Dealing with episodes

I'm currently in the midst of an anxiety episode. It sucks. I'm not going to go into the details of what triggered it here. But I'm trying to pull myself out of it, especially since I'm at work. 

What I'm going to say applies to me only. I can't vouch for anyone else. But if you see me noticeably upset, the best thing you can do is give me distance. Don't check on me. Don't try to "fix it." If I say I don't want to talk, I'm not joking. I don't want to talk. Don't push the issue. When I'm ready to talk I will. Otherwise I'm just going to get more upset. There is already a cacophony going on in my head. Please don't add to it. 

I decided to remove myself from the situation. I'm using my lunch break to take a walk, even though it is really freaking cold out today. And I'm writing here, which always makes me feel better. Mine is an ugly truth but it's my truth. I'm just trying to take things minute by minute. 

Maintaining motivation with depression

Let's just get one thing out, right off the bat. I have no answers on how to do this. This is my current struggle. And it has me feeling pretty down. 

I've talked a little about my weight loss journey. Between December 2013 and June 2015, I lost 106 pounds. I did it through a combination of diet and exercise. "The right way" is how people respond when I tell them about my journey. People tell you a lot of things when you lose weight. Sometimes it feels good. Sometimes it feels bad. I've been told I can dress better now. I've had guys come out of the woodwork and express interest in me. I've gotten the "I didn't recognize you!" so very many times. My favorite is, "you can find a man now!" It kind of fucked with my head. 

When you're the fat girl, and also an extrovert, you know you can't lead with your looks. For me, it was learning as much as possible, developing a wide variety of interests, and having an excellent sense of humor. If I could wow people with my personality, it wouldn't matter that I was fat. This is both a blessing and a curse. It's a blessing because you don't lose your personality just because you lose weight (I have BEAUTY and brains). It's a curse because you don't lose your personality just because you lose weight (I have beauty and BRAINS). You start to appreciate how shallow people really are. You start to question everyone's motivations. This especially sucks because you already don't trust people. Now you have extra reasons not to trust them. 

A significant weight loss is an extremely emotional journey. And it's for all the reasons I mention above. And it isn't that I didn't expect the response I got. It's that I wasn't prepared for how I was going to feel about those reactions. And I basically felt like these people thought I was garbage before. Did I dress so terribly? Was I not worthy of love? Was I less of a human when there was more of me?

And so, this has been a pretty significant part of my depression battle. I haven't quite come to grips with the outcome of my weightloss journey and I've struggled with the fact that key parts of that journey have left or are leaving. This month, between dealing with depression, working two jobs, starting the holidays, and facing a transition, my diet and the gym have kind of gone out the window. At first I was okay with it: I'll get my mind right and then get back into it. But as November ends I'm regretting the choices I've made. I don't feel good. I don't look good. I lack energy. And my motivation is gone. 

I'm trying to be positive. I had it before and I can get it again. But that doesn't really help in the now. 

On dealing with anxiety

I've talked mostly about dealing with depression. This is not the first time I've dealt with depression. It probably won't be the last. But I've been not depressed more than I have been depressed. Anxiety is different. I'm always anxious. And anxiety coupled with depression is an awful combination. 

When you suffer with anxiety you never feel completely at ease. You wonder if your friends really like you or if they just put up with you. You wait for the thing to go wrong. The thing could be anything and everything. It's never rational. But for the most part I've been pretty good about ignoring it or working past it. When I drive home from work and wonder if that's the night I'm going to die in a car accident, I can immediately push the thought aside. Sure, that could happen.  But what is the alternative?

I can still push that kind of thought aside with depression. It's the interpersonal stuff where it really becomes a bitch. While the anxious voice in my head wonders if my friends really like me, the depressed voice pipes in with a helpful, "Why would anyone like you? What's to like?" 

I spent an entire day at work crying recently. I had expected my boss to mention a job opening to me and he never did. Even though I wasn't sure I would have even wanted the job, I still hoped he would mention it. The voice in my head kept saying, "he thinks you're doing a shitty job. Why would he give you a different one?" It kept getting louder. And so I made sure I wouldn't get it by not applying. It turns out he was expecting me to bring it up and when I didn't, he assumed I wasn't interested. An entire day wasted, an entire day where I was a complete and utter mess because I couldn't ignore the anxious, depressed voices in my head. 

Both conditions have me at extremes. I can be withdrawn and sullen, too paralyzed by my emotions to actively participate in life. Or too afraid of what I might say and do. 

