I often sound like a broken record when I go on about self-care and how important it is. Then, on my worst of days, I ignore it.
Today has been one of those days.
I woke up exhausted with my dog as close as he could be to me, put out a few morning arguments and sighed heavily when the youngest put us behind schedule because she didn’t brush her teeth after the three reminders I gave her. My body was sore from the lack of sleep I got and probably overexerting myself the night before, but a sore body is nothing new to me. I live with chronic pain. The night before I sat at my monitor and watched a movie, ignoring my demanding watch telling me to take a brisk 35 minute walk to close my move ring, all before tossing and turning until midnight. But my grumpiness didn’t magically disappear after that “magical” cup of coffee. Or after lunch or the quick walk outside. It stayed over my head like all the clouds outside today. After a few frustrating events in the first 15 minutes home I just broke down and cried.
Why am I writing about this? Because I think it’s very important to know how sneaky depression is and how it just comes out of nowhere at all. I wasn’t crying because it will take three weeks to get Addy in for her wellness check. I wasn’t crying because I got a little annoyed with my ex-husband. I wasn’t crying because my dog decided to have another accident in the house for the second day in a row and now I have to take him to the vet after spending $170 on a scratched eye two weekends ago. I was crying because depression is real and it just grips you and doesn’t let go until it wants to. Today I felt defeated. Last weekend was wonderful and I spent a mostly lazy weekend in Chicago with my husband. The kids have been mostly behaving this week. I’ve managed to get a lot accomplished at work. But there I was, crying as I’m mopping the floor.
I’ve lived with this my entire life. I’ve been in and out of therapist’s offices since I was four. But sometimes I just have an episode and I’m just completely drained of all my energy. I started wondering if I would end up like my dad. A basket-full of disorders and diagnoses, sitting in a nursing home in his late 50’s with dementia.
I don’t talk about him for many reasons. But I was recently face to face with that side of the family when my closest connection to my dad passed away. I heard about my dad through her before she died but I didn’t ask for details. I was shocked and on my honeymoon when she dropped that comment on a picture I posted. So I learned more during her wake from my cousin’s wife. It woke me up to some of the issues I’ve faced before. The diagnosis for Borderline Personality Disorder. The depression and anxiety I (try to) bravely face daily. The postpartum depression after both pregnancies and even after the two miscarriages I’ve suffered.
I strive to not be like him and take better care of myself. But you know what? It is so hard when your mind goes dark. When you just want to stay in bed and turn off your phone because you feel like a burden to anyone you would think to call or text. Or when you’re so tired but you just can’t fall asleep because you can’t shut your brain off. So you sit there and think about everything and nothing at the same time and just cry alone after the kids go to bed. I can’t always practice self-care and self-care isn’t just putting a bath bomb in the tub and sipping on some wine. Sometimes it’s talking to someone, taking the medicine that makes you feel like a zombie, going to bed on time and just realizing that you can’t keep living like this by not taking care of yourself.
I wish I could go to some yoga retreat and come back refreshed and no longer depressed. But I can’t. My brain doesn’t produce enough serotonin to keep me functioning like a happy, normal person. I envy those who can wake up every day and just be happy. I’m trying not to let my diagnoses define who I am as a person. I’ve settled down a lot since high school or maybe even my early 20’s. I take medicine for BPD and depression. I have a therapist that I should see more often. I have a supportive husband that doesn’t see me as some crazy person but instead a person, his wife, someone battling (and sometimes even winning) in the fight with mental illness. I have a pretty good life even after the things I’ve endured since a child. I’m successful. A good mom. A good person. I care for so many people and am passionate about advocating for the meek, the oppressed and the voiceless.
Sometimes I’m going to be sad but that doesn’t mean I have to let it control me. Sometimes I just have to take a deep breath and expel all the negative thoughts out of my body. Why? Because I’m worth it. I want a long life with the people I love and no mental illness will stand in my way.