Waking Up...

Its 7:07 am, and I'm drinking coffee.  This doesn't really sound remarkable, but after 2 months of struggling to get out of bed by noon, its a small feat.  Did I do anything differently? Did I will myself out of depression?  Nope, not really.  I just woke up, realized I didn't feel nearly as burdened and decided to get up and write instead of shirking back to bed.

Depression is an epic nightmare.  The nicest people try to relate, telling you to manifest better mental health. They give you strategies for mountain climbing, which is a difficult sport, but they can't see that you have an invisible 50 pound weight attached to your back.  They see life like mountain climbing, which is tough for beginners and give you the pep talk they'd give any beginner.
They don't understand that without depression, you'd crush anything you took on, they just use their frame of reference.

They say 1 in 5 people may experience depression.  I've talked to hundreds of people and I think that's true, but I think the stats are that high because they're talking about situational depression.  You lose the career you've strived for, you lose your life partner, you are shaken to the core and you need to re establish meaning....

I think about 5-10% of people know the gut wrenching, inexplicable pain of having depression that lingers, in spite of treatment, sometimes for months, sometimes for years. An insidious all encompassing mental illness that can return with very little provocation.   There are those who tell me they get it, that it's hell in spite of everything, that it's one painful step in front of the other despite the unrelenting suffering of having a brain that isn't fully functioning and certainly isn't generating any feelings of contentment even when stimulated.  It's like looking up at the other mountain climbers, wanting to ascend but feeling unable to get anywhere substantial.  Maybe getting 10-20 feet up the wall with all the weight to constantly lose your footing in the same spot.

Today I'm still uncertain as to whether I'm getting out of the woods.  My favourite Reiki master texted me out of the blue yesterday morning and reminded me I basically have to surrender.  I've done what I can, I've sought medical treatment, tried a few alternative measures and gone to counselling.  I've shown up for my life despite all the pain it's caused me to not feel like I'm really participating.

Time and powerful concepts like surrender,  and realizing I've done everything I can, are what it takes to make things easier.  Its watching those other mountain climbers and realizing they have no frame of reference for how hard I'm struggling.  The fact that anyone with depression is even showing up despite the lack of understanding of an invisible illness is strength beyond comprehension for the average person.

Yesterday I stopped going over my treatment plan for the 10000th time.  I just gave myself credit that I wasn't being a wimp, and that it wasn't my fault that I didn't know how to get the 50 pound weight off my shoulders.  I'll do the same today, and with any luck this thing is shifting.  If not, the gift of not feeling burdened, even for a few minutes is an inexplicable comfort, and a source of strength to keep putting one foot infront of the other....

Darn I can't get past this spot.....

Am I backsliding?

I had a difficult week.  It's 3:30 on Sunday and I just got out of bed.  My whole life has become a reaction to depression, its all consuming.  Im scared I'm gonna let this continue.

My Dad got on me last week about my depression.  Told me basically I needed better help, and thought maybe I needed to go to rehab for doing ketamine at a Doctor's office.  He found me a psychologist to talk to who specializes in addiction and mental health who I ironically already see.  Looks like the universe is telling me that I'm doing my part on the whole getting help scene.  I also signed up for genetic testing for antidepressants because I've tried prozac, zoloft, select, cipralex, effexor, and cymbalta and had them stop working in 6-9 months.  So I'm either bipolar, with mostly recurrent depression,  or have super treatment resistant depression.

So the psychologist didn't have any easy answers for me either.  She told me I was doing well, because I was still landscaping, i.e. cleaning up millionaires yards, exercising, eating well etc.
She said I should pray for patience, and try to accept these downtimes as part of my life and a time of reflection. She told me staying somewhat  functional and not making things worse was winning and that I was actually doing a good job.

I guess I already knew that, but theres a little kid inside me that wants Jeanne back so bad.  She doesn't want to wait and be patient and have faith Jeanne's coming back.  After 8 weeks she wonders if my spirit is ever gonna return.  Staying in bed seems better than having to push through a difficult and troubling existence.

The hardest part of this week was doing an art market on Friday.  I actually think that set me back alot.   I had hoped I might connect to people or make some sales and I did neither.  I struggled to engage people in conversation or make eye contact.  I'd made beautiful things but it felt like my art was as dreary as I was, that it was somehow infested with depression as well.  I was so tired and discouraged I didn't return the next day.  The fact that something that made me so happy in the recent past was a source anguish and hopelessness was unbearable.

