I am anxious, hear me roar!

Today, I did something I never thought I would do in my whole life. Coming from a family prone to depression, I always thought, in the back of my mind, I might have to some day face the facts that I may too have depression at one point or another. But after losing my mom and aunt within the same six months, I guess I've come to it honestly. Ahh, the silver lining.

Hello, Celexa, new friend! A half a tab of you every day is just what the doctor ordered.

Truth be told, I'm not your standard depressed gal. No crying, no over-eating, no woe-is-me. I have my good and bad days, justified by the pains of missing my mom something terrible. I think it's a legitimate reason to be sad, and I let myself be sad and then move on. No problem there. My doctor agrees.

But. On what feels like a constant basis, I am overwhelmed by eminent doom. This, of course, is not normal. My doctor agrees.

You would be amazed at how many terrible pictures, frightening scenarios, and horrific images pace through my mind during the day. Just in my hour-long stand-up meeting at work every morning, I can go through about twenty different ways my husband might die on his way to work.

It's not on purpose. I don't want it to happen. And I try to make it stop.

Most people in our meetings completely zone out. But not me. I intently pay attention, so closely, in fact, that I can practically repeat everything they are saying. Word for word. Just so I won't be conscious of the worries and fears that are racing through my brain at that moment.

I worry about being shot at a gas station. I'm scared my husband will slip on some rogue black ice during his morning commute. I have dreams about my residents dying in horrific ways, and I replay the images of my mom, so sick and so pitiful looking, imposed on their faces. I'm almost embarrassed by this. I wish my brain wouldn't do this, and I wish there was some way to control it.

Between tons of water, exercise, cooking, writing, spending time with family, working, and vitamins....I thought something might help my brain and make these images go away. But whether I'm asleep or awake, they are there. Hollywood should hire me to think of scary movies....they would make some pretty good ones with me on their side!

When someone throws a cigarette out of their car, I actually flinch. Images go through my mind of that cigarette jumping up from the pavement and into my car's underside...and blowing up. Good lord. I need help.

Well, help came today in the form of a tiny pink tablet and a few gulps of water. I am told by my doctor that this "eminent doom" thing isn't ok and is a form of anxiety and that this medicine is very good for that. Despite the stigma that unfortunately often comes with taking an antidepressant, I feel as though taking care of myself and not feeling so scared all the time outweighs the judgments I may receive. You judge me...you can suck it, alright?

But why is there such a stigma with antidepressants anyway? It is one of the most common medications being prescribed and one of the most common "diseases" today, and more people than you would probably ever realize are on them. I can't imagine why people would be judged for taking an antidepressant. What is wrong, I ask you, with accepting that you need help and having the guts to ask for it? Nothing. In fact, I think it's noble. I have known several people, my mom included, who would not, no matter what, take them for fear of what people may think. We are granted a short time on this Earth, and walking around with a rain cloud over our heads or peeking around every corner for a blood-thirsty zombie isn't worth it. It's time we accept our need for help and the chemical imbalance in our brains. It's time we start taking those freshly-prescribed antidepressants that have been sitting on the kitchen counter for a week without being looked at...by "we," of course, I mean me.

It's time we face the facts and do something good for ourselves! Get off those couches and march straight to your doctor!

I am anxious, hear me roar!

Missing teeth and a hunchback?!

I have had such a hard day today, and I'm totally caught off guard by it. It came from out of nowhere. I've been fine, really feeling good lately with everything, although my mom has been on my mind more than normal since the holidays are coming soon. Christmas is ten days away, and I'm definitely feeling the massive hole in my life. She is everywhere I turn.

Today I had an uncomfortable discussion with a person in my life that I wish would be more in my life but has created a totally different life for themselves after mom died. And I am feeling the repercussions from it. A lot.

I'm not sure why, but after my mom died, literally within minutes of her last breath, my self-esteem took a serious downward turn. I don't know why. I've never been that person who walks around thinking they can do anything a thousand times better than anyone else, but I at least was confident in myself and comfortable in my own skin to just be me. Since she's been gone, I have felt the complete opposite and almost like I'm not worth anything. Why take vitamins? Why put on makeup? That sort of thing. And as unhealthy as that is, and as much as I know better than this, it's how I feel. And I can't shake it.

