Today I am doing something that scares me...

Today I am doing something that scares me.  Something I don’t really want to do, but also something that I know needs to be done.  Today I admit that I struggle with depression, and I do this in hopes that I can raise even just a little bit of awareness for mental illness, and in some small way, fight the stigma that has plagued it for years.  This is my story…

For as long as I can remember I’ve been a high-achiever, a Type A personality, and a self-proclaimed pessimist.  In some ways these attributes have benefited me; I graduated high school in the top three percent of my class, got a full-ride scholarship to a prestigious private school, and graduate with Honors and my Bachelor’s degree in Nursing at 22.  But in a lot of ways, those traits were what were eating away at me on the inside.

Though I graduated near the top of my class in high school, I would beat myself up for any grade less than an “A,” even if that grade was an “A-.”  I’d tell myself I was stupid, or that I wasn’t good enough.  This continued through college (though my standard did go down a bit and an “A-“ became acceptable).  I would berate myself for not achieving my idea of excellence, and every little word I said to myself or nasty thought I had about myself slowly began to erode at my already fragile mental state.  But I was in denial, at least subconsciously.

All throughout high school and college I coped fairly well with my negative thoughts, maybe it’s simply because I was so preoccupied with life and all my demands pulling me in different directions that I was able to bury them somewhere deeper.  I had more pressing concerns at the time.  But then I graduated from college, commissioned in the Army, and moved to Germany.

The dream, right?  I mean, who wouldn’t want to live in Germany for a few years?  Even I thought I wanted to initially.  But life for me in Germany wasn’t what I imagined it would be.  Yes, it had its moments, I had some awesome opportunities to take care of our wounded soldiers, and I met the amor de mi vida (that may be incorrect Spanish, but I thought I’d try), and these things I wouldn’t change for the world.  Things were overall manageable, and I adjusted decently well.

But then, when I started experiencing back pain in January of 2013 that later progressed to a chronic, seemingly untreatable condition, I began to fall apart.   I was operated on in February of 2014 after multiple failed attempts at alternative pain management for my back.  I was so optimistic that I would be relieved of my pain after the surgery; I truly believe I had myself convinced that it was going to change everything, and for a short time, it did.  But with very limited time off work and jumping straight into full-time nursing shortly after surgery, my back pain returned, and I was forced to accept that this would possibly be something I would have to live with forever.  For me, this was devastating.  I felt defeated, heart-broken, and mentally and physically exhausted.  I was drained emotionally and couldn’t cope with even the smallest of issues.

All of my symptoms of depression were further exacerbated when I began having a slew of other health problems and the Army denied curtailment for my husband to come back to the States with me when I PCSd (AKA moved).

I became a person I never want to be again.  I became miserable, short-tempered, and angry.  I knew I needed help.  So I started seeing Behavioral Health, a HUGE, but necessary step towards recovery.  I met with both a social worker and a psychiatrist.  I remember talking with the psychiatrist, and he looked at me and said, “Don’t feel bad.  You’re sick, and it’s not your fault.  Just like someone else can’t help having cancer, you can’t help being depressed.”  Hearing that was a relief!  I already knew what he was telling me, but I needed it to be reinforced.  Mental illness, like anything else, often has a genetic component, and is more often than not an imbalance of neurotransmitters.  Would we fault someone for having low thyroid levels or a high white blood cell count?  Surely most would answer no to that.  Yet we criticize and think down on those suffering from mental illness.

Having lived through depression and come out on top, I can say from personal experience that mental illness is debilitating.  It has the power to kill.  It’s awful and no one would ask to have it.

So for those struggling with depression or mental illness of any kind, don’t be too proud to ask for help.  Yes, admitting you need help is scary, and it makes you feel vulnerable, but I promise you that the rewards at the end make it all worth it.

And for close friends and family members of those hurting and struggling, please know that it’s not you causing the problem.  We want nothing more than to be happy with you, and we’ll get there with a little patience, a lot of love, and the professional help we need.

 So let’s make a change.  Instead of degrading those with mental illness, let’s support them.  Let’s tell them how much they’re loved and that what they’re experiencing is okay.  Mental illness is just that, an illness, it’s not a disease, and it’s time to stop treating it that way.

And just when you think all hope is lost...