In some ways my depression is winning.  Its telling me nothing makes me feel better so why bother.  That it's better to stay in bed all day than to face another dreary day.  But maybe there was some value in giving in for awhile.  Its exhausting constantly pushing myself to do more than the minimum and keep up with my landscaping commitments.  Its awful because I don't get more than a 3% increase in mood, and it's not accumulative day in and day out.

But that 3% is worth something.  Even if my body, mind, soul are all consumed by depression, the fact that I'm rebelling enough to keep moving is winning.  I really hate schedules, but I think making one this week might be worthwhile.....I think everyday instead of sleeping 12-14 hours and working 6, I need to set up some better activities like swimming, yoga, painting etc.

When I'm doing stuff I used to love, I'll get glimpses of myself, and maybe forget I'm depressed for a minute or two as a marvel at the light dancing at the bottom of the pool, or trying to swim faster than the kids in swim club.  When I'm painting, I'll surprise myself with my ability to mix colors and manipulate space, light and shadows.

Pyschologists teach people to realize they have thought distortions, and to address them.  I used to think that if I did that, my depression would disappear.  Either I'm terrible at it, or I had the wrong objective.  Changing my thoughts doesn't get rid of my depression, because that was never the cause in the first place.  I'm a pretty positive person when I'm not experiencing an episode.  I'm honest with whats going on for me, I go to 12 step meetings, I discuss my thoughts and perceptions with wiser souls and can laugh at myself.

So the real challenge is to have different expectations from watching my thoughts.  It means not comparing what I can do when I'm well to what I'm doing now, and feeling like I'm coming up short.  It's being proud of myself for doing what I can to contribute to life, even if it's only 40-50% of what I could do before.  It means not beating myself up for being so withdrawn and antisocial.
It's realizing that I'm still here and I may not feel purposeful but the fact that I'm alive and breathing means I have more to learn and contribute to life.  So checking my thoughts isn't getting rid of the depression, its about not letting it get worse, so that it's easier to break free when this illness has run it's course. It's about making my life more bearable.

It does feel better to contribute in some small way than to hide in bed.  The guilt and shame of giving into depression make days like today harder, not easier.  It takes it's toll and the message that this is futile really takes over.  Even as I write this, I'm telling myself I don't have the energy to pull myself together and figure out how to be functional next week.  Its gonna be hard to get myself back in order, but I need to reign this in, and fight back.


The idea of planning meals and going grocery shopping sounds like running a marathon, but I'm going to do it today.  I'm going to go to the pool.  I'll come up with a plan  to honour the commitments I made for landscaping next week and get a few things ready for the next art sale, on Friday, which is shorter and my sister plans to help me with.

I don't think any of this is easy, backsliding is way easier.  But it's also very painful, because I'm losing ground to my illness, and I'm giving up the small amount of power I have.  My mind is telling me it's not worth fighting to stay in the same place, but in reality the further I let my life slide into disarray, the more work its gonna take to get back on track.

Art always comes through even in the darkness.

Keepin' On

Well, the last 45 days, I've been at war with myself.  Hating depression, dreading waking up feeling empty, alone, even around people, and disconnected.

It all started with fear.  Having left my ex, I lost my financial security.   I was envious and down on myself when I went back to work with my beat up truck, and trailer, seeing that my ex had employees, a new truck, and tons of equipment.  I lost my gratitude for what I had and started thinking I could only be happy if I could be that successful again.

I also got down on myself about men.  I took a couple of bad experiences to mean that I wasn't worthy of being loved.  I put my sense of self worth in the hands of someone (I for some reason respected's) reactions to me.  I realized that was wrong but struggled to regain my footing in my new reality as a single woman.

I judged myself harshly, I compared myself to other people that don't struggle with depression and ADHD.  Instead of taking pride in my small successes, I just compared myself to bigger landscape construction companies, like I used to be part of.  Not really fair, I had given all of that up, to find myself.

Up until 45 days ago, I still felt like myself.  The struggle was still fair, Jeanne was still in the game.  I called friends, the distress centre, whatever I could to ward off the storms I saw in the distance.
I reminded myself that mental illness was triggered by stress and that I was going to be ok, I was doing the best I could.

But I felt unstable, the future was a big wide open canvas, and I was responsible for recreating my life, bigger and better than before.  I no longer had a more experienced human as my guide.  My ex was my rock in alot of ways.  He could get up everyday at 7 and face the world.  He took charge of situations and the company.  His sense of self was secure.  I took comfort in his strength, and leaned on him more than I knew.

