Behind the Happy Face

People are often shocked to discover that I suffer chronic depression. Why? Because I hide it very well. Society, for some selfish reason, does not deem it 'normal' behaviour to suffer depression and so I found that I learned to hide behind my 'happy face'. To keep people from getting to know me too well, I learned to create jokes, often at my own expense, to avoid exposure to ridicule or rejection by being 'real'. People accept that my life must be perfect because I seem so happy... All the time. Doesn't that strike anyone as odd?

Lately, I have been wondering how I have learned to hide my depression so well from everyone. And then I came to the realization that I don't really hide it. I create a protective facade that people accept as genuine, because they WANT to believe it's true. I found myself pondering about what would happen if suddenly I became candid and dropped a hint or two about what was really going on beneath the surface. I have to admit though, I was very picky about whom I was honest with, mostly because I don't believe it's anyone's business to know something so personal about me, if they aren't someone truly important in my life.

I have found through my 'experimentation' of truthfulness that many people who seem to be happy have one thing or another going on in their personal lives they don't feel comfortable discussing with anyone. Thus, they suffer needlessly, because they truly don't know who to approach just to talk. My sincerity about my own life has led to many interesting discussions with others I have trusted with my very private self. I have learned that I love reaching out to others. It is cathartic for me to use my own experiences to show others they aren't alone. And that they are perfectly normal. Yes, NORMAL.

It is perfectly normal to feel depression in your lifetime and it is healthy to seek professional help to obtain a balance within your own life. There is no reason to suffer in silence or to feel fear regarding discovery.

So why would people rather suffer in silence? What are they afraid of? In my opinion, they are apprehensive of many things, but I believe that one main fear holds people back from accepting depression as a normal phase or illness: rejection. Being rejected by family or friends, those people who supposedly love you no matter what, can create immeasurable pain leading people to believe it's better to suffer in silence. WRONG!!!

What many people don't realize is that there are professionally trained people willing and able to assist others with life's issues. I do understand, having spoken to a number of people, that I have been extremely lucky with my family doctor and my psychologist. Both of them admittedly went beyond what I expected either of them to do for me; they cared enough to build a lasting relationship with me to ensure I had the best support possible. That wasn't true originally. I have seen a few psychologists and doctors over time, but these two have made a colossal impact in my life.

I saw my psychologist for about 1.5 years twice a week to learn to live a life of mindfulness. I learned new ways of dealing with a depressive episode that not only shortened the length of time and lessened the severity I suffered, but also opened my eyes to the symptoms so I could understand when I was falling into an episode. I have reopened my file a couple of times since then, but I always returned to the path she encouraged me to discover.

My doctor is another special person in my life. He has been seeing me regularly every three months for the last seven years of my life. I was expected to share how I was doing with him whenever I went in to renew my prescription, which he only supplied for three months at a time. This ensured I had someone outside of my family and friends I knew I could trust without the fear of rejection. Happily, I have been doing well enough that my sessions have just been scheduled for every six months. I have been making enormous progress with the help of people who care.

I believe that suffering through chronic depression has taught me many things. I can appreciate and empathize when others come to me with the need to talk. I can use my own experiences to show others what I have accomplished and that a better life is possible for anyone who wants it. I can be an open-minded, neutral person for people to unburden themselves with. I can be a normal person behind the happy face.

Cohesive Chaos

Bubbling chaos. Impending implosion. Shatters. Millions of shards. Fragmented. Confused. All consuming darkness. Bleak. Uncaring. Alone. Nothing.

Focus. Struggle. Pick up the pieces. Adhesive. Fragile. Reaching. Grasping. Pinpricks of light. Determined. Moment by moment. Breath by breath. One step in front of the other. Night turns to day. Inhale. Freedom.

I stare at myself, silently observing. Turning my head one way and then another. Considering. Pondering. Wondering. I cannot understand what others see when they look at me. Does my mirror lie? Does my mind deceive me? These fragmented pieces, held precariously together only by determination, serve to remind me of the battles fought, some resounding victories, others narrow escapes. I bear my wounds with pride and shame, the war inside me continuously raging. The white flag of surrender aching to be waved in sullen defeat, rests within reach, mocking, compelling. I cannot raise it. I will not give in.

