Back to Normal

"We'll get back to normal," I tell myself.  

"Our life won't be like this forever, we will have our normal life again," I reassure myself as we have gone through treatment for Lyme Disease.  

I am two years and two months into my treatment.  My husband is one year and eight months into his treatment.  

We weren't well before our diagnoses and were gradually getting worse, so a diagnosis was a relief.  

But treatment also made our symptoms, and therefore our functioning, worse.  

The process of killing off the bacteria that causes Lyme Disease really wreaks havoc on the body.  In the short term this made everything worse.  

So, I kept telling myself we would be back to normal when we were done with treatment.  

However, as I am feeling better and approaching the end of my treatment, I realize that we won't be getting back to normal.  

The life we had before Lyme has been erased.  The passage of time alone is enough to make our lives different.

However, the consequences of treatment, both good and bad ensure that the old normal will never be had again.  

Instead we will be developing a new normal.  

And so it is for all of life's changes.  

The new normal could be an improvement or not, depending on how we navigate the events leading to the new normal.

In our case, we have developed a life that includes only the essentials.  Energy is a precious resource and we learned to use it on the important things.  Non-essential activities fell by the wayside.  

If it was something we loved, we hung on to it as much as possible.  If it wasn't necessary or wanted, it was tossed.  

Clothing that required special handling? Gone.

Folding underwear?  Not any more.

Obsessing about the house and scrubbing the tile with a toothbrush? To the curb.  

Unnecessary social activities?  100% out.  

Also, other people's poor planning or lousy choices are no longer our emergency.  

I used to have a huge problem bailing family members out of various crises.  Not so much anymore.  I'm still tempted but if no one is dying and they are experiencing the consequences of their actions, I'm out.    

I've had the opportunity to become more balanced in my approach to life.  I have more reasonable expectations and I am less of a perfectionist.  I've also learned to rest.  Being idle was nearly impossible for me at the start of this process.  I am so much better at just enjoying life.    

My husband has the opportunity to discover interests and parts of himself he wasn't able to explore in his younger years.  He has realized that he enjoys photography and being outdoors.  He has also realized that he has a tendency to run himself into the ground.  Being sick has created an opportunity for him to learn to take care of himself, to say no and respect his limitations.  

And, that is the thing.  Every event in our lives is an opportunity.  We can use it to grow or we can simply suffer.  

It is all in how we look at it.  

My initial mindset was "Why me?"  It quickly became evident that the "why me?" mindset wasn't helpful.

What was helpful was asking "What is essential? What can go?  What opportunities are here for me to be a better person? What can I learn?  What strategy can I try? Do I have reasonable expectations? Do I need to ask for help?  Do I need to rest?"

That approach got me through the worst of the symptoms and will help me develop a new normal.  

I'm excited to learn more about our new normal as we complete our treatment.  

Acting As Though All Is Well

Recently two well-known individuals, Kate Spade and Anthony Bourdain died by suicide.  Honestly, I don't know much about either of these people.

But I can tell you that they were amazing actors.

Depression creates some of the best actors in the world.

A friend of Kate Spade, Fern Mallis, stated that she was "the last person on earth you'd think would take their life."  

Of Anthony Bourdain, “He was normal, normal. Just like himself,” chef Jean-Yves Schillinger stated.  

Those closest to them echo the same refrain- they had no idea, it was a total shock, it was incomprehensible.

Yes, yes and yes.  

Because of stigma, cultural norms and often the desire to not worry loved ones; people with depression put on a happy face and carry on (more about that here). 

Depression feels like walking through life with your feet stuck in buckets of hardened cement while having someone tag along narrating every single thing you are doing wrong, how hopeless everything is, how pointless life is, how nothing will ever be better, how much better the universe would be if you were no longer breathing.  

At very least, the narrator whispers that death is the only way to escape the pain.

Suicide doesn't occur in a vacuum, it happens when the pain gets too high and hope disappears.  

There is no space in our world for these feelings to be openly expressed.  

What we get is bullshit like "look on the bright side," "but so many have it worse," and my personal favorite "have you tried praying?"  

The latter was said to me while I was sobbing hysterically in my dorm room my freshman year of college.

I was attending a Christian college, had been raised in a Christian home and at the point identified as Christian.  Of course I'd tried praying.  What the fuck else would I do?    

My depression is the result of Bipolar Affective Disorder Type II (click here for more information). I was diagnosed at age 19, started Prozac at age 20 and have been on an anti-depressant for 23 years (more on on my journey here and here).   

I have experienced severe depression but only fleeting suicidal ideation.  I have also had times where I felt like my daughter would be better off if I let her be raised by her dad and I moved far, far away.    

Other's are not so lucky.  Their depression becomes so severe that they believe the best option, the only option is death.  Many suicidal people even believe that their family members would be better off if they were dead.  

So, we slog through life.  We put on a happy face.  We do well at work or school.  We go through the motions. 

I got straight A's, was president of the psychology honor society and had many friends while severely depressed.  I've showed up at my job as a psychologist, severely depressed and helped other depressed people.   

We act like we do not have a mental illness. 

Brilliantly acting as though all is well.   

Until we are so exhausted that we can no longer put one heavy foot in front of the other.

Some of us let someone in enough to help us access treatment. On average, people wait approximately 10 years before even seeking treatment.  I cried on the phone to my mom every evening for months and she eventually determined that it wasn't just homesickness.  She got me an appointment with the school counselor which started my journey of managing my mental illness.

