couple of days while I fully enjoy my good mood.  I’ll be back.  And no, I’m not gonna wait until I’m feeling sorry for myself.  There are so many facets about depression to write about, including how the good days fit in with the bad.  And, most importantly, how God is victorious over this disease.

Depression can get worse than being a hurtful liar.  Depression can get ugly.  The kind of ugly that no one really wants to talk about.  And maybe I shouldn’t talk about it, I don’t know.  You hear that some things are better left unsaid.  I just don’t know how to leave them unsaid.  I’ve tried that.  And I’ve also tried being totally transparent.  And I’ve found that saying the very things that I thought I shouldn’t, actually freed me from the shame that I was in.

Yes, depression can get ugly.  When depression hurts so bad that you no longer know how to sleep at night.  When the only relief from the pain is a few moments of apathy.  I wanna make sure you heard what I said there.  Alcohol doesn’t take away the pain.  It doesn’t relieve anything at all, mentally or physically.  I still think every thought I had ever thought.  I still feel every sensation I’ve ever felt.  Except with the alcohol, I don’t notice and just don’t care anymore.  So you see, it’s not even effective medication.  It’s just temporary  avoidance…or escape.

I don’t even know which to write about first…my own experience… or my warnings to you because of my experience.  Let’s start with my experience…that’s always the best place to start.  I had never had a problem with alcohol until just a couple years ago.  I know that’s unusual.  Most addicts don’t become addicts after 40+ years of age.  Unless, of course, you’ve had gastric bypass surgery.  But I’m gonna leave all that medical stuff for another post.  Another, probably most important, post of this series.  Anyway, it’s never been an issue before.  But when people tell you it can happen to anyone…please, please listen.

I’m a married mother of five.  I have a great career which I’ve worked my butt off to create and maintain.  I’m highly intelligent.  I’m a great woman of God, with a strong faith.  I’m a leader in my community and in my church.  I have supportive family and friends.  My support system at home is about as good as it gets.  All this to say, statistically speaking, I wasn’t at risk for alcohol abuse/dependence/addiction.  When you think of the word, Alcoholic, someone like me is not who comes to mind.  So, I know it sounds cliche, but alcoholism is no respecter of persons.  Anyone, at anytime, can be vulnerable.  I’ll be the first to admit that I never thought it could affect someone like me.   And yes, I’m embarrassed to admit how insensitive I was.  How naive and stupid I was.  How I thought I could never be like “them”, the alcoholics.  I was so wrong.

So this is where I feel compelled to warn you.  To save you, if at all possible, from the hell I’ve been through.  If you’re using alcohol as a sleeping pill, as a medication of any kind, to help you cope with life, to get you through the night (or the day).  Please, please put it down if you still can.  It’s the ugliest liar of them all.  It does none of those things that it says it can do for you.  It only destroys. If given the chance, it will destroy you and everyone around you.  It will use you to destroy the people you love.  It’s ugly.

And all the while that it’s destroying everything you care about, it will lie to you and tell you that you’ve got it under control.  Ok, maybe you’re drinking…let’s put this in the first person…maybe *I’m* drinking more than I should.  But it’s OK.  It’s not affecting anyone.  So I choose to have a drink or two, or a few, after I put the kids to bed.  Who does that really hurt?  No one at first, but then I start to see the consequences.  The fights with my husband.  The kids’ stuff I meant to take care of last night.  The mornings I slept in instead of getting them off to school myself.  The exercise I’ve totally abandoned.  Seriously, I would walk in the mornings, and maybe even run.  But how am I supposed to do that with this hangover?? I start choosing the alcohol and the temporal benefits it gives, over my own welfare, and the welfare of my family.  When I choose ANYTHING over my kids, something has gone WAY wrong.  THAT is just not who I am.  And that’s where the lies start telling me who they think I am.  I’m just not good enough.  I don’t try hard enough.  This was the real me all along, and I finally had to admit that I can’t be who I wished I was.  And then the fog of depression sets in, and how am I supposed to tell fact from fiction?

I can only cling to my values.  I know what’s important to me.  I know WHO is important to me. And the only measure I have left is “are they better or worse”?  Alcohol use/abuse makes them worse, and makes me worse, which makes them even worse.  It’s a very quick downward spiral.  My only choice is to white-knuckle a road block in the spiral.  It WILL NOT get past here.  Where-ever today’s here is.  And I really didn’t mean that to sound so cynical.  But the road block, the self-appointed rock bottom can seem so arbitrary at times.  ”Why does tonight’s drink matter and last night’s did not?”  I’m coming to terms with the fact that ALL of them matter.  And that for now, for me, none of them are OK, because none are beneficial, or even benign.

My body is broken.  And whether I broke it, or the gastric bypass surgery did.  Or some combination of the two.  I’m the only one who can manage the results effectively.  So that’s my job….my take-away from all this rambling.  It WILL get better, because I’m empowered to make it so.