I peer harder into the mirror. Those eyes stare back, revealing nothing, the turmoil hidden deeply behind them. Shuttered. Locked. I open my mouth to scream, the sound lost long before it hits my throat. Sweat beads. Breathing quickens. Clothing dampens. Body aches. Mind shrieks. Numbness. Panic. Clawing. Gasping. Flailing. Falling. Alone. Blackness.

Inhale. Breathe. Slowly. Deeply. Focus. Pick up the pieces. One foot in front of the other. I am determined. I will prevail.

One Day at a Time

I must apologize if my writing seems disjointed and rambling. There have been an abundance of challenges, experiences, setbacks, successes and journeys in the past few years; it is difficult to know where to begin or what to write about. Because my life seems to jump all over the place from one day to the next, this style of writing showcases my own conjectures of incohesive ordeals.

Traveling along this road has not been easy. There are good days. There are bad days. There are days in between. I can go from being extremely happy and excited about something to intensely hating myself within mere moments. These extremes create strains within the best of relationships: family, friends, spouses, etc. Relationships have a tendency to die sudden, painful deaths. To survive my depression and my BPD, I needed to address my inability to sustain healthy relationships and learn to live one day at a time.

How does someone like me build lasting relationships? I have to admit the true friendships I have cultivated in the past few years were built upon my being straight-forward and honest with each and every one of them, as well as with myself. It is entirely too easy to shut oneself down and push everyone away when the 'doom and gloom' hangs closely overhead; however, the feelings of isolation and loneliness only add to the depression and self-hatred, reinforcing the 'loser' syndrome (you deserve to be alone; you're not good enough; you shouldn't have friends anyway, because they'll only leave; etc.). Thus, I decided to search for people who were strong emotionally, who weren't afraid of a challenge and who wouldn't run at the first hint of 'trouble' and be completely open with them about my life.

Struggling along this part of my journey, I learned that very few people possess all three characteristics, but I preferred losing someone's respect at the beginning of the relationship before I had formed any deep emotional attachments to them. Though painful and difficult, I continued on my path of openness, searching for the elusive companions.

I made a shocking discovery along the way. The greatest supporter through these intense journeys is someone I never expected: my son. He is definitely the best kind of friend, because he loves me unconditionally and wants me to be successful. He's always been there for me and continuously encouraged me, sometimes just by his existence. For him, I would do anything to seek the balance my life was sadly lacking.

So, I did something I didn't think about until a couple of years ago: I gave my son permission to kick my ass.

What does that mean? It means that whenever a depression began to suck the life from me, he was allowed to become verbally involved. He has been extremely effective in this role (and I think he takes a bit of perverse pleasure in being able to tell mom what to do sometimes). Many people have criticized me for allowing my son to assume an often adult-like role, but I disagree. I am a single parent. My son is in a position to see me everyday and analyze my moods. He knows me very well, better than anyone else on this planet. Who better to kick my ass than the one person who has struggled along beside me his entire life? He wants my success as much as I do. He wants me to see myself the way he sees me. He is my cheerleader, my confidant, my friend, my son. My love for him has kept my determination alive for 15 years now.

Incredibly (to me, at least), I have also met a few genuine, trustworthy friends who know about my depression, about my BPD and still love me exactly as I am. Today I may wake up feeling alive and energetic and they share in those moments. Tomorrow I may wake up and pull the covers over my head, wanting only to stay there and never come out. Those are the days that I know I need only reach for my laptop or my phone and extend a cry of help to receive the support I need to make it through that one day, that one moment.

I cannot make this journey alone and succeed. I am not always strong enough. The friendships built on honesty have developed into respect and admiration. The foundation is strong today, tomorrow and always. I am not alone. I am not a loser. I am not unworthy. I am loved. I am determined. I will succeed.