Tuesday, February 4, 2014
It is January 31
It is January 31.
A very long day for me.
A very long month for me.
Every year.
This year I went on a cruise for 5 days starting the middle of the month. It helped. It helped with the anticipation of the sunshine and the actual sunshine helped, even though they were having a cold spell in the Bahamas.
In two weeks I will again be going south, thanks to my dear man who has lived with me for almost 19 years now - that means almost 19 winters. Only the first couple were without seasonal depression.
As I look back, I find that my toughest times were in February.
I had to delay my second son's first birthday party because I fell apart. That still makes me sad.
This time each year our church has a church leaders retreat - for the pastors and the elders and the deacons.
Tonight is that night.
Last year I made it, but the year before that I didn't.
And the year before that I didn't either.
I don't remember much about those 2 events,
but I remember not wanting to call for help.
I remember trying really, really hard to NOT call for help.
I remember pulling my stationary bike inside and attempting to exercise to chase the darkness away, but none of it worked.
And I called.
He had to tell all those men that he had to go home.
I don't know how that made him feel.
I don't think any of it was good for him or for me - No, I know - none of it was any good.
But he came. And we sat. And we did nothing.
And I felt like a failure.
He ordered pizza and that was it.
(and the men went on without him)
Then the next year that same weekend loomed, and I didn't think it would be so bad.
It really wasn't a big deal - one night of him gone . . . well,
one night at the end of January to be more precise.
The afternoon came and the meeting was close by so he rode with a friend.
It got darker outside and inside, I again, started to fall apart.
I didn't know why, but I knew what I needed was him,
and in tears, I cried, and I called, and in just a few words told him I (again) was a mess.
This time I heard ( or he told me) what happened on the other end.
They had been praying. A circle of men. Men that are my dear brothers in Christ.
Praying for their church body, and even praying for me.
He had to interrupt and tell them that he had to leave -
normally, he would have just slipped out and explained later,
but he didn't have his car . . .
He said keys from all around the circle were immediately tossed at him.
And when I heard that, I suddenly realized that my struggle hadn't been about me - maybe it never is. I truly think it was about those men who love me, who love my husband, who love my family learning about what it means to live with depression - for both me and my husband.
Thursday, January 9, 2014
Sundays - with Seasonal Affective Disorder
Sundays. I usually LOVE Sundays. I'm with my "little" family - my man and my boys, and I'm with my earthly/heavenly family - my church. I do life with these people. I have tripped and fallen with these people. I have prayed and rejoiced with these people. I have grown with these people. I have grown 15 years older with these people. I have gone from early married with one child to middle married with 3 growing boys - one very much taller than me - and walked that road with these people.
Once I get past the getting up part (God didn't create me to be a natural morning person), once I'm dressed and out the door, I usually love Sundays. I love being around people.
Usually.
But when I'm sick. All that is different.
I have wanted to blog about what that feels like, but usually I am so sick I can't blog. Then once I'm well enough to blog, I can't remember how bad it was or I don't want to remember it and am too "busy" staying well.
This Sunday it wasn't as bad as it has been, but enough that I can blog about it.
The last few weeks it has been cold in South Carolina. Ridiculously cold. Cold and dreary. Gray skies, no sun. The holidays usually swoop me from one day to the next and then January drops me flat. The happy tree must come down (it is still twinkling in it's corner right now). The outside festive lights turn off and our yard - or rather everyone's yards go back to being black as evening arrives too early. The presents are opened, the parties are over.
This last week it has been very evident that it was January. We went on an overnight ski trip right after Christmas and my reserve is gone. Empty. GONE. I have kept my man in the loop and told him that it was getting harder. He has filled in and cooked and gone to the store and done laundry.
I have learned to joke that I am "solar powered." But to be honest, I'm not joking when I say it. In a week I will be going on a cruise that is honestly more for my health than anything else. I have Seasonal Affective Disorder. I have struggled with depression in the past - year round, but Every year for the last 16 years, I have had depression in the winter.
