10 Ways To Tell Depression to F*** Off

Please don't ask me how I cured my depression. 

For one, I'm not cured, I'm just learning to manage it better.  And secondly, I couldn't tell you exactly when I came out of it, or whether it might befall me tomorrow. 

What I can do is share ten changes I've made in my life to put myself back in control.  Learned helplessness is the trap of depression.  You try everything, and it doesn't work, so you give up.  There is no feeling more powerless than lacking the hope of things getting better. 

This list isn't a compilation of research, advice, or suggestions. It is simply 10 things that have worked for me.  I hope that, a year from now, you've put together your own list of personal anti-depressants. 


1.  I downed herbs.

St. John's Wort to ward off depression's crying jags.  Passion Flower to calm the jitters of anxiety.  Bioavailable turmeric to simmer my body's inflammation.  Omega-3 Fish Oil to regulate brain chemistry (now used by many hopsitals, by the way). 

You may be skeptical of alternative medicicine, and that's fine.  We each have to find what works - or doesn't - for ourselves. 

I tried the medical route of managing depression for 12 years, and I was left with more problems than were fixed.  It's not just the side effects like night sweats, or that fact that some pills actually GAVE me anxiety or paralyzed me.  It's the fact that, in every single instance where I was suicidal, I was either taking an antidepressant or coming off of one.  I learned to trust myself and my body more than I trust some "all-knowing" doctor.  It took me almost a year to come out of the fog of my last antidepressant.  There is a cost to everything.  And let me just say, you will raaaaaaarely be told of those potential costs up-front.

2. I slept...and then I slept some more.

"Oh boy, I can do this one!" you are thinking, "I already sleep 14 hours a (day) night!"  Well, I used to, too, and each day day I was more exhausted than the last.  For the first time in my entire life, I finally feel rested when I wake up after 8 hours of sleep.  The tough part was breaking the pattern of staying up till 2 or 3 in the morning, then sleeping away the whole next day.  When I was depressed, that was preferable, because I could avoid both physical pain and a life I felt helpless to master.  But I couldn't function.

The key for me was to lean into this change, because my inner rebel wants to stay up until all hours.  My goal was to go to bed a little earlier each night, try to stick to a general waking and sleeping time, and not expect perfection. 

Part of my issue is an aversion to actually going to bed.  Maybe you also lay there for hours trying to finally drift off amidst a barrage of anxious thoughts.  The only way around this is to be too tired to think.  Here's what saved me: 

• I got a Spoonk acupressure mat.  I am not kidding you, this thing is effing awesome.  All you have to do is lay on it for 30-40 minutes before bedtime to release endorphins and other feel-good chemicals that will relax you right into sleep.  Yes, the points are sharp.  Yes, it will scrape the crap out of you if you run your hand across it.  That is why you sloooooowly ease yourself onto it, and quit being a whiny baby! 
• I take two 350 mg capsules of Passionflower (not on an empty stomach!) to de-stress from the day and they usually put me right to sleep.  I've never tried Melatonin myself, but many doctors are now prescribing this naturally occurring hormone that helps to regulate sleep cycles.   

3. I found a J-O-B. 

This is the tricky item on the list for me.  In a way, finding my current job - which is moreso a place where I can contribute something meaningful - has been the foundation for everything else on this list.  If I had done every other thing on here, but still wasn't working, I'm not so sure I would be writing this post.  THAT is how important it is to be of value. 

In no way whatsoever am I implying that our worth comes from our work.  I can only say that being unemployed is so dehumanizing as to nullify many of the other self-care tools a person might try.  I have never felt so useless in my life, and it sucked.  Right or wrong, I honestly don't know where I would be if I didn't have the dignity afforded to me by returning to productive society.  It is what it is.

4. I got quiet.

This one was a real stretch for me, being an introvert (well, actually it was, because I'm a neurotic introvert)!