Today I touched my toes.  Well, I almost touched my toes.  If I stretched really a lot and did a little damage to my hamstrings I touched my toes.  Which is, like, HUGE for me since I could barely reach past my knees after surgery!  I also consumed my body weight in Girl Scout Cookie ice cream, which is also huge for me, but in totally different, much less pleasant way.

Anyway, I’m writing today because I had an epiphany.  I was at work today preparing someone for surgery and going over all her paperwork with her, and consequently, this patient was having the exact same procedure I had.  I mentioned this to her, and she, clearly nervous, racked my brain for a solid 20 minutes with questions.  And then she asked me, “Did it help?”  My gut reaction was to say “No!  Run, and run fast (except for don’t really run since you are here because of a broken back, after all).”  But I stopped myself because I realized that it’s been about two weeks for me ALMOST pain free – to expect 100 percent relief from back pain I do believe, is unrealistic (and as a disclaimer, I’m still hesitant to even say all of this because I know how fickle my back can be, and being a bit superstitious, I don’t want to jinx it).  So I went on to tell the patient my experience, truly in hopes that she would have a better initial experience than I did, but preparing her for what might lie ahead.  And then when she left my office, I sat back and said a little prayer of thanks.

I am a self-proclaimed pessimist at times, and a skeptic most of the time.  So I had deep-rooted doubts that I would ever get better; doubts that I’m still dealing with, but am working on.  But these past couple of weeks have given me hope.  Hope that someday I might run again, and that someday, back pain won’t control me.  I am so very thankful for this! 

Hope is something I haven’t felt in a long time, and I’ve gotta say, it feels pretty dang good!

Because Sometimes When it Rains, It Pours

I’ve been working on this blog post for a long time.  It has been written and re-written, but I was just never satisfied with it; I felt like I wasn’t really articulating how I was feeling.  Then I realized why.  In my attempt to color my recent surgery and chronic back pain as a blessing in disguise (which, admittedly, I really believed it was for about the first six months), it’s like I didn’t want to acknowledge that maybe what I was really feeling weren’t things most people want to hear, and even more, weren’t things I wanted to hear.

I so badly wanted to write that the surgery I had would be worth it; that I would miraculously be cured of the back pain that had become limiting in so many aspects of my life, and I even tried to write a whole blog post saying that’s what happened.  But it didn’t.

For over a year I’ve been dealing with chronic low back and leg pain that has kept me from doing so many of the things I love.  I stopped running, stopped going to movies, and on certain occasions even isolated myself from my friends because I was in too much pain to do things with them.

I searched for the magic cure, I tried everything, even a huge surgery that I was thoroughly convinced would work.  But here I sit today struggling with the same symptoms I had before the surgery, trying to rationalize that I made the right decisions, that even though it seems as if the surgery may not have worked, I did everything within my power to be the active, 20-something person I was before all of this.

Since the recurrence of my symptoms, I’ve found myself in a seemingly perpetual state of anxiety and stress.  I blame myself for not doing enough research, for possibly missing a key piece to the puzzle, and for subjecting myself willingly to a fairly invasive surgery.  I wake up most days and want to kick myself for my stupidity, but instead I carry on, pretending towards most people like I’m fine.  Which is okay.  Kind of.  Until you begin to internalize all the awful things you’ve said to yourself and truly start to believe that what you’re feeling isn’t rational.  But you know what?  It is.

So today I acknowledge that I’m struggling.  That it’s okay to ask “Why me?” on occasion.  And that feeling defeated, angry, and frustrated are all acceptable emotions to experience.  Maybe it’s being able to acknowledge these feelings that allows us to heal and move on.  And maybe it’s being able to acknowledge these feelings that finally does allow us to say that our struggles and trials are a blessing in disguise.

I don’t believe we’re ever given more than we can handle, and I do believe that our struggles can make us stronger, better people; but not if we can’t go through the necessary stages of grief, ultimately to come to acceptance, and maybe even appreciation.

It’s possible that some people would look at my situation and think, “Come on, back pain?  That’s not a big deal at all.”  And I’m okay with people thinking that, because ultimately our perception - not others’ perceptions - of our trials is what matters the most.  Right now I may not appreciate everything I’ve been through, but I hope that in some way, finally expressing – and to a certain extent validating – that it’s okay to struggle, will help me in my healing, even if it’s not on a physical level.  I want to look back on this experience and feel that it has been a blessing.  I want to be truly happy in all aspects of my life.  Because after all, I think Gordon B. Hinckley had it right when he said, “Life is to be enjoyed, not just endured."