Back to Sundays. Or rather, this last Sunday.
1. Singing: I love to sing. This Sunday, though, I could have rolled my eyes. I couldn't really get into it. And I didn't care much. Meh.
2. Sermon: Unfortunately, the sermon was on "Grumbling," and I knew in advance it wasn't going to go well. He was talking about grumbling - which is something we do - with a bad attitude, but my brain kept equating it to depression - which is an illness. Depression is an illness - Like leprosy, but without the outward physical signs. It wasn't a sin back then, but it was treated as such. Jesus talked to them (those with leprosy), touched them and healed them, but they were treated like sinners.
My own brain accuses me of sinning. I guess you could say my illness accuses me. (More about that in a future post)
3. My faucet turned on. I had tried to not listen - I was reading Psalms and Isaiah- not because it wasn't a good sermon, but because I could feel what my brain was doing. I was trying to tell myself the truths of God's word, but my thoughts were telling me otherwise.
Then "my faucet turned on."
It's a code of sorts - that phrase - between my husband and I.
We've used it for several years now. It simply means, I'm crying and I can't stop.
Sometimes there is a tiny reason (never sufficient for the amount of tears),
sometimes there is no reason at all.
My eyes filled and I tried to turn my head from side to side to get the tears to drain down the ducts, but the water kept coming and spilled over. One tear then another slid down my face and as I hung my head trying to hide on the fourth row in the very center of the church, I watched my tan sweater darken at each spot where the tears were falling. I quickly searched for a tissue - none, and then after years of experience - I knew I had to leave. It was a last ditch effort to not completely fall off the cliff, and to escape before my vain attempts to quell the waterfall erupted in a loud sob.
I whispered to my man, then stood and attempting to use my Bible to cover the damage the tears had done, I tried to be as little as possible and I walked out.
But I know I was big.
4. Emma smiled at me. I dabbed up the tears, but knew my eyes were still glossy and told more than I cared them to tell. Then I walked out to the lobby where Emma - whose 1st birthday party I had attended the day before - saw me first and smiled at me.
Thank You, God, for these simple things. A sweet baby girl with beautiful eyes that looked and me and smiled. I sat and visited with the mommies of 3 little ones - thankfully all 3 know me and know my struggles. I hadn't thought about that "coincidence" until right now.
God, You are always taking care of me, even when I can't feel it.
When singing signaled that the sermon was over, I returned to my fourth row seat.
5. Alone in the midst of my closest friends. Immediately after the Amen, two ladies behind me wanted to talk about our trip coming up. I was able to converse pleasantly about that and then turned to walk out the aisle.
My man had moved on. In the past when it has been this bad, I have had to ask him to not leave me in the midst of any crowd. I cling to his hand as if it were a life preserver, but he didn't know yet that it wasn't a "usual" Sunday - when I flit from one friend to another and gab and laugh.
I searched the crowd for a safe place to slip into a conversation but all the backs seemed to be turned and all the places for another friend seemed closed. No one caught my eye and so I slowly picked up speed still hoping to catch a friendly glance, but instead hearing that voice that tells me that I have no friends (liar) or that no one wants to talk to me (liar) or that even worse I don't want to talk to them (liar).
And so I fled to the next thing. Sunday School and children. Sweet wonderful things they are!
6. Afraid. My man and I have been teaching this particular Sunday School class since they were in 3rd grade (3 years). We have a group time of singing and a lesson and then 15 to 30 minutes of class time. I usually run it, but this Sunday my heart is tight and I can't think of what we should do. I think I'm too weak - or so says the liar voice to me. The more I talk, the stronger I get, but that too is exhausting. I make it and they have cheered me greatly and I smile, but that is about all I can do.
7. Lost and exhausted. It's January. And so, the plans for Sunday lunch have not happened and my man steps in again with food plans.
We go to the grocery deli.