For me, getting still takes one of two forms: a long bath in epsom salts - my personal form of meditation (given my lack of tolerance for all things slow) - and constructive rest.  Constructive rest is my most recent discovery.  Not only does it do wonders for my hip pain, it changes my ability to remember what calm is throughout the stressful workweek.  If you can't seem to turn off the noise in your brain, this might be something to try.

Shutting down is next to impossible for me.  I likely appear calm from the outside, but my mind is always racing, and my jaw is always clenching.  You likely have your own anxiety holding pattern, the result of our fight-or-flight society.  No one is going to give you permission to turn off the noise and stop pushing yourself past your limits.  You are going to have to choose this for yourself...IF you want it badly enough.

5.  I moved my ass. 

The research on exercise and depression is so prevalent that I won't bother quoting it here.  Suffice it to say: someone's already said it to you, and you've already been annoyed by it. 

Here is what I know for me: exercise does not fix my depression.  I have always exercised, even when I was depressed, and it wasn't enough to bring me out of it.  However, I would be MORE depressed if I weren't exercising.  I feel *better* afterwards.  Brain chemistry, baby.  It's one of those few things we have control over, and it doesn't cost a thing to get outside and go for a walk.

6. I stopped isolating myself.

Sometimes. 

Let's not get crazy here; I'm still an introvert, and I like my peace and quiet.  I can't relax with a bunch of people around.  I'll never love being in a big group of people.  BUT.  I've gone out and done things and made new friends....and I don't feel lonely when I'm alone.  That's the difference.

It is only too easy for me to, not just pull away from people, but all the way into myself. I found out that living by myself is not good for me, and so I don't put myself in that position anymore.

The Suicide Epidemic talks more about loneliness as the real killer. 

7.  I put my health above all else.
 
I made health my absolute priority this year.  If you don't feel good physically, you won't feel good mentally.  And vice versa. 
 
Now, it may well be the chicken and egg dilemma, but nothing is so fundamental as what we put into our bodies and how much we move (or don't).  When I eat clean, I feel clean; it's as simple as that.  Due to recent allergy discoveries, I am now borderline vegan.  Giving up nearly every food I've ever loved has been crazy hard.  But I feel better.  And I'm even starting to like my physical therapy exercises; how nuts is that? 

8.  I changed my environment.  

There are two things I know for sure don't work for me: one is living in chaos, the other is living in isolation.

I grew up in chaos - with a family always in crisis - and it overwhelms me.  I can spot chaotic people a mile away, and I stay away from them. 

To me, peace = home.  I finally have that.  There is no yelling, no mess, no constant negativty.  I like being around low-key people who aren't trying to suck the life out of me.  Is that too much to ask?

9. I went outside. 
 
Nature heals.  Sunshine heals.  A chaise lounge reclined back far enough to examine the drifting clouds as they fall together, then apart, then away.....it heals. 
 
I have a few favorite spots - a bench by my favorite lake; a trail tucked away from the rest of the city - where I can go to just exist for a while.  We spend our days pretending we feel whatever way the situation calls for; there has to be a counterpoint where we can just be who we are and feel what we feel.
 
10.  I self-cared the shit out of myself. 
 
I no longer leave the house - or take phonecalls - on Sundays.  I work out, I take a bath, I chop vegetables and cook for the week, then I sit on my blessed ass and do whatever the hell I want for the night.  Actually, there are a couple of hours EVERY night where I allow myself to only do what I want.  From my waking moment, every other hour of the day is a task to be done.  Well, I finally decided that I haven't become a better person by accomplishing any more crap in a day. 

I have now decided that I only like Sundays, and I want a whole week of them. 

I experimented with different doctors, massage therapists, physical therapists, and even a Rolfer, until I found my own little circle of healers.  The problem is that you may have to try 3 or 4 (or 10) idiots until you find the right ones for you.  Just find your people. 

The lesson here? 

There is always one more counselor or herb or remedy to try.  And if you try all of those and every single one them fails, there is still no telling what the next day will bring if you're alive to see it. 