I recently went on a birth control shot that severely altered my hormones and left me, all said and done, twenty pounds heavier (despite running two miles nearly everyday when I started taking it) and with horrible adult acne. As if I didn't feel bad enough about myself with the loss of my mom, now I look like this? It's been really tough to be me, and to look at me, and to know that I have no control over what is happening to me. For a perfectionist-dietitian-runner who likes to take care of herself, this has been an extremely huge adjustment, to say the least.

So now, off the shot, while I'm "waiting it out" for the hormones to leave my body and let me be, I am struggling with how terrible I feel about myself combined with my confidence issues I have inherited since losing my mom all rolled together with the approach of Christmas. Holy. Crap.

I don't turn on lights when I walk into a room, I avoid mirrors, I can't fit into my work clothes comfortably, and I am really having a tough time. When I get really down like this, mostly after conversations with that person I wish would make more of an effort to be in my life but does just the opposite...I go into this negative downward spiral. "What's next? Missing teeth and a hunchback?!" Really. That's what goes on in my brain.

How terribly negative. And how disappointing. I barely recognize myself anymore and this person that I've become. Maybe not "become," but the person I currently am. This is not who I wish to end up as, nor is it the person I will become. I won't. I won't let it happen.

But I'm starting to think I can't fix it on my own. Between antibiotic lotion for my face plus an oral antibiotic, working out, eating mostly fruits and vegetables during the day, drinking tons of water, and seeing a counselor...shouldn't something give somewhere along the way?

I guess not. I guess I need something else to help.

I called my Aunt Janny tonight to tell her what happened earlier today and to discuss what I've been struggling with. We have had the same conversation over and over again, but tonight seemed a little more serious. I cried harder than I've cried in a long time, and felt, for the first time in a long time, like I couldn't help myself and I had nowhere to turn. I told her I didn't know what to do for myself.

She was crying and her nose was stuffy. "I don't doe, baby, I just don't doe."

Tonight, I do not feel hopeful. Tonight, I do not feel as though I have any self-worth. Tonight, I feel like I can't move on without my mom. Tonight, all I can picture myself doing tomorrow is laying in bed all day.

This, folks, I believe is called "Depression."

The good thing that comes from all of this is that I felt really good after I talked to my Aunt Janny, and truly, it feels good to get things like this off my chest and to get some reassurance that I'm not doing anything wrong, or feeling anything wrong. These days, I doubt myself quite often.

I work at a nursing home and I love (love, love, love!!!) my residents. I have written about one in particular that melts my heart on a daily basis and I have dubbed her lovingly as "Gunna Gunna." From my previous post you may remember that Gunna Gunna can literally only say the word "Gunna," brought on by a terrible stroke. But she is the most wonderful, most lovable woman and despite her limited means of communication, she says more than most. I just love her to death. With Christmas coming, a "wish list" has been posted of what the residents would like for the holidays, with the expectation that the managers at work will purchase some of them.

What in the world does this have to do with depression, you ask?

Well, I know for me at least, doing something nice for someone else really makes me happy. Gunna Gunna wants a sweater or a glove/hat set for Christmas. You better believe that after a night like tonight, Gunna Gunna is going to get that sweater and her gloves and hat....and a box of Twinkies.

Welcome to Heaven

I haven't written in such a long time, mostly because my thoughts and feelings tend to be the same these days. I am not as much of a roller coaster anymore, but rather I have found a steady pace. My thoughts are often with Karyssa, who has come out of her coma and is participating in intensive therapy up at the Cleveland Clinic to regain her normal life again. And they are often with my Aunt Polly, wondering if she's met Princess Diana and Mother Theresa yet up in Heaven. But mostly, they are with my mom, wishing nearly every hour of my waking life that I could see her again and trying to heal my heart slowly but surely.

At first, when people told me that "time heals all," I wanted to scream and yell and cry, knowing that all I cared about was turning back time to when my mom was cancer-free. But, believe it or not, as hard as I resisted it, this saying is very, very true. While I am still not the same, and I will probably never be the same, I feel different. Better--no, not yet. But different. I feel like some of the weight has been lifted, and slowly, with every day, it lifts a little more. There are days where all I can do is think of her, but sure enough, those days don't hold as much sadness as they used to. In the back of my mind, though, my thoughts are always with her and if she's missing me like I miss her.