I see daffodils in the floral section - the proof that spring will come - and I pick up my favorite.
He asks me if I can order for him and I look at him - just a glance - but a blank glance, and he touches my arm and says, "Come on," with just enough understanding and compassion to make me follow him but not cry.
He also makes a plan for the next meal of the day, and I pick up a few things we are running out of and place them in the cart. He touches my arm several times and says, "Come on."
My boys flit here and there getting a few necessities and I wonder how much they really see. I pray they are learning how to love a woman.
8. Thankful. I am at peace with my illness. It has been a long hard journey and could be even longer and even harder, though I pray not. Depression makes you appreciate the simplicity of happiness. Things that make me happy when I'm struggling are particularly special - a friend that joins me for lunch, the bird feeder out my kitchen window, a yellow egg crate, Christmas lights still being cheery in my living room, my boy turning on lights for me to try to help me out.
If you struggle with Seasonal Affective Disorder, or think you might, here are my suggestions. Find someone to talk to - a friend, your spouse, a doctor, all of the above. Take medicine if necessary. Exercise (my favorite is a walk with a friend - preferably outside, but if necessary, we go to the mall), Sunshine or a Sun Lamp or both. Give yourself grace to be ill - don't expect yourself to be on top of everything. I do all of these things and when it is still really hard, I go to a tanning bed for a couple of times in January or February.
Once I get past the getting up part (God didn't create me to be a natural morning person), once I'm dressed and out the door, I usually love Sundays. I love being around people.
Usually.
But when I'm sick. All that is different.
I have wanted to blog about what that feels like, but usually I am so sick I can't blog. Then once I'm well enough to blog, I can't remember how bad it was or I don't want to remember it and am too "busy" staying well.
This Sunday it wasn't as bad as it has been, but enough that I can blog about it.
The last few weeks it has been cold in South Carolina. Ridiculously cold. Cold and dreary. Gray skies, no sun. The holidays usually swoop me from one day to the next and then January drops me flat. The happy tree must come down (it is still twinkling in it's corner right now). The outside festive lights turn off and our yard - or rather everyone's yards go back to being black as evening arrives too early. The presents are opened, the parties are over.
This last week it has been very evident that it was January. We went on an overnight ski trip right after Christmas and my reserve is gone. Empty. GONE. I have kept my man in the loop and told him that it was getting harder. He has filled in and cooked and gone to the store and done laundry.
I have learned to joke that I am "solar powered." But to be honest, I'm not joking when I say it. In a week I will be going on a cruise that is honestly more for my health than anything else. I have Seasonal Affective Disorder. I have struggled with depression in the past - year round, but Every year for the last 16 years, I have had depression in the winter.
Back to Sundays. Or rather, this last Sunday.
1. Singing: I love to sing. This Sunday, though, I could have rolled my eyes. I couldn't really get into it. And I didn't care much. Meh.
2. Sermon: Unfortunately, the sermon was on "Grumbling," and I knew in advance it wasn't going to go well. He was talking about grumbling - which is something we do - with a bad attitude, but my brain kept equating it to depression - which is an illness. Depression is an illness - Like leprosy, but without the outward physical signs. It wasn't a sin back then, but it was treated as such. Jesus talked to them (those with leprosy), touched them and healed them, but they were treated like sinners.
My own brain accuses me of sinning. I guess you could say my illness accuses me. (More about that in a future post)
3. My faucet turned on. I had tried to not listen - I was reading Psalms and Isaiah- not because it wasn't a good sermon, but because I could feel what my brain was doing. I was trying to tell myself the truths of God's word, but my thoughts were telling me otherwise.
Then "my faucet turned on."
It's a code of sorts - that phrase - between my husband and I.
We've used it for several years now. It simply means, I'm crying and I can't stop.
Sometimes there is a tiny reason (never sufficient for the amount of tears),
sometimes there is no reason at all.