The other thing to remember is that this is MY list.  I would have never guessed that half of these items would be on here.  Ask any person on the street, and they may tell you 10 completely different things that worked for them.

Healing is a personal - and sometimes lifelong - journey, one that no one can take for us.  I wish you well on yours. 

Self-Esteem, Self-Worth...or C) None of the Above

"I'm going to ask a question that will probably shock everyone in this room that I'm asking....you know, it all sounds great on the surface, but when you look a little closer at your resume, there's a year here, a year there, and it doesn't seem like you've stayed any place for very long...can I ask why?" --Interviewer (2 weeks ago)

I have answered this question, in all its various forms, time and time again.  

I have concocted versions of the truth, and flat-out lies.  

I have summoned confidence I don't really possess to emphasize all the right things, instead of all the things that make me look bad.  


But the truth is, it doesn't matter.



The 7 years that I *was* with the same employer....they don't matter.  

Straight A's and Summa Cum Laude?  Doesn't matter.  

The 3 extra years I spent earning a Master's?  High school dropouts make more than I do right now.

Volunteering and going the extra mile?  Don't make me laugh.



It is my fault.  I am the one who left the job where I was making good money in return for being treated like shit.  It was my decision to stand up for myself, my decision to quit, and my decision to drive to Nashville to kill myself.  

The problem, ironically, is that I didn't kill myself.  

The way this has fucked up my life...well, it just makes me wish I had.  Choosing to live has ruined my life.  Years of unemployment and suicidal depression...the ensuing downward spiral....

Through it all, I haven't given up.  Through all the dismissal and rejection, I plodded through five hundred twenty-five thousand job applications until one day - yes! - one day, it all paid off....

There is so much more dignity in being underemployed, rather than just unemployed.  Even though my degree is worth twice what I am making, at least I am in the field.  I can always console myself with that when I think of trash collectors making double my income.  

It's not that I wasn't bitter before this job interview two weeks ago; it's that I forgot how bitter I was, being fortunate enough to have a job to go to every day.  I was dumb enough to go out on a limb and apply for the position my degree tells me I am qualified for....and end up rejected once again.  The irony is, I was feeling more confident than ever because I finally have 9 months of steady employment in my field with great references!  So much for that.  

At least I gave it a shot.  Yes, it made me feel like absolute shit afterwards, but what doesn't.  The important thing is that I had the self-worth to believe I deserved it...for a moment, anyway.  

Depression: The Invisible Prison

I used to wish for cancer. 

Pray for it, even, which is a backwards thing for an agnostic to do...but then, no godly person could get away with praying for death. 

I would hear these stories of wonderful, beloved people being robbed of their futures, happily-ever-after with their partners, the chance to see their children grow up....
...and you know what I felt? Envy. 

I was jealous that these people got a free ticket out of this house of horrors - and didn't even WANT it - while I was being forced to stay against my will. 

I know; sickening.

And because it's such a twisted and disgusting thought process, I would feel immense guilt over it. I was ashamed to be frittering away my existence with suffering, while others who actually *wanted* their lives and their family and their friends - who could actually enjoy being here - would not be allowed to stay.   

The guilt may have had less to do with my perverse death wish than the fact that I was not living the life I had been given; I was wasting it.

One day after the next, I wallowed in the cesspool of depression, rejecting life. I would walk by this poem I had pasted on my fridge: "I Will Not Die an Unlived Life" and feel horrible about how horrible my life was, because that is a depressed brain does.

I was reminded of all of this today when reading a paradoxical post by Adam Alvarado at The Last Broken Home: What a [Death Row Inmate] Can Teach You About Being Yourself -

"We can piss away one more day being angry, and vengeful, and sad – about crap that’s gone by, and passed by, and no longer a part of ourselves or our future. Another day being afraid of so much, and hurt by so much, and less than our better selves because of it."

Isn't that exactly what I did for 5 years?

I may as well have been in prison. 

Hell, there IS no worse prison than our own minds. We sit there suffering day after day, waiting for someone to come let us out...only to find out one day that the door was never even locked.

