Why Share my Story Anyways?

Find your inner child and nurture it to wholeness

If someone looked at my Facebook page, they would see a lot of my blog entries discussing depression. They might wonder if this is all that I care about, it's definitely not.  I love spirituality, art, nature, my family and friends and finding community.  I especially love discovering the sacred realities and interconnectedness of people and nature that underline all of life.

Why do I feel the need to keep sharing about depression, inspite of all the beauty in my world?

I advertise March of the Penguins to people on my FB page that I've only met a handful of times, people that I do not talk to on a regular basis, friends from back in the day that I share very little in common with, and people that just added me as a friend.

I wonder, do these "strangers" think it's weird that I keep posting this stuff about depression?

DO they secretly complain about it, in the same way cynical people complain about silly animal videos? Do they judge me unfavourably? 

Maybe they do…I don't know, I don't get much feedback from my writing.  All I know is 1200 people have read my blog and that's huge, because that means a lot of people feel the way I did when I found Therese Borchard's Blog, Beyond Blue.  For once, I realized that if a smart, attractive woman with her PHD in theology struggles with depression, maybe I could cut myself some slack.  When I was feeling awful, just knowing I wasn't alone was a lifeline.

I wish March of the Penguins was abit more interactive, but the fact that all these friends and strangers keep tuning in means a lot to me.  It means that this is serious SH*T for some people, and it's a daily battle just to stay happy amiss distressing symptoms, that come with and without provocation.

Today, I am improving, because I am learning to tolerate symptoms that used to cause me to spiral downwards. Do I still feel overwhelmed and pissed off that I continue to experience suffering inspite doing my best with my lifestyle, counselling, medications etc?  Of course I do, I'm human.  I just try to hold onto self love, and the idea that I can reprogram my brain, one  day at a time.  

Its still scary thought, I don't always know if Ill be strong enough not to get sucked back down the drain.  As much as I want to take ownership for my wellbeing, this Depression is a very real thing, and even though I am responsible for doing the best I can wish what I know about staying well, I realize I'm not wired the same as other people, and that I'm way more sensitive.  I can get imbalances that I can't shake without outside interventions and that's not reality for everyone.  It's scary and awful, and for those who read this who can relate, I'm truly sorry, and I just hope you can all learn to live well and manage this beast.

I do feel better and more in control of depression when I realize feelings pass, and honour my true struggles.   This is a hard time of year for me, my Mom was really sick this time two years ago, and I ended up losing her.  Last Valentine's day I was in a horrible depression and I have haunting memories of the pain I felt throughout the day.  I'm just so grateful that I'm in a better place, and I'm determined to keep fighting for my wellbeing, one day at a time.

I've come along ways since last year, I have an amazing partner, a beautiful home, and a successful business.  I'm a talented artist, and I am finally getting back into painting.  Everyday that I wake up well enough to choose to be reasonably happy is a blessing.

 This is way I write, because I know I'm not alone, and I need to realize that this isn't my fault or a weakness, its a genuine condition, that's gonna take many miles of Penguin Marching to get used to.  It's time to stop fighting myself for having this daily battle on my hands and to keep finding ways to support myself and validate the fact that I am strong and this SH*T is real, it's not a weakness of character.

 I'm having a hard night, and would love to here some uplifting words, and ideas about how to make March of the Penguins more interactive.

Maybe I'll start with some questions?

What do you guys appreciate about my writing?

What would you like me to write about next?

Good Night All…Jeanne

My Story- Depression Introduces Its Self to Me While Tree Planting...

Me, Depressed in my early 2o's

Last post, I touched on my formative years and my foray into self abuse and alcoholism.

Tonight's post will be equally uncomfortable for me to write about, because this "condition" has stolen so much from me and I have yet to make peace with it and appreciate its presence in my life.

I even hate the word…D E P R E S S I O N.

I feel like if I say it 3 times it will appear like Bloody Mary.

But, I guess if I'm gonna have a blog about it, I gotta talk about it, so no one thinks I'm a lightweight, just spewing rainbows and sunshine, and penguin marches, with no real insight of how dark life can really be.

It struck me first when I was around 22, and went tree planting.  I told my then overbearing father to shove it, and decided firmly in my young mind I wasn't going to look to him for ANYTHING, and come hell or high water I was going to make my own money and live by my own rules.

I instantly felt very alone.  Even though the semester prior to tree planting, I was living downtown, was a regular at hip hop and rave nights, and was drinking heavily and experimenting with cocaine, I had an aversion to the other tree planters.  I had this weird jock idea (I was a college runner) that being a stoner was bad news.  Well, tree planters are a special breed.  I remember hippy men and women that didn't bathe, wore ratty clothes, played the guitar and smoked weed.  I also remember having to share hotel rooms with strangers that were much older than me, that I had nothing in common with, other than that we all had possibly the worst job on earth.

