Episodic Depression

I wrote the blog post below over two years ago while in the thick of a depression. I didn’t post it back then for a myriad of reasons, but mostly because I was afraid. Afraid to reveal what might be perceived as weakness or fragile vulnerability. Afraid I wasn’t strong enough in my recovery to open my heart and mind to share what I experienced while in the midst of a depression. Afraid I would be judged as less.

My life looks a bit different now, the kids are older, Game of Thrones and Outlander are my current tv favs, I went back to work part-time and my network of support has grown, but I still process through an episode of depression in similar ways.

I decided to post this now because depression is part of my life experience. Over the last year I’ve spent a significant amount of time advocating for mental health awareness. I learned that a barrier to awareness is the stigma associated with using words like mental health, depression, anxiety, eating disorders etc. I also learned that the most potent way to challenge and break through that stigma is to use those exact words.   

My name is Ali and I experience depression and anxiety.    

Last week was a tough week. When I started the 365 project I was so inspired and excited I didn’t think about the fact that those feelings might fade. I didn’t think about the fact I might share parts of myself I wasn’t entirely ready to share. 

I am a person living with mental illness. I have depression and anxiety. While I often write through my anxiety, I’ve never written for the blog while in the thick of depression. Writing through my anxiety is cathartic. It feels like taking a jumbled mess of uncomfortable thoughts and feelings out of my head and putting them on a piece of paper (or blank computer screen). Anxiety is easier to process and make sense of when I can look at it.

Depression is a little different because it’s not necessarily a jumbled mess of anything. Rather, it’s an all-consuming dull ache immune to ibuprofen. Everything hurts. Daily functioning feels like wading through quicksand while trying to smile like I’m taking a lovely stroll on the beach.

All I want to do is close all the curtains in our bedroom, turn off all the lights, crawl under a heap of covers and watch The West Wing on Netflix until it passes.

Depression is hard. And it’s really hard to talk about because there is still a tremendous amount of shame and stigma attached to mental illness. For decades, I hid my shame and fear of judgment in an eating disorder. I was literally killing myself because I was too ashamed to admit that sometimes I felt overwhelmed by unexplainable and debilitating sadness. But I wasn’t just hurting myself, my depression often manifested in passive aggressive comments, judgment and negativity towards others.

During recovery, I stopped hiding my depression from my husband, Steve. Instead of letting the depression manifest in passive aggressive comments and negativity, I started saying, “I’m working through some depression” or “I’m really down right now.” Steve’s initial instinct was to fix-it, which was really sweet, but not helpful. If there was a quick fix for depression someone would have made it into a vaccine by now.  

Over the past year and a half, I’ve worked on reaching out and asking for support while going through a depression.  Sometimes that looks like Steve coming home from work early so I can rest (read: close all the curtains in our bedroom, turn off all the lights, crawl under a heap of covers and watch The West Wing on Netflix). Other times it means Steve makes dinner for all of us AND cleans up the kitchen. But mostly, reaching out looks like me telling Steve, “I’m not okay,” when I’m not okay and that being okay.