Last Sept I knew I had to leave.  There was just no room for my opinions or ideas in the company.  I was belittled and bullied for not taking his side.   He wasn't completely wrong but the issues where nuanced and I wanted to be respected for my point of view.  One night in a deep depression, I remember talking about our foreman's disloyalty and standing up for some aspects of their conduct.  We were in our bedroom and I was getting yelled at, called a traitor, told I was supporting all of their insubordination, and I realized that I couldn't take it anymore.
My parents used to rage at each other in their room, and it just isn't really what I wanted in my life.

I don't know if we should have tried harder to fix the relationship, but I told him that if he wasn't going to own up to his behaviour without blaming me counselling was a waste of time.  So it just fell apart.  He moved out, took the company, convincing me in my depression and low self esteem I didn't deserve half of that asset, and he gave my mom's trust fund the title to the house, because it was already basically my asset.

My depression lifted a couple of weeks after the separation.  I started seeing number combinations everywhere, 1111, 333, 555... and  rainbow halos, which seemed like signs from my mom and the angels that I was on the right track.  An older lady moved in who had been through a horrible domestic situation, and she mothered me and helped me take care of the house.

I did have one depressive break down, that lasted a month mid January.  I was freaked out about spending my savings, and being an "artist" that didn't know how to put down roots.  I still haven't figured that out and its pretty unsettling.  That and the fact the guy I liked had zero interest in commitment, threw me back into a rut.  I magically got out of it within hours of doing ketamine in the US and I thought I had found my solution to this disorder that has plagued me most of my adult life.

Things went ok for 3 months, but the lingering doubts where still there in May.
I remember just feeling the depression gaining intensity and doing my best to let the waves roll over me, realizing that I was going through alot of change and that things where going well, with art markets, interest in my landscaping etc.  Then on mothers day, I lost the upper hand with the depression.  My mom had passed away four years ago and there was a memorial brunch set up by the Nature Conservancy of Canada, in her honour.  It was actually kind of a slap in the face because it felt like they were just sucking up to my family for selling the quarter section  of unbroken prairie she had donated to be conserved for cash, without even offering to sell it to the family in spite of our interest.  I remember being freaked out, that all consuming disconnection, emptiness and meaningless feeling was once again infiltrating every cell of my body.  Some primordial shut down was occurring, and I screamed inside for it to be reversed, that I'd rather feel any pain than lose myself to depression again.

The next day, I tried to tell myself everything was going to be ok.  I went snowboarding and painted some street art on an abandoned building.  I was definitely missing the guy I used to snowboard with that also loved street art.  I was missing my mom.  The depression had set in.  I tried to reassure myself, focus on doing snowboard tricks, telling myself I was going to be ok, but it was to late, the depression had once again over ridden my system and shut down huge aspects of my being.

For the last 45 days, I haven't gotten any relief.  I spend a small fortune in Denver on ketamine, but the depression just laughed at me for thinking a strong disassociative drug was going to release its grasp on me.  I came home feeling almost suicidal, because my depression is so treatment resistant.

I buried my disappointment and focused on work and just doing whatever it took to get through the day.  I'm still in that place, just existing, feeling bewildered by my powerlessness once depression gets a hold of me.

I guess its comforting knowing that there are reasons that this system was triggered again.  It doesn't really make it easy to reverse what has happened, but at least it kind of makes sense.  My hope is that the better I get to know myself, and the more I realize that everything is usually ok in the end, the less I'll be impacted my external situations and I'll have more trust in myself in how to handle different challenges.

Everytime I come through depression, I feel like I have been reborn.  I can't wait to see myself reclaim my power and own my independence, once this cloud finally lifts.  Until then, all I can do is try not to identify with it so completely.  Yes it's all consuming, but its not me.  Its a fucking weird malfunction I experience from stress.  With the help of time, medication, etc, it does pass.

Painted on the day I was fighting to stave off a depressive relapse and lost....the light in her soul has turned off temporarily... 

Depression is a mysterious condition....

There's nothing strait forward about depression.  Im stuck in a body with a brain that isn't working well and using that same system to try to make sense of what is going on.