A friend of mine once blogged at "The Invisible Prison" (which she has since taken down, much to my dismay). There couldn't be a more fitting metaphor for suicidal depression. From the outside, no one can glean any possible reason for this self-imposed sentence. There are no bars, no chains, no guards...

...yet we're not so much afraid that door will never open; we're afraid that it WILL, and we'll have to face the world once again.

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Am I A Coward For Blogging About Suicide Anonymously?

In December of 2009, I bared the first tiny bit of my soul to the universe in "This, Too Shall Pass?"

There was no place in my life where I could tell the truth about what led me down the path of suicide.

So I created one for myself. And for everyone else who didn't have a place, either.

In real life, you can't tell people to STFU when their idea of" helping" you is spouting some cliché like, "God never gives us more than we can handle."

In this blog, I can say whatever I want...because I do it anonymously. Which means I don't have to deal with stigma. And judgment. And rejection.

ANONYMOUS=GUTLESS ???

In a perfect world, I wouldn’t be shamed into silence for my feelings. I could speak openly about what I have been through, what led me to the brink, and how I found my way back.  I could look forward to compassion and understanding ... instead of condemnation.

But that is not the world we live in. It is a world where people believe it is easier to die than to be looked upon with the stigma of mental illness.

It is a world where people internalize the hatred of everyone around them and pull the trigger. 

BUT.  Can I keep hiding forever?

All the lying and pretending that alienates me from myself as much as others … isn’t that precisely what got me into this mess to begin with??? 

BUT.  Can I afford NOT to keep hiding?

Some, like The Bloggess, write courageously about their battles with depression. Others, like JD Schramm, have broken the silence by bravely sharing how they survived a suicide attempt.

But what about people who don't have a well-established career and hefty savings account to fall back on if honesty backfires?

So I brought my dilemma to Penelope Trunk, the authority on blogging about taboo subjects, and she asked if she could publish her advice to me in her Mailbag: 

"You should blog under your own name. Of all the things that are terrible, doing something this good, that you are this devoted to - doing it anonymously is too close to a metaphor for suicide. So you have to use your name. To do it anonymously is to give up on everyone around you -- their ability to see the site and see you for who you are. Your ability to be yourself in the world and be accepted. All that stuff is really important given that the topic is suicide."

Now THAT, that made me cry.

Because I DO continue to split off (i.e. murder) the parts of myself that I can't quite own.

And I HAVE given up on every single person around me.

When I try to think of 1 co-worker, 1 friend, 1 family member who I would even THINK of telling that I write this blog, I don't anticipate acceptance as the outcome.

I know what I stand to lose: my job, my credibility, future employability, professional respect...and control. Not that I've ever HAD control over what others think of me, but I DO control which parts of myself I share.

What do I stand to gain? It's one thing to play the odds, but when it's all risk and no reward, I can't help but think I would be a fool for rolling the dice.

Fellow blogger Izzy put it to me this way:

"In regards to human nature, most people are incredibly compelled by those that are willing to be authentic. Your blog is an interesting combination because by not revealing your identity you are able to completely hide yourself ... Yet, at the same time, you completely reveal yourself."

Therein lies the conundrum. 

Keep hiding…or come clean?  Could you bear the exposure of people seeing into your soul?


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Welcome Back to Society

No one really welcomes you back or asks why you've been gone so long.  But here I am, a functioning member of the human race.  Working.  Helping people.  Going to meetings and trainings and all that crap that makes one feel, "Ooh, I'm a professional."  It's true.  Just tell someone, "I have to go to a meeting" and you will instantly feel smug and important. 

                                           

-Professional- now there's something I haven't felt like in a long time...I just don't think there's anything like having a Master's degree and working temp jobs (or retail or sales) to make a person feel sh*tty about themselves.  You can tell someone till you're both blue in the face that happiness comes from the INside, and that you mustn't let external circumstances affect the way you feel about yourself.  Well, go ahead and test the theory.  Demean yourself to work at a crappy junk-pay job and try to think only positive things about your life and your future.  Try being just as proud to tell people where you work, and remember not to worry about what other people think.  Isn't that kind of a ridiculous expectation, anyway?  If you're really so insulated from the opinions of others, you might be a sociopath.  But I digress.