So I kept to myself.  For hours and hours alone in a barren, devastated wilderness, with a bag full of little trees.  I was going insane, obsessing about all that had gone on in my life and trying to make sense of it all.  Fear and anxiety started to take root.  Within a month, I didn't want to leave my tent, spoke to no one, and only took joy in eating the cookies they made in camp.  I was so alone and miserable, and I had lost my sense of self.  It was a frightening and depersonalizing experience.  Gone was the down for anything, good times, extroverted Jeanne.  I felt like a shell of my former self, just painfully going through the motions.  I felt like my soul was gone on vacation and I was just Jeanne's body waiting for Jeanne's spirit to return.

That's what is felt like the first time, and thats what is has felt like ever since.

I eventually came back to my Dad's house, mid August, with my head between my legs, and found very little support from my family, they pretty much told me to get over it and to stop mopping around and sleeping all day. I think my Mom thought it was serious and probably encouraged me to get help.  I went to my doctors office and got my first prescription for an ssri.  

I also started school again, which really helped.  I remember kinda feeling weird around my friends, but trying to be cool and just keeping my conversations really short in case they realized there was something wrong with me.  I went through the motions, doing my second year assignments, which at least gave me something to focus on.  (With depression, it didn't really matter if I was working, I couldn't escape the heavy, tired feeling and the constant fear that something was just not right.)

Than one day, while I was painting, I stated to actually enjoy what I was doing, and feel connected to the moment that I was experiencing, and I noticed some of the heaviness was lifting.  I used the positive  momentum to shift back to my normal self.  It's been really weird for me, it seems like the depression eventually just vaporizes and I feel like myself within a period of a day or two.

I stayed well for another 9 months, until the school year ended, and I was once again without structure or direction, and fell back into the same trap.  I remember having the hardest summer, spending hours in bed at my Mom's house and sometimes hanging out with my then boyfriend, a talented film maker, who had also experienced depression, and was ok with hanging out with me, even if I was silent and unhappy.

***

More to follow….this is hard to write because I want everything to have a positive slant…but dealing with recurrent depression is like living in your own private hell,  not the fire and brimstone type, but a silent, unchanging and seemingly never ending one…not something I would wish on anyone, and not something that any of us to do ourselves intentionally.

My story…the wounded healer…part 1

Recently, I began chatting with someone on Facebook, that was struggling with similar issues to me, depression and grief, and that sense of alienation that so many creative people can experience at times.
I was asked to share my story, and I sort of froze, because I didn't know how to proceed.
I guess they were struggling, and even though it's kind of comforting that someone talks about recovery from depression, I can relate to wanting to devour someone else's words to see if they really understand what suffering really means.

Its hard for me to write about suffering without writing about joy, because I really believe that those whose hearts and souls  have been touched with insufferable pain, have somehow made room for the heights of beauty and understanding that encompasses the human spirit.  Artists feel things deeply, they have a wider range of emotions to draw from when creating art.  I believe that all emotions come from somewhere, and that we can heal a lot of mental illness if we start to love ourselves and our feelings, instead of being upset that we're so sensitive or moody, or different.

So to help my friend, I will disclose abit about my suffering…

As a young kid, I always felt like there was something different or wrong with me, because of the reactions other kids had towards me, especially after failing kindergarden. I didn't have a great sense of self, or parents that were emotionally available enough to see how much I was suffering.  They were struggling in their marriage and busy with careers, and I didn't want to disappoint them by telling them I got picked on in school, they had enough problems. I definitely have some happy childhood memories, but there was a moody little girl brewing inside me ever since I was five years old, that would shape my view of life for years to come…. I showed my parents what they wanted to see, great student, good at art, a reasonably happy kid.  I kept up this charade until about the 7th grade, when I decided if you can't join the cool kids, be badder that they are, so that they are afraid of you and give you some respect.

This lead me down an interesting path, my wanderings between the world of the lost souls, that abuse themselves and others, and numb themselves to deal with pain and the world or high school and art college.

My one claim to fame from that time period is that I got pretty decent at graffiti, which gave me credit when I was out there getting messed up at bars and house parties.

Still the damage I did to my psyche, the abuse I went through by allowing myself to be under the influence around sick people, and the harrowingly close to death moments I faced, weren't really what I was looking for.  I was looking for myself.

Tomorrow I'll write more about my struggles with recurrent depression, how it feels, and what I have figured out so far to stay well one day at a time….