Tonight, however, they are also with someone very special to me. My dear friend at work has had a very similar life to mine, although we are separated in age by several years. I am as old as her oldest daughter, but we get along very well and have bonded over our stories. Like mine, her family has suffered several great losses and has battled cancer over and over. She has lost two children, her husband is a cancer survivor as is her oldest daughter. When I first shared my story with her, we bonded right away as she opened up to me as well. I have been thinking of her a lot lately.

Her 49-year old sister is dying of cancer. They were informed of her diagnosis (and prognosis) just two weeks ago. After becoming incontinent and paralyzed from the waist down, a few tests showed that cancer was wrapped around her lower spine, in most of her organs and originated, they believe, from her lungs. A very rare cancer that occurs in women typically in their 40s.

Her life expectancy at that point was only a few weeks. It has been two weeks since they found out.

She is now on hospice and was sent home with my friend, who is a nurse. I question this choice, and at the same time, I understand it. That struggle between wanting to be there at every second, to savor every last drop while fearing the worst with every minute that passes. I get it.

I wanted to be by my mom's side at all times, knowing full well that what I was seeing, smelling, hearing...would haunt me forever.

I do not want this for Cheryl. She has had enough. Why is this happening to her again?

Sometimes, and many times, I wonder who came up with the saying "God only gives you what you can handle." How many times can you suffer these types of things before you break? Are we supposed to be pushed to our breaking point? Who is in control of all of this, and does He actually know what our breaking points are? Or is it all just a guessing game?

When do we get to hold up our white flags and surrender? Is that even an option?

I am very sad for my friend tonight, especially after seeing her today for the first time in two weeks. Two weeks ago, we went to a friend's wedding from work as "dates," laughing and having fun together, not knowing that in just several days her whole life would change and she would receive the news that her sister was dying of cancer. Today, she tried to be brave and come in to work. She lasted a couple of hours and went home. She was crying a lot, and her face was all red and she looked so different. Cheryl is usually very bubbly and such a joy to be around, and today, she didn't even feel like the same person. She is so sad. It was very hard to see her like that.

After many unreturned phone calls and much worrying, I was so excited to see her today that I wrapped my arms around her and held on really tight. She cried and apologized for not calling me back: "I'm too afraid to call you because I don't want to upset you. This is too close to home for you."

Good Lord. Who worries about someone else besides themselves and their family at a time like this? Cheryl. She would. I couldn't believe it. I just hugged her a little more and told her not to worry, that I just wanted to check up on her and she didn't have to call back if she didn't want to.

I do wish she would call me though. I can identify, and while other people would struggle with what to say, I know how it feels, and I get it. But I understand, because I didn't want to talk to anyone either.

My only hope for her at this point is that her sister goes to Heaven in the most comfortable, painless way and that she is welcomed safely by members of her family who have passed before her. I hope that when this time comes, she is surrounded by her loved ones, especially Cheryl, and that she is not scared. I am sure, at such a young age, there are many things she has not done in her life that she would like to do, but for the things she has accomplished, I hope that she enjoyed them and will never forget them up until her last breath.

Even though my mom and my Aunt Polly have never met Cheryl's sister, I like to think they are hearing my prayers to them...my request to welcome her safely and lovingly into Heaven. If her sister is even one ounce of all the amazing things Cheryl is, she deserves to be welcomed in such a way. Thinking of this brings a little smile to my face, knowing how unbelievably different my mom and Aunt Polly were and their "styles" for showing someone around Heaven. I can see my mom take Cheryl's sister by the hand and calmly and quietly explain to her what's happening and where she is and that she shouldn't be scared. I can almost hear her voice as she says, "There is nothing to be afraid of Honey. It's all over now."

Then I think of my Aunt Polly, who would probably be a little tired of my mom's "sugar coated" version and she would cut straight to the point: "Listen. You're not in pain anymore. You're in Heaven now. I know it's tough to be away from your family, and you are going to miss them, but you will see them again, ok? I promise. You wanna go meet Elvis?"

I can totally picture it. And I hope this is how it happens for me too.