The point is, it was a long time coming.  4 years + 4 months, to be precise.  So if you were to ask what depression has cost me, it would have to be all that time.  All the wasted time.  Time in which I just couldn't get it together.  And yes, I get up by my alarm and I exercise and I do my hair and I brush my teeth and I go to work and I don't call in; things I haven't managed to do in all this time. Or maybe some of those things in one day but not all of them every day. I don't know how it became so hard or why it did, or even why it's not as hard now.  Which brings me to the conundrum of explanations.

I have a chunk of my life I can't really explain. If I could think of a great little [err...BIG] lie that would tie it all up in a nice pretty bow, that would just be really effing awesome.  But people ask random questions I'm not prepared for, and I suck at spontaneous answers.  I don't want to tell people about a past I wish didn't exist, or about friends that I USED to have, or relationships I used to be in.  And since I didn't just materialize out of thin air, people want to know stuff about me.  I'm sick of lying; I hate it.  It traps me in my past, feeling sucky about myself, because I don't even have a story to tell to cover up this mess.  For it to be "NEAT" it would have to be a great big whopper that explains all the contingencies.  So I tell little lies that keep me as close to the truth as possible, and avoid getting into any details. 

I think I'm just angry that, even when I overcome it, I don't really.  It's a stain on my life that won't wash out.  I've tried OxyClean and everything. 

"The truth may hurt for a little while, but a lie hurts forever."

Oh, what a tangled web we weave. 

Pro-sparrow on, yo.

Y felicidad.  Well, Dixie Chicks, it’s been FOUR long years now since the top of the world came crashing down ... apparently I’m reeeeaaally taking the long way around.  Maybe I peaked early, and cracking 30 put me “over the hill,” so to speak.  As another year screeches to a halt, I reflect on the build-up of all my life’s accomplishments one after the other, the wall I smashed into, and the straight drop down. 

Straight A’s.  Scholarships. Awards.  Prodding from my professors to move onto Ivy League PhD programs.  But I stayed at my safe local university for my MA, because that’s what a practical, naive girl does.  I had a fiancé.  I had a life in mind, a plan that was going to unfold MY way.  I would graduate, get married, pop out kids, and embark on my middle-class career in a secure field. 

Turns out I had to ditch the guy along the way (and all my ideals about love), but the career!  Now that was going to be the shred of stability I could focus my perfectionism on.  I plodded on with my accomplishments, “growing” professionally by about five grand per year, always moving on to bigger and better opportunities.  And then it all vanished, never to be found again. 

I literally cannot figure out where I went.  The old me would not even recognize whatever I am now.  She would be disgusted by me.  She could not begin to relate to “giving up.” 

I am a nobody.  I am a has-been.  I am nothing to no one.  It used to be my life’s work to help people in this very frame of mind, now I can’t stand the thought of helping myself.  I can’t stand the thought of continuing to pretend all the time.  I can’t stand not being able to fix myself.  I sit here crying at the prospect of another year to get through.  I just don’t understand when it’s going to get better.  After all this time, why hasn’t it? 

It’s funny how, if you go long enough without something you thought you wanted sooooo bad, you can end up not wanting it anymore.  Period.  Like kids.  And marriage.  If given enough time, you’re forced to examine why you wanted life’s traditional ends to begin with.  You analyze the lives around you, and ask which shoes, if any, you long to be in. 

What if you can’t even find anyone to envy?  I mean, if you see someone who has something you want, you can try to go out and get it.  Well there’s nothing I want to go out and get, folks.  I’d rather sit around and waste away, apparently.  If you think long and hard enough, you may not end up finding the solutions to your life’s problems; instead, you may just grow terribly sick of mulling it all over endlessly.  

