Depression is for REAL

It's hard to know where to begin this post. It has been so long since I have written that I feel like something in me was lost. The ground I had covered in this grieving process began to fall away and I lost my footing. I thought I had come so far, but I was thrown backwards with the realization that I was merely avoiding my grief in many ways. I was failing to confront it and acknowledge its existence. So here I am, almost nine months later, finally admitting that I need help.

Grief is such a multi-faceted thing. Each view offers a different perspective, and no two people experience grief the same way. The awful thing about grief is it keeps coming back, like waves that never cease. It washes ashore all this ugly debris that you didn't know could ever exist. Not only did I have to grieve the loss of our son, but I had to deal with "life" and it has gotten mucky. After many months of not being able to find my way out of the pit I was in, I came to realize that I was indeed suffering from depression.

Months ago, I began to notice little things: I was unable to focus, I forgot everything. Bills didn't get paid on time, laundry was left half-done, we missed scheduled events, and I wandered around the house half-finishing every chore. At the end of each day, I felt defeated. I looked around and it seemed as if I had accomplished nothing. Playing with the kids became a task that I just couldn't handle.

I also began dealing with much bigger issues. Panic attacks became a reality for me. I couldn't handle being around pregnant women or tiny babies. The sound of their crying did something to me that I can't quite explain. I began to avoid some places for a fear that I would have to run away crying, unable to catch my breath. I became very irritable, and I'm sad to say that my family received the brunt of my attitude. Every little thing the kids did drove me crazy and there were days that I couldn't stand to be around them. On top of all this, I felt socially isolated. All I thought about was Thatcher. Every moment of the delivery and his life played on a continuous loop in my mind. I desperately wanted to talk about him. Perhaps it was because I was afraid I would forget something. Friendly chats about anything else became painful to endure.

For months I tried to make do with detailed to-do lists. I broke the most basic tasks down to simple steps and I was meticulous to check off each item as I finished. I set timers for myself to accomplish tasks, including playing with the kids. I retreated from time to time (sometimes I escaped to the car for some quiet). But, after a week full of tears, what I was doing wasn't helping...I was stuck.

Last week, I decided this needed to end. Not my grieving, but my depression and self-pity. I wanted out of this pit. I love my son so deeply, but I know that he wouldn't want me living this way. I went to my doctor and discussed a plan. I am so grateful to have a support system of friends, family, and doctors that have my back. The devil will use everything in his bag of tricks to bring me down, but I refuse to let him win this battle. I know the me I used to know has been forever changed, but I long to find a new me. I long to  once again see the joy in the day-to-day.

"Count is all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you my be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing." 

James 1:2-4 (ESV)