All day long I feel a deep sense of detachment and isolation.  I'm just going through the motions, I know I'm supposed to shower, eat breakfast, go to work. Mindlessly I mow lawns, fix flower beds, do whatever I agreed to do.  I have enough fight in me to keep moving.  Somehow I move 6 yards of mulch with my shovel and wheel barrel.  I tell myself exercise is good for depression. I know that occupying my time is better than mourning the loss of my self.

I want to take action, do something, take some steps towards progress. I try to tell myself maybe changing my medications for the 20th time might do the trick, maybe that shiver I felt down my back means my neurotransmitters are working?  Maybe not eating gluten is going to to the trick? Yoga? Meditation? counsellor?

None of these things seem to make any difference, I've tried them all before, but the hope that comes from taking some small action keeps me moving through the day.  Today I told myself getting a massage would bring me some relief, so I pushed through....I didn't really get alot of relief but the idea that I'm trying is something for my mind to hold onto.

Tommorow, I'll get up and possibly feel the same bleakness but call the neighbour and work on adding some flagstone to her yard and adding some shrubs.  One hard task after the other, digging clay, moving rock, planting shrubs and trees....I just keep moving.

I don't really know what else to do....once I'm having a full episode of depression, all of the self realizations and tools seem to have very little impact.  I feel like my brain is getting some upgrades done and the whole system is at a stand still until its ready to reboot.

There's been times when medical interventions have sped up the reboot process, but it seems like everything only works once.  I've tried different treatments and had initial success and than tried the same thing for a subsequent episode and gotten no results.

All I know is this is fucking crazy.  I am stuck feeling disconnected, numb, uninspired with a constant tape running through my head that I'm depressed.  I hear that I'm supposed to be social to help my condition, but I've had so many painful experiences just sitting at a restaurant staring into space, knowing that Jeanne isn't really there and the other person has to sit there silently with depressed me or try to engage me in conversation to only get one word answers.  I keep hoping all of a sudden the healthy me will spring forth and save the day, but she is no where to be found.

I don't hate myself, I'm not super self critical, but I know that there's something wrong all day.  I can try to ignore it and focus on doing the next right thing, but that sense of loss is pretty real.
My whole system has been hijacked and I have no recourse but to wait.

Everything is a shot in the dark with depression.  Doctors really don't know what the medications or treatments do they just have theories.  The whole thing relies on faith.  I just have to believe that something is going to shift or click and I'll get myself back.  My sense of humour, my intelligence, my sense of purpose and connection can't be gone, but the light-switch in all of those rooms is out.  I'm running with very little lit up on the circuit board.

So I hold on, I'm a bench warmer in my own life, restless to be let back in.

Ditching the Need to be Happy 24/7

I'm so sick of thinking there's something wrong with me from the moment I open my eyes.
It's like I've bought into this faulty idea from society that if I play all my cards right, live up to my potential and continually strive to improve my life I will be happy all the time.  Everyday will be magical, full of white light and rainbows.  Synchronistic events will continue to unfold and life will look like a techocolor movie and I will be the protagonist.  Meanwhile back in Jeanne land, I wake up to mixed emotions and some lingering sadness and fear, but ultimately I feel hopeful.

This really should be good enough. It works in the ocean and large bodies of water, the tides fluctuate in temperature, and lakes have warm and cool currents.  I'm always happy and at peace in lakes in the summer and I appreciate swimming through water that has been warmed by the sun and the refreshing cooler water.  So why can't I accept this in my own mental state?

 I'm a moody, colourful, messy artist.  Life is amazing, but it's bittersweet. I've won at love and I've lost.  I'm alone, figuring out my career and how to be happy as a single person.  Yet, I expect perfection from myself, a level of mastery over my thoughts and emotions that seems to be constantly evading my grasp.

The problem comes down to lack of acceptance and an unrealistic expectation that I should be happy all the time or else I'm at risk of a depressive relapse.  Of course thats a scary thing to have to contend with because its been literal hell in the past. Depression is like being stuck in a thunderstorm, and taking shelter under a boulder, only to realize I'm drenched, freezing and trapped.  My soul cry out in agony as I await a guide to lead me to higher ground.

With this past experience, its not surprising that I don't like feeling tired, sad or scared.  Unfortunately for me this is part of life, and I refuse to give into the thought that I can't handle the cooler waters that are a realistic part of the human experience.  I need to accept that waking through adversity with self compassion is the path to freedom.

