Glass Half Full? - Surviving and (maybe) Thriving in the Face of Depression

Probably not

Many of my followers probably stick around for the lighthearted spin I like to put on serious subjects. This post may be a bit different, though I will try to inject a little levity. I'm writing in the wake of one of the worst weeks I've had in a long time, and though I'm feeling okay right now I am keenly aware that this "okay" is a fragile one.

I actually feel a little ridiculous describing the past week as being so bad; I've surely lived in worse conditions with much greater emotional trauma. And yet my control over my thoughts and feelings was so tenuous I frightened myself.

Sigh. That's a lie and I'm not going to lie to you or myself, today. "Tenuous" is far too generous. My control was non-existent. In the wake of what seemed like a thousand tiny insults hurled at me by the universe, I was a screaming, raging, animalistic wreck.

Like this, only whiter

If you'll forgive a bit of navel-gazing, I'd like to sort through this a bit and try to understand where the hell this self-loathing, anger, and misery is coming from. Consider it self-inflicted therapy and you, dear readers, my witnesses.

My mom grew up in a filthy home with parents from whom the best she could hope for was neglect. She learned early that if she didn't clean she would live in that filth and so she cleaned and she cleans to this day. We joke that she is Adrian Monk, but really it's not funny. I've recognized since I was a teen that her desperate need to control what is around her is a response to the chaos she experiences within and the helplessness she believes most of her life is marked by. I know, I'm an armchair psychologist but at least I'm not a backseat driver. Those people are the worst.

Yeah, whoopdeedoo for me

The saying, "Physician, heal thyself," comes to mind as I bloviate about my mom's problems because I so clearly am my mother's daughter. Elsewhere I've posted about the amazing changes that have come into our family through Radical Unschooling and a huge part of that change has involved healing myself by letting go of fears that prompted me in the past to exert (or try to exert) an unfair and disrespectful level of control over my family members and our home. Sometimes it's very hard though. Right now as I type this there is a gnawing inside me. My chest feels like a weight is on it (though not a very heavy one yet) and behind my eyes is the sting of threatening tears. I know what will fix it: Mowing the lawn.

Or maybe I should replaster the living room ceiling before I have to get back to work Monday morning. Or I could finish tiling the shower walls. Maybe just do a really deep clean and organization on my office/bedroom. I know; clean out a wall in Joe's room and build the display case he ordered. Something, anything will likely do, but I need so bad right now to accomplish something that will distract me from the hellhound nipping at my gut and prove to myself for a least a little while that I am worth the space I occupy and the air I breathe.

Yikes! I know them feelz.

Usually I am very good at staying positive and reminding myself of all of the good things in my life. When I notice that our home looks like the scene of a horror film, I remind myself that we paid cash, it has an excellent cedar frame and brick construction, we've done most all of the really big things and are near to cosmetic improvements, and it will likely stand another 150 years. When my job takes too much of my time I remind myself that I have the luxury of working from home, have pretty good flexibility, and make more money than most can expect without a college degree or knowledge of computers. When my husband disappoints in some way I remind myself that the give:receive ratio on back and foot rubs is about 1:100 in my favor, he agreed enthusiastically to buying this restoration project because it was my dream even though he hates DIY, and has since replaced beams, run over 1000 feet of wiring, installed cabinets and floors and a tub, and so on. He also puts up an 11 foot real tree every Christmas even though he would be fine with a fake 6 footer and it's a nightmare to get in and out of the house.

This is an actual picture I took of my love as he secured not one, but TWO trees to the roof of our Suburban a couple years back when the kids wanted their own separate tree on the staircase landing

I'm incredibly blessed and I know it. But recently hubby has been sent to West Virginia for work and I am here with the kids and the animals and the house that these days looks to me more like "falling apart" than "coming together." A stint of joblessness has left us scrambling to catch up and with him away all week our plans for improving the house this summer seem completely out the window. A drafty, single-pane window that desperately needs reglazing along with its 20 cohorts.

Yeah? Well it's getting done if it kills me

On Tuesday I left the kids home while I drove 4 hours to the courthouse in Allentown only to discover their computers were all down. I had to stay the night in a hotel an hour and a half away, then head back in the morning, then drive the four hours home again. While the kids are extremely responsible and all three assured me they were fine, I was in a panic that something would go wrong while I was gone overnight. My monthly friend decided to join me on the trip as well and at the risk of oversharing I need to see to her comfort about every 45 minutes because the surgery in March that was supposed to help has only made things worse. By the time I got home Wednesday night I was exhausted and first thing Thursday the dogs started getting sick from eating the cat food and decided they would prefer to diarrhea on the rug rather than out in the rain. The fourth time it happened I hulked out.

But it wasn't a rational reaction. I wasn't just upset at another mess to clean up. I looked around me and suddenly the ability to see the glass as half full was gone. I saw the holes that need plastering, the walls that need painting, the kids who need feeding, the work that needs doing, the husband who needs loving, my ass that needs shrinking, and I knew that I was a fraud; that I was a fool to have ever believed I could do any of these things with even the slightest level of success. All I could think was how stupid it had been of me to believe I could be a good mother, a good wife, a successful professional, a healthy person, or any one of those things.

Like, that I suck at everything

There is no feeling quite so bleak as realizing that you have convinced people to believe in you without any ability to deliver. In those dark moments I hate myself for having ensnared my family in my life. I feel trapped, like when I convinced an employer I was better qualified than I really was and then had to rise to the occasion. Only with work it's easy to see that I'm succeeding at a task. With people it's impossible. How can I know whether I've loved enough or smiled enough or given enough of my soul to these poor deluded fellow travelers on the road of life with me?

At least that's how it feels at the time. Luckily, I know I'm being irrational and I know the feeling will pass even in the darkest times. I just have to ride out the storm, and I hope that anyone else out there experiencing those moments or even days of unreasonable self-loathing will recognize it as the lie it is and hang on for the sunshine. The sun always comes eventually, often shining right out my hubby's ass. This time around the clouds have been kind of persistent. The storm has calmed but the pressure in the air is still a little ominous. Hubby has returned from another week away and I note that I'm being short with him instead of being thrilled at his return; a sure sign that I'm in the eye of the hurricane and not quite out of danger yet. If I don't do too much wallowing, I can usually medicate with a little old-fashioned accomplishment. Which is why I'll need to leave you here and go mow my lawn.

Thank you for reading. If you are struggling with depression and ever think of hurting yourself, please don't hesitate to call the National Suicide Prevention Hotline at 1-800-273-8255, or chat with an understanding person online HERE. Reach out to others and you'll be pleasantly surprised how many will want to be there for you.

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