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.

Mindfulness Creates Awareness

I took that first step leading into the dark, dimly lit tunnel: admitting I need help. I can assure you that this was definitely the hardest step for me to take, not that any of the rest of them have been easy. However, admitting that you suffer depression and have BDP takes a lot of personal strength, a strength most people don't necessarily possess. The stigma attached with both illnesses is extremely negative in society, creating the avoidance factor: if i don't recognize my illnesses, I don't actually have them. So untrue and so unfair to you and those you care about!

My next step in this beginning phase of my life was to re-visit my family doctor, whom originally diagnosed me with BPD. I needed to find out from him what I could do to find a cure or at least to determine how best to effectively manage my illnesses. That initial visit resulted in several outcomes for me: I was referred to my local mental health association for free counseling; I set up quarterly visits with my doctor to discuss my progress, which I have continued over the past several years; I received a new medication in an attempt to better balance my moods (and I'm happy to say that I've gone from the highest level dosage to the lowest in four years).

I began seeing my psychologist twice a week for several months, going over all of my history and how best to approach the BPD, which was my biggest concern. In that time frame, I came to know the deepest parts of myself, pulling pieces together to form a new image of me in my head. I have honestly felt an identity crisis most of my life, trying to understand who I really am and what I really want from life, flipping back and forth between extreme highs and despairing lows. These sessions have helped me put myself into a whole new prospective, so I began to seek ways to further the progress I was making.

One word stood out continuously with each session and I knew I had to look deeper into it: mindfulness.

Mindfulness was derived from Buddhist meditation and involves conscious awareness of one's current thoughts, feelings, and surroundings, which can result in metacognitive skills for controlling concentration. It's a kind of nonelaborative, nonjudgmental, present-centered awareness in which each thought, feeling, or sensation that arises in the attentional field is acknowledged and accepted as it is. Confusing? Not really, once you understand it. In layman's terms, mindfulness is the practice of simplifying your life into living within the present moment.

In the instance of my life, someone who suffers from chronic depression, mindfulness-based cognitive therapy is the typical treatment. It is not necessarily a cure, but it is a lifestyle, one that I've adopted with staggering results (less frequent and less severe depressive segments in my life and the strength to reach out to others for help when needed). Because I was also diagnosed with BPD, I was introduced to a psychosocial treatment called Dialectical Behavior Therapy (DBT), which incorporates mindfulness as a core exercise into my daily life.

This was a great deal of information that left my head whirling in a jumbled mass of uncertainty and confusion.

I had no idea where to start or how to incorporate all of this new information into my life, so I did what I always do when I have no idea what to do: I looked for a book. The book I found, "Zen Keys", was written by whom I definitely consider my favorite author: Thich Nhat Hanh, a Vietnamese Buddhist monk. Through my readings, I discovered Zen Buddhism, which teaches the need to be mindful of peace in every moment. I have found that Hanh's philosophies brought a strength and understanding to my life with realistic goals of peace I can obtain over time with continued practice.

Though you may not be interested in practicing Zen Buddhism (I admit that I practice mindfulness and believe in Zen, but I am not a Buddhist), I highly recommend this book, because of its clear, concise simplicity in regards to living your life in the present moment. The teachings I discovered through "Zen Keys" has gone a long way in helping me further my travels along the path of this dimly lit tunnel. That pinprick of light is slowly becoming brighter as one foot falls in front of the other. I am constantly repeating to myself only one thought with each of those steps taken: be mindful of what you are doing, thinking, feeling and saying and you become aware of patterns that can be changed.

I am a hero. I am determined. I am mindful. I will prevail.

A Determined Hero

So, here I am at the beginning of a very long and dimly lit tunnel. If I squint, I think I see a pinprick of light somewhere in the distance, but that could be the small amount of hope I have allowed myself to feel. If only I could put one foot in front of the other, this journey would start.

But, I hesitate.

