Depression Lies

I am about to get very deep with you all. I am going to share some things I usually keep extremely private. I share it here in the hope that if anyone else is going through this or has a loved one who is going through this, that they know they’re not alone or can maybe understand a little what it’s like. Be prepared. It’s long.

 

Depression Lies…

…but what about when it’s just lingering on a truth?

Jenny Lawson (@thebloggess) has a great video that talks about “Depression Lies”. In it she says “When I’m right in the middle of a severe depressive episode I would do anything to escape it.”

I take two different medications for my depression and anxiety, I also see a therapist every other week. I’m a lot better than I was a year ago, hell I am a lot better than I was 6 months ago.

My depression took a truth and rubbed it in my face tonight. I had wanted to watch a movie with my fiance tonight but I just couldn’t get my out of my own head, so I told him I was going to bed and went into the bedroom, hopped onto my Chromebook and emailed my best friend.

I vented about what was going on and hit send. A couple of hours later my fiance joined me in the bedroom. We played a game on his iPad, watched a couple of shows on Netflix and decided to try and go to sleep. He asked me a few times if there was something wrong and I said I was “fine”.

He commented as we were getting settled in to sleep that I seemed as if I was on edge. I explained that it was my depression and assured him it was nothing he had done, or not done and that it had nothing to do with him and I or him at all. Which is wholly the truth. I felt like he wanted to push the subject, but he didn’t.

I couldn’t sleep. So now I am trying to figure out how to get my mind off of this ugly truth that my depression keeps waving in front of my face and screaming about inside of my head. This isn’t a depressive episode that makes me think about not being here or alive anymore, with that it is not also a depressive episode that makes me consider death as an option.

It’s just a wound that likes to break open every now and again. One that I try and forget is still incredibly raw and rarely ever has a trigger. Just something that my brain decides to start thinking about and suddenly I just want the entire world to go away. Times like this I don’t want anyone near me, because I am afraid my perfect facade of being a functioning adult will shatter and I will melt into a sobbing mess.

Calm After The Storm

I got some sleep. I’m still feeling off. My best friend emailed me back and I did cry. Ugly, angry tears. Tears of remorse and of love. You see, my best friend suffers from the same issue I do. That same ugly truth that likes to claw it’s way to the surface every now and again to tear us down. I’m going to c+p my email to her and her response. Also, thank you to tenchirizu for the beautiful reply. I cried reading it.

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Click the Read More below to read the most personal thing I will ever share with anyone.

 

My email:

I have no idea why but tonight I decided I wanted to look up adoption costs v IVF after tubal ligation costs. I knew it was going to hurt thinking about it. I knew it was going to bring back emotions I never wanted to deal with again. So now I’m sitting in my bedroom, laying in bed trying not to bawl my eyes out. I’m sick to my stomach over this. I always think “I should really talk to my therapist about this.” but then the feelings pass and it’s another week before I see her again.

I’ve been struggling with all of this for about a month now. There seems to be a whole new crop of “Look at my new baby!” and “I’m pregnant!” on Facebook and other social media and here I am with one tube removed to save my life and the other cauterized and cut to save my sanity. I hate myself for making that decision as much as I love myself for making what I know in the end was the healthiest decision for me.
My intent is not to bring you down with this email but I needed to get all of this out to someone. I can’t let it fester in my head anymore, feeding off of it’s own sadness, humility and anger any longer. I don’t see Kacy (my therapist) until next Thursday and by then I am pretty sure I will have buried these emotions back into the pit of my own personal hell where I keep them hidden.
I love you, I miss you, and thank you for listening (or in this case reading).
Her response:

I’m so sorry you’re feeling so sad. I love you lots.

I wish I had more words to make you feel better, but there’s not enough to do the job.

“J” and I were recently watching something, maybe Sister Wives, and one of the characters offered to be surrogate for another woman. “J” said he thought it was a really weird offer, and I had to explain to him that it’s not actually that out of the ordinary in Our Situation. I’ve gotten offers from friends; when I was in my mid-twenties, “F” offered me his sperm. “N”, if you recall, offered to surrogate for me so she could have an enjoyable pregnancy at last. Other, stranger offers; “Hey, my boyfriend has a vasectomy, so how about “M” and I have a baby, and the four of us can co-parent!”

They’re kind, and very loving offers; we all want to be able to give our friends their heart’s true wish. It’s hard to explain that you’re yearning for something so primordial, we can’t even touch it. The desire to become heavy with pregnancy, to hold one’s own children in their arms, it’s more than instincts, more than hardwired into our DNA, it’s the birthright of every woman born into our species. It’s the ritual of the mysteries of the birthing room, where byGod LIFE ITSELF is brought into the world in pain and blood and joy.

Compared to that, the idea of the uncertainty of the “alternative solutions” is heartbreaking. Yes, please, salve my wounds with the vagaries of the Adoption Option! Maybe I can find a good deal on a scratch and dent baby! Or maybe I could sort out the morality that is buying a baby from China or Africa or the Ukraine. Hell, let’s buy a baby locally, there’s lots of teen moms looking to make a buck! Or maybe I could cobble together a Frankenchild with enough of other people’s parts. Buy or borrow someone else’s eggs and sperm, rent a uterus, bake at 350° for 9 months, and I too can be a mother! Now, if I only had the money…. Shake out the couches, and squirrel away the pocket change.

These things. These aren’t to say that we couldn’t love a child that isn’t of our bodies. That’s not it at all.

We want to be normal. To not need heroic medical intervention to live a regular life. It’s an invisible disability, we’re missing a part of our lives.

That’s already a lot of words, and it doesn’t even come close to being enough to explain the thing. It defies explanation, just a yawning chasm of black hurt emptiness.

I love you sweetheart. I wish I had enough words to touch this thing. My heart hurts to help you. And I’m so sorry you’re feeling so sad.

You can talk to me anytime. I mean that.

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