Or I blow up at people who may or may not deserve it. This happened very recently. I made someone a gift. It took me hours to do and I struggled to get it started. (To the point where I told my mother I was never going to figure it out and I shouldn't even bother because I'm a complete failure. That was a great day.) I texted this person and never got a response. I sent a list of slights that I compiled and accused the person of not giving a damn about me. And I legit felt that way. "I spent hours making something for you and you can't even bother to respond to a text message?" This is what I thought but didn't say. And when the reaction I got wasn't a straight apology, well, that pretty much sealed it. 

Now I look back and feel incredibly foolish and incredibly selfish. I didn't really lash out because of a text message. I lashed out because I feel abandoned by this person who helped me reach a seemingly impossible goal and who I'd come to rely on. And I've been dreading having to say goodbye. But these are not things you say to a person. Lashing out was way more expedient - I'll cut you off now so I don't have to deal with it later. But it feels pretty shitty. No one deserves that. 

And so my anxiety kicks in and I hear the voice again: I wonder if people actually like me or if they just put up with me. And it's impossible to ignore the other voice: Of course they don't like you. Why would they?

As I write this, one thing becomes very apparent. I still have a very long way to go. 

Wellbutrin - 1 week in and setting goals

So it's been one week since I started taking the Wellbutrin. It's still early but I have been feeling better. It may be a terrible cliché, but I do feel like the clouds have been lifted. I've felt more focused. On Wednesday I was extremely tired and a little cranky. A week earlier that kind of day would have left me wanting to cry. But I made it through the day and even got a workout in. 

Now, I'm not trying to portray myself as being miraculously cured after one week of antidepressants. Depression is a lot more complex than that. I have a lot of things to work through and it's going to be some time before I feel truly at ease. But for the first time in a while, I truly feel like I'm going to get through this. Life doesn't feel quite so daunting.

In June, after a year and a half of work, I lost more than 100 pounds. There's a lot of emotional baggage that comes with that. I tried to set a smaller weight loss goal and, as everything else came crashing down around me, it became harder and harder to reach that goal. I started binge eating. My weight increased, I stressed out more. 

It didn't help that two people who helped guide me on my weight loss journey were moving on to other things. My doctor moved to California. My trainer announced he was moving to California as well. And while I wish the best for both of them, it was hard not to feel a little abandoned. The worse my depression got, the worse I was about maintaining my diet. There was a week where I was so physically and emotionally exhausted I didn't make it to the gym at all. 

But I'm blessed with a truly amazing and inspiring support network. I told my friends I had been interested in competing in powerlifting, And they thought it was a good idea. In the span of a few days I went from lost and unsure of my next steps on my fitness journey, including who I would train with, to having a goal, a new trainer with the experience to hopefully help get me there. I'm aiming to be able to deadlift 300 pounds and compete in the spring. I haven't felt this excited about anything in quite some time and I'm especially happy to have a fitness goal that won't solely focus on weight loss.

On taking medication

I want to talk about my decision to take medication since I've received comments about it. Before starting with this therapist, I was adamantly against taking antidepressants (for myself). I battled depression in my mid-twenties and I told my, now-retired, therapist that I didn't want to take medication; I just wanted to work through it. And I did. I work in health care reform and the head of a major medical network told one of our work groups that we seek the medicinal route far too quickly. There are other non-pharmaceutical ways to recover from mental illness. And he is right. 

And so as I recognized that I was in a very bad way and needed help, I figured I would do it the same way as before: without pills. But it became pretty apparent that this time things were different. This depression was far more severe. The last time I was able to make some fairly substantial decisions and those decisions helped me on my road to recovery. This time I find myself mentally paralyzed, incapable of making decisions, unwilling to face reality, and terrified of the potential outcomes. I spent an entire day at work sobbing. I had a meltdown during a group hike. I spent an afternoon at the trampoline park sullen and alone, wondering why everyone but me was having fun. I've been miserable but unwilling or unable to take any steps to change things. And so I started to consider medication. 

I talked to the therapist about my concerns and followed up with my boss (a clinical psychologist). They told me similar things. 

1. They aren't likely to change your personality, especially the newer medications. 

2. That doesn't mean they aren't without side effects. The old school benzodiazepines can be addicting. Certain pills can cause dry mouth or weight gain. They can make you feel more depressed or worse. 

3. They might not work. Everyone is different and what works for one person might not work for another. 

4. You won't know if it works for about three weeks. 

5. Taking them doesn't have to be a permanent thing. 

Because I get more than 30 minutes a week with my boss, he was able to explain the different types of medications and the risks and benefits. He didn't make a recommendation either way. It was something I had to decide to do on my own. 

