Get ready for the next episode…of Depression
*It is important for you to know that when I speak about mental health, it is ONLY in regards to my own experience. I don’t claim to know about any one else’s situations, experiences, or mental health. This is just my story and my perspective.
Lies I believed about why I shouldn’t discuss my mental health:
It is hard-wired into most of us to feel shame about it. Societally we are to suffer in silence and not make anyone else feel uncomfortable.
I have often felt like no one else would understand.
I was fearful I wouldn’t be seen as capable in the workplace, people wouldn’t trust me enough to hire me.
It didn’t really catch up with me until later in life, you know when I’m supposed to have my shit together.
I didn’t understand it. We are not educated enough on mental health. I thought depression would present externally, I thought ADHD was the inability to pay attention, I thought OCD was just wanting a really tidy house or liking things to be visually clean.
The one thing I do know is that each conversation I have had about my mental health, has made the reasons above less and less powerful.
I thought my story started after I gave birth to my second child (oh future Brandy is laughing now!). It took me almost a year and an pandemic to realize I had Depression. Along with a visit to a therapist, a test, and diagnosis to learn I was severely depressed.
The craziest thing about depression is that you don’t know you have it. The best way I can describe it is that everything slowly starts to feel grey. And then one day, everything is just grey. Good emotions and bad emotions just feel grey. The things that would normally excite me (a kid’s milestone, a night with my husband, dancing) no longer made me feel joy. Instead everything was crushingly overwhelming. Honestly showering felt too overwhelming. I had the best time with my first kiddo on maternity leave. I had never felt joy like that before. The contrast of how I felt with my second was stark. I just wanted to sleep, I got so easily irritated and frustrated. And yet I still didn’t realize what was going on. Looking back at the one journal entry I made during that time, it is clear I am not mentally healthy. But I couldn’t have told you that in the moment. Depression is a sneaky little biatch.
My birthday weekend in 2020, my mom had the kids and my husband and I had a free weekend. Sounds like the dream scenario right? Well here is what I did. I sat on the couch, that’s it. And it wasn’t that excited feeling of “I get to watch whatever I want, order pizza and stay up late”. It was an “I literally don’t care what am doing, I don’t have the energy to shower or brush my teeth, let alone talk to anyone, even my husband” type of feeling. Thankfully that amazing husband and a few friends suggested I go and talk to someone. Thank goodness they did because I couldn’t see it on my own.
It wasn’t my first go at therapy but it had been some time since I had gone. I felt better within the first 5 minutes. Not great, but better and at that point, that felt big. I had this person telling me that I was experiencing something designed to take over my being and chip away at me piece by piece. The first thing I felt was relief. Relief from guilt that I had felt when I didn’t want to play with my kids or cook a meal. Relief that there was hope and I didn’t always have to feel this way. And relief of just naming it and having someone there to tell me what to do next.
Thus I entered my Prozac Era. It took a few weeks to start kicking in which sucks, but once it did, I slowly started to feel in color again. I wanted to do things. I wanted to see people. I wanted to go places. I wanted to talk to my therapist and actively love my family again. And just so I am clear, I did not have a choice in wanting to do those things when depression was kicking my ass.
Did my problems magically go away? HELL NO. But did I feel like I could take them on bit by bit? YES. Did I also have incredible support to fall back on? YES.
It was during this time that I realized I had never put my full weight on anyone, metaphorically speaking (although that’s another convo for another day because also, physically too). I had never let someone love me without it being reciprocal. Enter my husband who showed the fuck up in every possible way. That was one of the gifts my depression gave me. I got to truly experience him loving me through it all. He quite literally did 100% of everything for our family with compassion and I never felt resentment or judgement. So when I say I hit the jackpot, I am not joking.
With him cheering me on, a therapist teaching me something new each session, and some damn good family and friends, I started to heal my mind. And then I regressed, and then I felt better (rinse and repeat) and that is just what it is y’all. I haven’t had the same level of a depressive episode as before, but I certainly have had more. My husband and others got better and better at catching the signs and checking in with me. I got better at doing inventory of my well being. Fun fact: I usually don’t know I’m in an episode until about 2 weeks after it starts. Fun right? *she says with the sarcasm of someone going to the DMV on the last day of the month.
There is much more to the story (enter hormones, ADHD, and other shit) but let’s just say this story will always evolve and I will continue to share. You live with depression when it is clinical (a.k.a. major depressive disorder). It will always be there and I will always be trying to outwit it or at least combat it once I realize it has arrived.
Now I get to turn the pain into purpose which brings me back to my favorite quesiton. Why?
My honest desire in all of this is to A. get it out of my body and put it to words because that will always make the idea of fear and shame less powerful and B. normalize talking about mental health. Talking about it is the only way through. I am always surprised to hear how many of the people I meet are suffering with various things and just don’t feel comfortable talking about it. Well, I am here and talking about it, so that hopefully you feel you can too. I hope you can share your experience with someone (if you want).
I am always here to listen and encourage you as you go through your own mental health experiences. And that isn’t a line of BS. You can always shoot me an email, send me a DM, or just chat. I am not a doctor or therapist, or professional. I am just a woman with a family, a camera, and a few mental and neurological disorders who wants everyone to know they belong.
So until next time, take a deep breath and then maybe have a little dance party. - Brandy
