Light Through The Cracks

I was with a group of friends recently when I happened to notice one of them in a moment that I am sure she thought no one was paying any attention to her. I was. And I saw The Look. The Look behind The Mask she puts on when she is with people. It's The Look of someone who's soul is locked away in solitary confinement alone with only the sounds of her own pleas for help in the prison of Depression. I know The Look well because I've seen it in the mirror countless times.

I'm one to wear my emotions and almost every thought on my sleeve. I'm an open book. Probably too open. But as I felt the fog of Depression creeping back into my life, my reaction was to close that book to others. I want people to see the happy, loving. silly and fun-loving Mindi. I don't want the dark and twisty Mindi to be known to anyone, including myself. To share this feels shameful and embarrassing. Like I've done something wrong. I'm not praying hard enough, not thinking of others, being selfish or just not focusing on the positive or not exercising enough. But truth be told, that's all bull crap. You can be doing all of that and still get slammed with Depression for no other reason than a chemical imbalance.

I remember the day Robin Williams died. I cried. I sobbed. I cried for him that he felt so hopeless that he felt it was his only choice. I cried for his family and the turmoil they had to be going through. But I mostly cried because I knew exactly how he felt. That was when I knew things were getting bad and I needed to get help but I still put it off. It was after getting together with some friends and I knew I was acting weird and I said something that I knew you just really aren't supposed to say about dying (I can't remember what it was now) and the fact that I wanted to be in a dark room alone instead of with some of my favorite people. I finally got the courage and called my doctor.

I was so afraid to get back on medication because it was so hard to get off it and all I could remember from taking it was some of the side effects that I did not want again. I will be the first to tell you that antidepressants have literally saved my life a couple times now but I did not want to go back to it. Before I started taking them again I was driving and listening to one of my favorite songs. I don't know about anyone else but I can feel a song. A good song can take over and I can feel every emotion the song is expressing from my head to my toes (I know, crazy). I was feeling this song and I came home to ElRey and just sobbed worrying about being able to feel emotions like that (antidepressants can sometimes make you feel numb to emotions).

I just couldn't carry the burden alone any longer. I needed my pleas for help to be heard by speaking up. I was carrying a Santa Claus size sack of rocks that made the simplest action seem too much. Waking up and trying to talk myself into getting out of bed, caring one tiny bit about homework, fighting with myself to even shower. A pile of dishes in the sink..on the counter...scattered on the table could send me back to my bed sobbing. The only reason I could even get my kids to school was I knew if I didn't, they'd be here wanting my attention that I could barely give. I needed to actually see my kids, hear my husband, be present in my rich and beautiful life. I just couldn't do it on my own anymore.

I got in with my doctor about a week before I was supposed to run the marathon I had been training all summer for. I was so deep in it that I didn't even want to run it. I was having a problem with my foot and I was seriously considering just not doing it. I knew that once I had things under control I would be very mad at myself for not doing it so I was hoping that if I got on meds really quick, my desire to do it would be strong enough to get me there. Thanks to my awesome insurance, it took a few more days to get it started and when the night before the race came, I was totally fine if I "accidentally" slept through my alarm.

Despite it all, I made it there. Thanks to help from a friend and another Dr, I had my foot under control (not anything else, mind you) and I lined up at the starting line. I couldn't believe what a great run I had! The nice thing about running is no matter what's going on all you can think about is putting one foot in front of the other. And french fries. But that's it. Everything else melts away. So for a few hours I was free from my sack of rocks. I honestly feel like that day was a gift from God. I got through it and accomplished a goal even with all the mountains and struggles I had along the way. It wasn't all rainbows and butterflies from that day on. In fact, after my other marathons I've lived on the high for weeks, even months but this time it was more of a, "oh good, I got that done. Finally." But I'm ok with that because I didn't give up and I will always be proud of that.

It's not 'perfect' yet but I am getting there. I cheer for myself on the days I stay out of my bed, when I get some exercise, when I laugh with my family, when I witness the beauty around me, when I buckle down and clean my house. I still have days I cannot seem to do more than binge watch Netflix and I'm hoping those days will become fewer and far between. I have amazing people around me cheering me on and loving me even when I'm a being a tool and I am grateful beyond words for their love and support! I don't know how or why I've been so blessed!

So why am I writing this down? I don't really know. I haven't felt this inspired to write in a very long time. I've been trying to fall asleep for hours but this just kept pestering me until I found myself hunched over my laptop. This isn't something I'm proud of so I'm not eager to shout it from the mountaintops. Maybe it's just for me, just something I needed to let spill from my messed up head through my fingers, a release. Or maybe there is someone reading this and it helps you realize that no matter what that dark voice in your head is telling you, no matter how trapped you may feel in that dark cell in your mind and heart you are not alone. There is always help. I had to tell myself that the only way someone will know that I need help is if I speak up. No matter how ugly it feels just go ahead and whisper it, scream it, write it but just get help!

Now don't worry, I'm getting it worked out. I'm being more vocal with ElRey and loved ones so they know where I am in this. I'm not so afraid to be my own advocate anymore. I don't want people wondering if they should take sharp objects from me or if I'm going to randomly break down and cry. I'm working through it and it's getting much better. This doesn't define me even if it is a part of me. I'm learning to not only have more compassion for those around me but more compassion for myself. I have hope that the light blasting through the darkness will get brighter, stronger and that darkness will become a mere pinprick in my soul. Things seem to get brighter everyday.