On optimism, and other qualities I usually don’t possess.

I have a little bit of hope today. 

For the first day since December of 2007, my hip doesn’t hurt.  That makes me blissfully happy.

This is a momentous occasion for me, because it’s only the second time in about a dozen years that I’ve been pain-free.  The other one was after a massage at the end of day 5 of RAGBRAI (a week-long bike ride across the state of Iowa) in 2006.  I hope it lasts more than a day this time!!!!

Torturous pain will fuel the fire of depression like no other.  Hurting all day, every day, every night for years could take even the best person out.  And I was pretty screwed up to begin with.  It has hurt so badly, for so long, that I’ve had a hard time believing it would ever end.  And I would rather die than live that way forever.  

If I can sit in a chair, or stand for more than 20 minutes, or get to sleep at night, or function somewhat like a normal human being, I could maybe keep a job!  I could maybe lose all the weight I’ve put on during the years I couldn’t exercise the amount I’m accustomed to.

This could be the beginning of a way out of the darkness.    

“Faith is the bird that sings when the dawn is still dark.” -Rabindranath Tagore

“You’re Fired”

If my life were Celebrity Apprentice, I’d be giving Donald Trump a run for his money. 

I’ve gotten great at firing people from my life.  You wrong me, you’re done. 

Some people get a few more chances than others, until that final slight that sends their sum of missteps over the top.  Yes, I keep track.  If you’ve ever worked with me, lived with me, befriended me, interacted with me in any miniscule way whatsoever, you have a running tally.  Unbeknownst to you, the tiny ways in which you thought you were screwing me over and getting away with it were all being accounted for.  Sound much like a dysfunctional, paranoid worldview with a ‘get them before they get me’ mentality?

 

Depression is as ruthless as the cutthroat world of business. One by one, those around you enter the metaphorical boardroom, their performance as friend or mom or sibling appraised.  Those who failed to show up during my hour of need are goners.

 

My chiropractor is next in line (yes, I realize how ridiculous this perverse game is).  After a couple months of teetering on the edge with his pushy sales tactics, the attempts to guilt me into coming more often have gone too far.  Sorry dude, I don’t owe you anything.  I come when I want, I pay you for services rendered; that is the extent of my dues.  I’m real nice until you try to take advantage of it, then (as CeeLo Green put it) forget you, and forget you, too.

 

Then the day comes when you look around, and there is no one left.  In all honesty, I’m less miserable and more at peace the fewer people that are in my life.  That way I don’t sit around wondering why people don’t call, why they don’t care, why I’m worthy of neither their time nor attention.  I’m tired of caring more about others than they do about me.

 

Then there are the other days, when the empty void you have created sucks the breath out of you. 

My aunt passed away on Tuesday morning in a hospital room by herself.  No one in the family even knew she was there; a coworker had driven her there two days prior.  Fifty-seven years old and morbidly obese, she’d been alone since a divorce and subsequent rape in her early twenties.  It’s always sad to see another human being essentially give up on life and love and happiness.  When it’s YOU, your own pain outweighs the sadness of others.

The sick part is, I’m jealous.  I don’t think I can do 30 more years of this bullsh*t.  Hell, I don’t know if I can do tomorrow.  I’m pretty sure no deity would answer my prayers to just up and die, but I beg to be let out of this mess anyway.  Let someone live who’s enjoying it.

I turned 31 yesterday.  Still jobless, hopeless, and a hundred pounds overweight.  Another year passed in paralysis, the weight of my screw-ups so unbearable that stillness is my only solace.  I have effectively shut everyone out of my life, and the only reward is that they can no longer hurt me. 

I can’t help but wonder if it’ll be another three decades before I’m dead and no one gives a damn.  The thing is, I don’t want anyone standing over my dead body who never stood beside me in life.  

On Shame.

This evening I commented on a post from my kindred spirit Suzanne of The Invisible Prison on the topic of "Shame and Setbacks." As usual with Suzanne's posts, I felt like she had somehow gotten into my head and was writing down everything I think and feel on a daily basis while fighting not to succumb to the weight of wanting to just give up.