Others of us need someone to ask "How are you really doing?"  "Are you depressed?"  "Do you think of dying?"  "Do you want to kill yourself?"

Asking won't hurt.  It might open a door for someone who can't do it themselves.  Mentioning suicide will not cause someone to be suicidal. 

Asking creates a space for acknowledging painful feelings.  Having it spoken creates a sense of relief.

Because you know you are not alone.  
Because you can stop the act.  

Just ask. 
Just speak it.  
Create the space. 

If you have depression or are experiencing suicidal thoughts, please reach out for help.  https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/

For more information about how to help people struggling with mental illness please go to https://www.mentalhealthfirstaid.org/

Mouse

The Promise of Spring

Taken by S. Clark

Daffodils unfurl-

dewy with new beginnings,

the promise of spring.

Impossible

I asked my husband and daughter to each give me a word that I could use as a starting point for a poem.  My husband's word was "impossible."  This word inspired the poem below.  My daughter chose two words, "lemon grass."  The poem for those words is still pending!

Carry On

I came of age along with grunge music.

It is not like I was a huge fan of any group in particular.

I didn't have posters of bands or go to concerts.

I was really too nerdy, too much of a "good girl" to go full on grunge, despite my flannel shirts and Converse shoes.  The preppy look ruled at my private, Christian school.

Anything other than hymns, even contemporary Christian music, was suspect.  Secular music, like most of secular life, was viewed as a potential doorway for immorality.

Still, the music contributed to the backdrop of my life.

Grunge music became more important in 1994 when I started my freshman year of college. That year I experienced the worst depressive episode of my life.  

If I wasn't in class, I was studying, crying or sleeping.  I didn't leave my room except for classes and food.  I had one friend that I spent time with, but in all honesty, she was just a depressed as I was.

My college was in range of Alice, KLLC 97.3, a grunge radio station.  I could listen on days when the weather was just right.

I was listening to Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Soundgarden, Green Day, Bush, etc., etc.,

The music helped me survive.  It helped me carry on.

Grunge music gave me access to the dark feelings that I didn't have words for.

I have words for those feelings now but grunge music continues to provide comfort during times of distress.

I've been listening to grunge music almost exclusively since last November.  It feels like a dark time.

Wednesday night, Chris Cornell, the lead singer of Soundgarden and Audioslave killed himself after a concert in Detroit. He was 52 years old.  

While I am usually saddened when I hear of a celebrity passing away, I don't typically grieve.  I don't have much of an attachment to people I've never met.

But, this death has impacted me.

Partly because it seems like it was a suicide*, which is always a particularly senseless loss. The mental illnesses that lead someone to suicide are treatable.  Suicide can be prevented if the person suffering gets treatment.

Too many times they do not.

Then we lose someone, like Chris Cornell.

But it also impacted me deeply because Chris, as part of the grunge movement, helped me understand the darkness that is depression and gave me access to those feeings.

He likely lived with that same darkness.

In the end, that caused him to end his life, while the the rest of us are left to carry on.

It also reminds me that those of us who suffer from depression or other mental illnesses can never be complacent.  

My depression can go into remission but it will never be cured.  

My husband's depression can go into remission but he will also never be cured.  

We carry darkness in us that must always be managed.  

It is not a pleasant reminder.

It is a reminder I would rather not get.  

But remember it I must.  

Because I must carry on. 

I'm sorry that Chris couldn't.   


Click here to see the final concert

*His wife believes his suicide may have been the result of taking prescription medication improperly, which compromised his decision-making.

Wine Glasses & Perfectionists

I was at my sister-in-law's house the other day ago.

It is always fun to go over there because she usually feeds us and any day I don't have to be responsible for dinner is a good day.

Also, my niece and nephew are teenagers who seem to really enjoy entertaining my daughter, so I actually get to engage in adult conversation without interruption!

As a side note, I heard the phrase, "Are you part of this conversation?" frequently as a child.  So, whatever hassle my parents had to endure in raising a nosy little girl has now come full circle.

As I was standing in my sister-in-law's kitchen eating food she provided, having uninterrupted adult conversations, I noticed a set of wine glasses.

They were very pretty, with sparkly glass. The stems had copper wire wound around them with little stones threaded on the copper.

They caught my eye and I said "Hey, Stace, I like your wine glasses."

She looked at me and laughed.

Then I said, "Wait! Did I make those? I think I made those!"

After a bit more laughter she said "Yes you made those for me."

Huh.

After a moment's reflection I noted, "I like my stuff a lot more when I don't know it is mine."

Because perfectionism.

I am a perfectionist in recovery.

Perfectionists are people who have high expectations of themselves (and often others,too) and strive for flawlessness.

I know I don't need to say this but perfectionism is a recipe for disaster.

Perfection is not an option in our topsy-turvy world.  Good enough is a more appropriate mantra.

Perfectionism renders all outcome as lacking, all effort as below standards.

It is a fast way to depression and anxiety, actually.

While I have made vast improvements in having realistic expectations of myself and focusing on good enough, my inner perfectionist does sneak in and start issuing orders.

Seeing the wine glasses for what they really are, rather than through my perfectionist eyes, serves as a good reminder that perfectionism is a distorted way of looking at the world, where nothing is good enough.

When, in reality, everything is good enough.