What's really waiting at the end? Is it what I am hoping for: the light to illuminate the darkness? Is that a faint flicker at the end of the tunnel or am I getting lost in an illusion of an unattainable goal? I sigh and close my eyes. Remember. What did that 11-year-old boy say to me that day he came home from school?

"Mom. Today we were talking about heroes. We are learning about Terry Fox." My son stares earnestly into my eyes. "The teacher went around the room asking us who our hero was. Since I was in the middle of the room, I heard everyone say things like Terry Fox or a hockey player or someone famous."

I smiled vacantly at my son. His favorite hockey player was Brodeur. I rather thought that's who he would have chosen to mention, but he surprised me.

"When it was my turn, guess who I said?" he asked eagerly. "Brodeur," I automatically replied.

He frowned fiercely at me. "No! I said my mom was my hero," he responded. "But then everyone else after me started saying things like that, too. They are such copycats!" I heard the annoyance in his voice.

I was unaware that my mouth had fallen open in shock until I realized I was suddenly paying very close attention to him. What was he talking about? How could I be his hero? What have I ever done in my life that would warrant my son describing me to his entire grade six class as his hero? I quickly scanned that life full of abuse, near-poverty, and depression. Nope. Nothing there that I could see.

"Why did you say that I was your hero?" I asked softly, trying to understand his thinking. He rolled his eyes in a way that clearly suggested I should know the answer to that. "Because you're determined, mom," came the response, as if that was supposed to explain everything. "You never give up, no matter what happens to you."

I felt tears well in my eyes. This precious boy thought that I was a hero. Unable to speak, I reached out and squished him close against me, kissing his forehead.

I open my eyes and stare into that uninviting tunnel. One step and the journey begins. Focus on that boy's revelation. I am a hero. I am determined.

I take that first step. And it begins.

Journey from the Dark Side

I hear writing is cathartic, or so my closest friends keep telling me. As a writer myself, you'd think I'd be aware of that; however, I don't write for pleasure or even for myself. I write for others, expressing their wishes and producing their content. So here I am, wondering where to start and how to write about those demons that demand release from my aching, often hollow soul.

I suppose I could start at the beginning, but that seems like so long ago. I could start where I am now, but that doesn't seem plausible to me either. Perhaps I should start where my life may have actually begun. As I purge, I am sure you will come to understand what I mean.

I suffer from what is known as chronic depression. Experts are unsure of what causes it and there is no known cure. Chronic depression is long-lasting, interferes with daily activities, and causes a loss of interest in things that were normally pleasurable to the one affected. But that isn't actually where my life started.

Four years ago, I was diagnosed as having Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD). BPD is described as a prolonged disturbance of personality function in a person, characterized by depth and variability of moods. It typically involves unusual levels of instability in mood (black and white thinking), chaotic and unstable interpersonal relationships, self-image, identity and behavior and a disturbance in the individual's sense of self. Fortunately, I was considered a mild case.

Unfortunately, it cost me my marriage of two years, one year after the birth of our daughter. Someone who promised to love me and cherish me through sickness and in health scrambled for the door the moment he heard what kind of person I had just been labeled and my dark reality became a midnight nightmare.

Why do I say this is when my life began? It's simple, at least in my mind. The moment the door shut behind my departing spouse was the moment I vowed I would take charge of my life and find a way to cure myself. Have I succeeded? Not yet and maybe I never will. But I have found ways to deal with the depressions I suffer and to work through the darkness my life becomes on the 'bad days', while cherishing the 'good days' and making the most of them. Through my four year journey, I have met the most incredible people who have offered to walk by my side along my paths of good and bad. Those treasured friends give me hope, they give me love, and, most of all, they accept me as I am. So how can I not learn to accept myself during my enlightening travels? It is a challenge I face everyday and one I dare to take on.

Walk with me on my journey. Learn that depression is more common than most people believe. Know that you are not alone. Discover ways that could help you in your journey from the dark side into the light of acceptance. I look forward to our travels.