Depression assassinates your former self, and substitutes an imposter that might look a bit like the old you (though admittedly less well-groomed), yet bears little resemblance to the person you once were. What remains is a sham of an excuse for a human being. A fraud. And it's hard to feel proud of being THAT.

Nearly a year ago, I divided a paper into 2 columns entitled "Who I Used To Be" and "Who I am Now" (give it a rest you cognitive behaviorists ... I know those headings are misnomers & that who I AM has not fundamentally changed). It was hard to swallow. Self-loathing oozed from my pores. What I was looking at was the result of internalizing the hatred and cruelty of others. My new "characteristics" seemed to scream, "If everyone is going to treat me like a worthless piece of garbage not worthy of respect...I may as well become it!!"

It looked a WHOLE lot like surrender.

My full comment as posted under "Shame and Setbacks:"

"i - literally - can't even tell u how much i relate to everything u wrote, ESPECIALLY paragraph #4. i get SOOOO ashamed and disgusted with myself, i regret any commitment i make when i'm feeling a little better, because inevitably the time comes and i just don't want to go out and be a member of the human race.

what i hate most: this is the complete opposite of the person i used to be. the dependable, responsible one. the one you can count on. now, i don't want anybody to count on me for anything, or i will disappoint them AND myself.

grief/loss on top of depression is what put me over the top 3 years ago.

ur right, it all becomes one and the same; a big blur of pain.

i'm filled with fear at the moment, because i accepted a job the other day. just a part-time seasonal gig. it's the only interview i've made it to recently; the others have been no-shows and, like u, i just can't even deal with how bad i am making myself look so i usually don't cancel. i end relationships because i feel like all i do is let people down. i HATE this. i hate myself for being like this. anyway, i am afraid i can't even handle this dumb job or the possibility that - once again - i won't make it out of bed in the morning to get there and the self-loathing will overflow once again...

‎"There are four ways you can handle fear. You can go over it, under it or around it. But if you are ever to put fear behind you, you must walk straight through it. Once you put fear behind you, leave it there."

grief is misery; sometimes u gotta just lean into the pain instead of resisting it because "What we resist persists." eventually, if we're lucky, we come out the other side...

it is hard to try and show yourself the same compassion that you would extend any other person in your situation. i mean, really: ARE u a horrible person? do u deserve what ur going through? i can think of some pretty terrible people, and i doubt u fall into that category."

As I wrote before in this post about the revelation I had the night in Nashville when I came close to annihilating my existence on this planet ---

The question I have to answer every single minute of every single day: Who is going to win - the people who have treated me like sh*t in this life, who don't give a damn if I live or die - or the people who love me [and...am I one of them]?????

Hatred is a strong sentiment, after all. To wind up in the category of people so despicable as to deserve hatred is really quite reprehensible. I feel ashamed. Not just of things I have done, but of who I am. My very being.



"I will go down with this ship
And I won't put my hands up and surrender
There will be no white flag above my door
I'm in love and always will be"

“You’re only as sick as your secrets” – Ashley Judd plays the role of Helen TOO well . . .

I’d love to spill *all* million thoughts I have about the release of Helen, but I’ll settle for expressing my gratitude to Sandra Nettelbeck for having the courage to make this film, a 10-year process she describes in this Huffington Post interview. Despite the movie’s leap from Sundance straight to DVD, the very fact that this taboo subject matter is seeing the cinematic light of day gives me hope that the door to increased understanding has been opened. The movie will strike a chord deep in the souls of all who have suffered the torment of their inner demons as it explores “this extraordinary nightmare of the mind from inside.” Nettelbeck bravely assumed the task of telling the tale of suicidal depression from the point of view of the person afflicted. Yes, we glimpse the devastating impact on everyone around Helen, but it’s not often a movie portrays the depth of despair the sufferer is undergoing. Having lost her own childhood friend to suicide, Nettelbeck undoubtedly sought to do justice to the fragility of human life, and Helen’s poignantly disturbing denouement attains the intense realism she strove for.