The lies that depression fills my head with are like a slow-acting poison.  That’s the real disease of depression.  It’s a poison that invades my body through my own mind.  You’ve heard it called “negative self-talk”, “stinkin’ thinkin’”, or “toxic thoughts”.  Toxic is really the best word for it.  As the poison takes hold of my mind, I stop doing the very things that would help me to get better, and I do the very things that make me feel worse.  And I can’t even see what I’m doing to myself.  I get so wrapped up in the lies.

My world just gets turned inside out.  The lies seem like the only thing that’s real, and my real life feels like a distant memory of how things used to be.  The lies are just evil.  There’s no other word for it.  I was wrong, “toxic” wasn’t the best word.  That’s not strong enough.  Evil.  Nothing but Evil would tell me that there’s no one I can turn to.  Nothing but Evil would tell me to quit trying because it’s never going to get better.  Nothing but Evil would tell me to look for temporary solutions that only make my long-term condition worse.  These are vile lies.

The frustrating thing about these lies is that when I’m in my right mind, like tonight, they seem laughable on the very surface.  How could I ever believe these things?  One of the most common lies that my depression tells me is that I have no one to turn to.  No one could possibly understand.  Anyone who could help would just reject me if they knew how totally screwed up I am.  No one around me will take care of me.  I just have to look out for myself.  All of the above is just totally absurd.

First of all, I’m blessed with a husband who, by his very nature, is a care-taker.  He doesn’t just take care of me.  His nature is to take care of everyone around him.  He doesn’t even have to think about how to do it. It’s just what he does.  And more than anyone else he has ever taken care of, he lives his life to take care of me.  About this, I have NO DOUBT…at least not when I’m in my right mind.  Yet somehow the lies tell me that I’m all alone in this?!?

I’m also blessed with a very supportive family.  A dad and mom and brother who I know without a doubt would drop anything on a moment’s notice if they even suspected I need something.  They’ve done it!  And it doesn’t stop there.  I have grandparents, aunts, cousins, in-laws, brothers- and sisters-in-law, great aunts and uncles, second and third cousins who I know would do the same.  Remember, I’m from Arkansas…that entire list of relatives only included four different people.  That was a joke of course.  I have a wonderfully large family, and my husband’s large family just makes mine even bigger.

And I have friends…lots of friends…many friends who have even been where I am.  They know all about depression.  They would never judge me…never have…and they LOVE me.  I could call any one of a hundred people, any time, day or night.  Seriously, how blessed can one person be??  I know this tonight.  I know this most of the time.  But there are moments when the lies take over.  The lies that say, “You can’t tell them that…they’d never understand”.  The lies that say, “They don’t have time for you”.  So I isolate instead of reaching out for the very help that I need.  It’s a double-whammy.  If I would only reach out, being around other people is the very thing that brings me energy and lifts my mood.  And isolating just leaves that much more opportunity for depression to keep lying to me.

Everyone around me takes care of me.  I recognize this when I’m in my right mind.  I don’t know exactly why people respond to me that way.  I think it’s just because God knows who I need in my life.  I’m constantly amazed at, and grateful for, the selfless things people will do for me.  From the stranger that carried the heavy box to my car for me, to my wonderful friend (sister-by-choice) who drove an hour, each way, out of her way to drive me home when I had a flat tire…I’m never left to fend for myself.  But that’s what the lies tell me.  And defying all logic, I believe the lies.  The  poison takes over.

Then there’s the most evil lie of all.  Ohmygosh, this is so hard to talk about, even for me…even on my good days.  But I decided even before I started this post, and this series, that I AM going to go there.  I know that I know that when I’m totally transparent the support I get so far outweighs any thoughts of who MIGHT judge.  In fact, no one has judged, at least not publicly to me.  And anyone who would judge, is just not the person I thought they were.  OK, yeah, that was just me giving myself a little pep talk there before I proceed.  The most evil lie of all…short-term relief that does long-term damage.  And no, I don’t think I can get away with that vague characterization.  I’m not a politician.  What I’m talking about is my drug of choice.  My antidote for the poison, that’s even more toxic than the poison itself…the alcohol.  :::sigh:::   There I said it.  And I can’t take it back now.  That’s my next post.  Self-medicating…and medicating myself means I have a fool for a patient.

I know I said the other night that I’m writing a series.  I even indicated that it MIGHT be a daily series.  Although my statements didn’t come right out and say so.  After all, who wants to be held accountable for that.  But then today happened…

I spilled a drink in my laptop, and now it’s dead.  Several thousands of dollars down the drain.  No, it wasn’t my work laptop.  Is it wrong of me to wish it had been?  I totally could have gone into the office tomorrow and been very remorseful as I explained how I ruined THEIR equipment.  But no, it wasn’t theirs.  It was mine.  And I’m the only one responsible for replacing it.  So here’s where that tidbit of info and this post intersect…  I said I would post something today, but I just don’t feel like doing it.

