depression, Motivation

Crutches

We all need crutches from time to time, but it seems like people that need crutches because of depression get stigmatized more.

Sometimes it’s the little things that are the most difficult for me. It’s the every day decisions. For example, when you think about making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, you probably think about getting the bread, jelly, peanut butter, and a knife to whip it together.

For me, making that same sandwich means walking into the kitchen. Open the fridge and grab the jelly. Walk to the cabinet, open the door and grab the peanut butter. Walk to the other cabinet, open it and grab bread. Walk to the drawer, pull it open and grab a butter knife. Walk to yet another freaking cabinet, open the door and grab a plate. Set everything down on the counter.

Do you see where I’m going with this? I hope so because those instructions are overwhelming me and I’m just typing them.

When a person without depression looks at tasks, they take a lot of steps for granted, which makes it look simple. As a person that has major depressive disorder, my brain creates at least five times the number of steps. If you throw in decisions like which type of jelly… I’m done.

Do you walk up to a person with a cane in the parking lot to tell them that it’s so easy to walk from the car to store without a cane? I hope you don’t. So when you know someone suffers from Depression, try to avoid phrases like “but it’s so easy if you just” or “you don’t need all of that. Just…”

anxiety, depression, emotions

Functional

I am functional in many ways. I have been most of my life. I’m a functional alcoholic. For most of my life I had functional depression. I was great in school and at the top of my class. I was going to be a nuclear engineer. When that didn’t work out, I went into retail. I worked my way up the ladder over the years and was very successful in my stores.

Nobody really knew what was happening in my head. I was moody or sad. I was emotional or distant. I was shy or unfriendly. But in reality, I was suffering from depression. People couldn’t tell because I was so good at masking it and I was successful.

That all changed a few years ago. My walls starting crumbling faster than I could rebuild them. My success was starting to falter. My skills were becoming dull. My bed and my bottle were becoming my sanctuaries. All of the tricks that I learned in my life to mask and deal with my depression were failing me. I was failing. My career was failing. This was a new dimension that I had never dealt with.

I now know that my depression worsened. I was no longer suffering from functional depression. I was becoming less functional in everything. I was suffering from MDD (major depressive disorder). I was trapped in the walls of my mind that my depression built. Instead of my containing it, it was now the key master. I was the one being contained. My cage was a fiery pit while my body continued on throughout the day. People noticed that something was different, but my depression was able to fool even the best ones.

I ended up in therapy because the idea of being on medication for my whole life was too much to fathom. I was young. I didn’t want to be involved with anything until death. Well, except my husband of course. So I did therapy. It helped. I became functioning again, but not for long. After a couple of years, my walls keeping me prisoner were thicker, taller, and stronger than ever. I needed help and I couldn’t talk my way out of it this time. I couldn’t snark or schmooze my way past this gatekeeper.

Drugs have helped, of course, but I don’t know if I will ever get back to being fully functional again. I think the MDD is here to stay this time. I think I have a new companion for life, but at least I have my husband as well. I guess you could say that we are in a thruple, for better or worse.

Hopefully for better.