Just a few of the dynamics at play in Helen which resonated with me:


• Rage. NO ONE will control your decisions. If nothing else, you will live and die on your own terms.


• “I want you to GO!” Pushing away the very people we, in fact, wish would never let us go. Every relationship is tested to its limits in pushing ‘unconditional love’ to the brink.


• Ambivalence. You’re always teetering on the verge, wanting death as little as you want life.


• Destruction. As Judd portrays so well, self-indulgence in the compelling urge to destroy yourself and everything around you is sometimes overpowering.


• Impulsivity. Hair trigger. Any little thing or - more importantly – *nothing in particular* could send you over the edge . . . and that is terrifying to loved ones.


• Flight risk. At any given moment you might up and leave. Because you can. You are done staying in places you don’t want to be.


There comes a point when there’s nowhere left to run or hide. Believe me, I have done both for as long as possible . . . nearly three years to be precise. The choice to “get busy living, or get busy dying” cannot be interminably dodged.


Helen can’t give us the “why” or “how” or "cure" of depression – as those answers remain elusive to researchers, psychiatrists, counselors, and sufferers alike – but its authenticity hit home enough to make me want to own my life again (as if I ever had a choice). Judd reminded me that the only thing that can save us – if anything can – is honesty. She has spent time in the grips of severe depression herself (see her interview here), and I look forward to her upcoming autobiography with great anticipation. “Her no-holds-barred portrayal brought me closer than was comfortable to feeling what it must be like to be severely depressed.” --Read Joseph Smigelski’s full review here, along with a Q & A with Judd.

Listen to "No Place to Fall" from the soundtrack:
(featuring Norah Jones of The Little Willies)

“If I had no place to fall 

and I needed to

could I count on you

to lay me down…”

This, too, shall pass?

"God never gives us more than we can handle."

"What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger."

“This, too, shall pass.”

"Just think positive; pull yourself out of it."

"Everything happens for a reason."

But what if there really was no good reason for us to feel this way? And the pain never truly passed, but instead infiltrated every aspect of our personalities until we couldn’t remember who we used to be back when something meant something to us? What if our bodies turned into living, breathing evidence betraying the fact that we could not, in fact, handle it? And what if, in the end, we became deadened, weakened versions of who we used to be? Finally…what if we spat those clichés back into the face of the morons spewing them out in some misguided attempt to comfort us through our dark times?!

Oops, was that harsh? Well, if you’re the type of person who is prone to remarks like “Jesus can save you,” you will find this blog mightily irreverent; please read no further. If, on the other hand, you fear you may one day smack the shit out of somebody who utters one of the aforementioned clichés, read on!

If you can relate to these sentiments, you are probably sick to death of people who are quick to offer advice and render judgment, and slow to really listen when understanding is what you truly need. It’s easy to dispense solutions when you’re not the one wanting to kill yourself every day. What’s hard is to simply be there for another human being.

I am not writing this blog because I have the answers to everyone’s problems. I can’t pull anyone else out of a place I often can’t climb out of myself. I can, however, attempt to offer this forum as a source of support for anyone who has suffered from depression or suicidal tendencies. Because the truth is, many people simply don’t understand this scary, taboo subject. Suicide is a concept most people cannot get their heads around. If life has never brought you to your knees, what could you know of suffering?

I know firsthand what it’s like to have to pretend for everyone else’s sake, to put on the happy face in order to live up to others’ expectations, to hold it all inside so that nobody has to worry about a problem they can’t solve for you. For these reasons, I need a place where I can express what I really think and feel, without the fear of judgment.

Maybe you do, too.

Join me in the attempt to “step down from the ledge,” so to speak. Let’s get through one day, one hour, one minute at a time and live to see what tomorrow brings. Even if we think we already know it’ll only be more suffering.

"Tell your truth. You never know who you'll set free."