My eyes filled and I tried to turn my head from side to side to get the tears to drain down the ducts, but the water kept coming and spilled over. One tear then another slid down my face and as I hung my head trying to hide on the fourth row in the very center of the church, I watched my tan sweater darken at each spot where the tears were falling. I quickly searched for a tissue - none, and then after years of experience - I knew I had to leave. It was a last ditch effort to not completely fall off the cliff, and to escape before my vain attempts to quell the waterfall erupted in a loud sob.
I whispered to my man, then stood and attempting to use my Bible to cover the damage the tears had done, I tried to be as little as possible and I walked out.
But I know I was big.
4. Emma smiled at me. I dabbed up the tears, but knew my eyes were still glossy and told more than I cared them to tell. Then I walked out to the lobby where Emma - whose 1st birthday party I had attended the day before - saw me first and smiled at me.
Thank You, God, for these simple things. A sweet baby girl with beautiful eyes that looked and me and smiled. I sat and visited with the mommies of 3 little ones - thankfully all 3 know me and know my struggles. I hadn't thought about that "coincidence" until right now.
God, You are always taking care of me, even when I can't feel it.
When singing signaled that the sermon was over, I returned to my fourth row seat.
5. Alone in the midst of my closest friends. Immediately after the Amen, two ladies behind me wanted to talk about our trip coming up. I was able to converse pleasantly about that and then turned to walk out the aisle.
My man had moved on. In the past when it has been this bad, I have had to ask him to not leave me in the midst of any crowd. I cling to his hand as if it were a life preserver, but he didn't know yet that it wasn't a "usual" Sunday - when I flit from one friend to another and gab and laugh.
I searched the crowd for a safe place to slip into a conversation but all the backs seemed to be turned and all the places for another friend seemed closed. No one caught my eye and so I slowly picked up speed still hoping to catch a friendly glance, but instead hearing that voice that tells me that I have no friends (liar) or that no one wants to talk to me (liar) or that even worse I don't want to talk to them (liar).
And so I fled to the next thing. Sunday School and children. Sweet wonderful things they are!
6. Afraid. My man and I have been teaching this particular Sunday School class since they were in 3rd grade (3 years). We have a group time of singing and a lesson and then 15 to 30 minutes of class time. I usually run it, but this Sunday my heart is tight and I can't think of what we should do. I think I'm too weak - or so says the liar voice to me. The more I talk, the stronger I get, but that too is exhausting. I make it and they have cheered me greatly and I smile, but that is about all I can do.
7. Lost and exhausted. It's January. And so, the plans for Sunday lunch have not happened and my man steps in again with food plans.
We go to the grocery deli.
I see daffodils in the floral section - the proof that spring will come - and I pick up my favorite.
He asks me if I can order for him and I look at him - just a glance - but a blank glance, and he touches my arm and says, "Come on," with just enough understanding and compassion to make me follow him but not cry.
He also makes a plan for the next meal of the day, and I pick up a few things we are running out of and place them in the cart. He touches my arm several times and says, "Come on."
My boys flit here and there getting a few necessities and I wonder how much they really see. I pray they are learning how to love a woman.
8. Thankful. I am at peace with my illness. It has been a long hard journey and could be even longer and even harder, though I pray not. Depression makes you appreciate the simplicity of happiness. Things that make me happy when I'm struggling are particularly special - a friend that joins me for lunch, the bird feeder out my kitchen window, a yellow egg crate, Christmas lights still being cheery in my living room, my boy turning on lights for me to try to help me out.
If you struggle with Seasonal Affective Disorder, or think you might, here are my suggestions. Find someone to talk to - a friend, your spouse, a doctor, all of the above. Take medicine if necessary. Exercise (my favorite is a walk with a friend - preferably outside, but if necessary, we go to the mall), Sunshine or a Sun Lamp or both. Give yourself grace to be ill - don't expect yourself to be on top of everything. I do all of these things and when it is still really hard, I go to a tanning bed for a couple of times in January or February.
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