Depression is a dark, dark place. I’ve spent a lot of time there since Patrice was born, so honestly, when I am in a light place, I resist the dark, even when sharing my story might help others.
But someone’s need and fear, brought a story to mind, so I’m going to go there hoping it helps someone.
My last dive to the bottom of the depression pit was a year ago last October. I’ve had days, weeks that are off, but nothing like the pit since then. I’ve needed and gotten help, but I haven’t been on the verge of hospitalization since the end of October 2012. And yet, the memories of that time are still there.
Those days were a blur of hurt, anger and confusion. My doctor saw things had spiraled out of control. He made room in his schedule to see me as much as absolutely possible in hopes of keeping me from a fourth hospital stay.
Those hospital stays are hard. They keep you safe, but they also keep you from those you love and everything you know. I was more than willing to work my butt off on the outside, rather than face THAT again.
Honestly, the extra appoints, as appreciated as they were, didn’t seem to be helping. I remember one Sunday night fighting the demons inside. I fought so hard. I cried. I sat in the Jeep beating the steering wheel. I was e-mailing my midwife and tweeting with another bipolar mama. I was desperate. I knew my life was perfect. It was all I had ever hoped for. It was all I had ever dreamed of. It was beautiful. And I was so afraid of it. I was so afraid to go into my hubby and three children and destroy the perfect they deserved. I could not get myself out of that Jeep to walk in this house. There was talk via the electronic conversations of heading to the hospital, there were friends begging me to be wise and safe…to live.
My friend who also deals with bipolar suggested something really out of my norm. She said I should go in my house and watch Ellen Degeneres videos on YouTube. Now mind you, I don’t like that show. Never have. But I was the epitome of desperate. I waited til my family left for church, and clicked on the first video my friend suggested. I chuckled. I clicked on more videos and I laughed.
I found an opening. I found, in the midst of those ridiculous videos, hope. I found the strength to fight another round. I found the will to risk ruining all the perfect my loved ones had.
Things slowly came back together.
Lots has changed since then. I’ve become a stay-at-home, homeschooling mom. I’ve had to change doctors. There’s been medication changes. There have been rough moments, days, weeks. It hasn’t been all ease and rainbows, but there has also been hope, the will to fight.
And sometimes that is what we need. We need to fight. We need others to fight for us when our will and strength are gone.
We have to find our fight.Survive til you Thrive!