Yes, depression preempts my life.  ALL. THE. TIME.  I have great intentions.  Beautiful visions of what should be….what could be.  And then the depression kicks in.  I had a bad day.  So you can’t really expect me to do what I said I would do, can you???  And yes, that was totally tongue in cheek.  That’s the great impasse that changes my contributions every single day.  I wanted to…I intended to…I really was going too…but then….life happened.  And right now, I’m not so great at coping with life.  It’s kinda overwhelming most of the time.  Even one little unexpected, not-so-good thing leaves me incapable of pushing on.  And even now, I feel guilty about typing “incapable”.  I’m sure I could, if only I tried hard enough.  But my “want to” and my “try to” are so broken.  I’d rather just go on with my Scarlet O’Hara self, and think about the consequences of letting people down another day.

You’ve probably all seen that commercial.  Depression hurts.  And it’s not talking about an emotional hurt, although it does hurt emotionally too.  One of the worst things about depression for me is the actual, physical pain.  The constant, chronic, can’t-get-away-from-it dull ache. It’s not overwhelmingly painful, just mild discomfort, but it’s kinda like Chinese water torture.  It’s not that the pain is unbearable, it’s just that nothing makes it go away.  Best I can tell, it’s caused by muscle tension.  Tension in my back, neck, shoulders, forehead, jaw and face.  There are days I feel like I could just claw through my forehead, maybe then I could put pressure on just the right spot to make it stop.   Even as I sit here typing about it, I realized every muscle in my body is tensed up again.  I can’t even tell you how many times a day I consciously relax my shoulder muscles and drop my shoulders from up around my ears back to where they should be.  And after relaxing my shoulders, I realize my fists are clenched, so I relax my hands too.  About that time I notice that my teeth are clenched too, so I relax my jaw.  Then I realize that my eyebrows are raised and my forehead is tight.  I relax my face too.  And just about that time, I realize my shoulders are back up around my ears again.  :::sigh:::

I could go through that cycle a hundred times and can never just totally relax.  I cant even escape it when I sleep.  I wake up with my back hurting. I change positions to stretch my shoulder while I’m sleeping, and I wake up with my teeth clenched.  The muscle tension is never far from the forefront of my mind.  It takes a constant conscious effort to relax.  What a paradox.  There’s nothing relaxing at all about having to work at relaxing.  Yeah, depression hurts.

I’ve decided to do a series on depression.  It’s a pretty big undertaking I know.  Not the depression part, the series part.  I’ve barely posted anything at all in the last few months, and now I’m going to write a series?  Sure, why not?  I’ve got lots to say on this, and almost nothing anyone wants to hear about anything else.  I could talk politics all day long, but, OMG, NO one wants to hear that.  Jon loves me…A LOT…and even he can’t stand to hear me talk about politics all day long.  So I decided I’m gonna do what I do best…unload about what’s wrong with me lately.

I’ve mentioned to a few people lately that I’m trying a new treatment for depression…because my strangely low personal boundaries don’t understand that that’s an awkward way to start a conversation.  And I was surprised that almost every single person I said that to had the same reaction.  ”I didn’t know you were depressed.”  I mean, I’m glad they couldn’t tell.  I was certain that I was wearing it around like a big Scarlet Letter D stitched onto my clothing…or at least a big L tattooed on my forehead.  I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that most people can’t tell.  They don’t see me at my worst.  At my VERY worst I’m sitting in my closet floor crying and wouldn’t answer the phone even if it were Ed McMahon calling from “the other side” to let me know I had won the sweepstakes.  Of course they don’t know.  By the time anyone sees me or talks to me I’ve unwound from my fetal position and crawled out of my hole to face the day, and everyone in it.

Depression is relatively new to me.  I know some people battle it their whole lives.  God bless them, seriously, GOD. BLESS. THEM.  I can’t even imagine.  I had NO idea what they were going through.  I thought they were sad. And hey, just cheer up, huh?  Um…no.  That’s not at all how it works.  I thought depression was just for negative people. Ohmygosh, who wouldn’t be negative if you had to wake up to this every single day??  But no, it’s not just for negative people.

I think one of my best, most valuable, traits is my Scarlett O’Hara ability to “think about that tomorrow”.  Over and over in my life, I’ve been able to face trials and adversity, and even just general unpleasantness with that very thought.  I’m gonna do what I have to do today, and think about it tomorrow (or never).   What I’m trying to say is that I’m not a negative person.  I don’t dwell on what’s wrong. I don’t even give it thought sometimes when I should.  I’m a Pollyanna, and proud of it.  Things are never as bad as they seem.  And yes, the sun’ll come out tomorrow. So how, oh HOW, could depression possibly find a foothold in me??

Because depression is NOT sadness.  At least that’s not how depression manifests in me.  More on that tomorrow.  Tune in…same Batty Time, same Batty Channel.