And so, I decided to see if they would help. My PCP prescribed me Wellbutrin. I read the entire warning label (fun potential side effect: you may see rainbows when looking at lights). And I've been taking them every morning. It hasn't been a full week, so it's way too soon to know if they will work. But I am hopeful. And if they don't, I can try something else. I'm trying to be open minded about the process. 

All too often we joke about people being off their meds. I'm guilty of this. It's not something to be taken lightly. There is no shame in taking something if you need it. You aren't better at recovery because you did it without meds. Mental illness is not a one size fits all situation. We all come with different experiences and different beliefs. Different things will work for different people. And hopefully, a pill, in connection with regular therapy sessions, will work for me. 

What not to say to someone with depression

Before I decided to be open with my struggle, I read a pretty good Buzzfeed article about the things you hear from people when you tell them you suffer with depression. I related to all of it.*

One of the things they didn't say in the article, but that I've been told more than once, is "Cheer up!" My first instinct is to scream at the person. But 1) I'm usually in public and not too keen on making a scene; 2) I know it's meant to be supportive. People generally want you to be happy. They don't enjoy seeing someone suffer. And a lot of times people don't understand the magnitude of the battle you are fighting. Hell, it took a pretty dark moment for me to realize just how badly I was doing. How can I expect you to know?

I don't know exactly what you could say instead that would be better. And I suppose that is the problem. We don't know what to say. But "cheer up" is about as unhelpful as it gets. Depression is not a switch we can turn on and off. My usual response has been, "I wish I could." And it's true. I wish I could just flip a switch up and feel happy and focused and energetic. But it's not that simple. And every day is different. I have days where I get up, slap my sneakers on, and run three miles. I also have days where I don't want to get out of bed. It's kind of a crap shoot. If I had my way, I would have more of the former and a lot less of the latter. Unfortunately, that isn't the case.

The article has a list of things that you can say to someone with depression and it's also pretty great. I would recommend checking it out. 

Buzzfeed: The 23 Things You Shouldn't Say to Someone with Depression

http://www.buzzfeed.com/annaborges/you-cant-just-choose-happiness?utm_term=.imYQ8WvLyp#.knqV5k0ZB

*Yes, I know people loathe the Buzzfeed listicle. I still found this one to be very helpful.

Knowing the difference

Sometimes, when I'm having a better day, I wonder if things are really as bad as I think. I was in a better mood on Wednesday and Thursday. But yesterday I found myself wanting to cry for no real reason. I was at work - not the best place for waterworks. I couldn't explain why. I still really can't. 

I made it through most of the day without crying. And then I watched the news about Paris and I couldn't hold it back anymore. (At least it was a Beyoncé cry and not a full on ugly cry.)

I was a newspaper reporter on September 11, 2001. I don't have to say what a terrible day that was. Everything I did involved the terrorist attacks. I remember going home feeling drained and wanting a brief escape from the news. There was none to be had. Every channel had switched their programming to news coverage. I remember being sad and horrified for my country. I remember feeling overwhelmed. I don't remember crying. 

I cried after Sandy Hook. But that was mostly for my friend, whose mother worked in the school. She had hid in a closet and they feared she was dead. If I had not had that connection, I probably wouldn't have cried. I would have been sad for the lives lost and the families affected. And I was. But I didn't cry until I heard from my friend. I just tend not to cry about these events, no matter how horrible. 

But yesterday was different. I felt small and helpless. I felt despair for the world. I cried.

This is how depression works. It amplifies all of your negative feelings. I was just as small and helpless on September 11 as I was on November 13. I didn't feel small and helpless on September 11 until I saw that second plane hit. Yesterday I was already feeling small and helpless. The news just made those feelings bigger and harder to ignore. That was my confirmation that, this time, things are different. 

Welcome to the abyss

I never thought I'd end up here, two weeks from my 37th birthday and feeling so lost and so sad. 

It wasn't just one thing that caused my depression. There were many things. And I've battled it before. I've been through scarier situations. I lost my dad. I braved a cancer scare. And still, I don't recall feeling as helpless as I do now. 

Depression is a thing we don't really talk about. It makes us uncomfortable. We don't want to face it. We don't know how. You express your sadness and you are greeted with a million platitudes, all meant to make you feel better. But they rarely do. 

I am taking steps to regain control. I started seeing a therapist two weeks ago. On Wednesday, after some thought, I started taking antidepressants. There's a chance the medication won't work but I'm hopeful that it will. I'm hopeful I will feel like myself again. 

Today I decided to do what people don't like to do: talk about my depression and anxiety and my attempt to work through them. Maybe it will help me deal with my feelings. Maybe it will help someone else feel like they aren't alone. But I know one thing. The more we talk about it, the better off we'll all be.