Without acceptance, there is no recovery.  Life becomes a constant fight within my own mind. There's no point being upset with myself.  I've gone through alot of change.  I walked away from the financial security I had found in my common law marriage.  I lost opportunity, status, money and prestige.
Now I have to find it on my own.  I have to face my ugly self realization that I put men on a pedestal in relationships and business.  That I somehow think I need them to take care of me, when I've been disproving that everyday by becoming successful on my own terms.

So today, I choose acceptance. I chose to love the beautiful, messy and moody monster that I am. I choose to love the scared, self doubting parts of my psyche.  I remind myself that I am enough, that I am worthy and that I can love myself as I transition and grow.

Ghost Children-Another take on Depression

I'm always trying to understand what is going on in my inner landscape and how my perceptions of myself get so distorted and dark.  I like the imagery of my depression as being fragmented parts of my childhood identity that desperately need healing.  They have been silently following me through life and reappear whenever I start to feel intense feelings such as fear or grief.  The suffering these ghosts have caused me over the years is almost unbearable, because I didn't understand what they wanted.

The ghost I want to talk about today is worthlessness and existential angst.  I used to call it Hermie, but really it's just sad little Jeanne.  When life gets tough and I feel powerless, it tries to further steal my light,  saying things like, "nothing matters, no one cares about your feelings, life is pointless etc."

I've come to realize this was how I felt alot as a child.  I recognize the sad eight year old alone in the corner of the playground, wishing she could disappear.  I remember trying to play foursquare with the popular  kids and they would purposely kick me out of their stupid game, by playing unfairly and pretty much throwing the ball at my head.  I heard haha, you're out! loser! etc ways to often.

So what did I do?  Did I tell my parents I got ostracized by my peers every day in elementary school? Nope, because at five years old I decided they were to dysfunctional to confide in so I worked extra hard in school so they could at least me proud of me.  Did I tell teachers? Nope, tattletales aren't well liked and they really didn't understand bullying in the 80's and often gave little kids shit for being antisocial.

So I found a way to cope. I wanted to cry, somedays I did, but more often than not I'd get in trouble for crying or the playground staff would force me to rejoin the bullies.  So I buried my little eight year olds sadness and rejection. I told myself that no one cared about Jeanne, that she shouldn't be sad, that there was something wrong with her and that she didn't fit in.  This was alot to swallow.

I didn't want to be forced to play with the little asshole kids, so I'd read alone in the isolated portal, and if anyone bugged me, I told them I was reading.   No one intervened, this went on for months.
 I read more than  90% of  kids in grade 3-6.  I'd get so completely hyper focused on reading I'd lose track of time,  Pretty soon I'd read all the decent Hardy Boys, Nancy Drew and science fiction books in the elementary school library.  My mom took me to the public library and I cleaned up there too.  I read the Lord of the Rings book in one long sitting one day at home, I was so intent on escaping my little person world and living somewhere more magical.

The one cool thing about all of this is that I got really engaged in stories about female heroines, that overcome adversity and this gave my little soul hope and strength.  I desperately wanted to be an alien princess, leading her people through social and environmental challenges on foreign planets.
Anything was better than being me.

I guess what saved me was my strong interest in language and creative arts, because as a child you do what you excel at and you don't have to worry about getting a job.  Later in life, realizing what I got A's in at school wouldn't easily lend itself to finding a career was as damaging to my psyche as bullying, because my natural skill set is not easily remunerated in a capitalist society and money is a form of apprieciation.

Sitting alone in the staircase of the portal the furthest away from my tormentors, I became a ghost of the vibrant divine child I was created to be.  The constant re affirmation I was getting from the other kids that I was different and my feelings didn't matter got deeply engrained in my subconscious.  These are some of the roots of my suffering and depression.  I got the wrong message and continued to tell myself the wrong things when life got tough throughout my adult life.  No one championed little Jeanne, and I live with the ghosts she created.

Luckily I am so much more that my suffering, so much more than my pain.    I can learn to be the mother that the ghost children so desperately needed, and love them for their original pain, but stop believing their faulty beliefs that I am not worthy.  No child should have to live with bullying and not be able to get help.  I just hope that other people can realize that we need to heal our past traumas so that they don't keep showing up as automatic negative thoughts.  When we get to the root of our suffering we can align with the universe and find healing if we stay open and vulnerable and turn towards the light.  We all have the ability to heal if we are willing to shed some of our old ideas and turn our will and lives over to our creator.

Life Lessons-Dealing with Rejection

In my journey towards maintaining good mental health, there are road bumps that can really trigger me and send me backward, and one such trigger is rejection, real or imagined.   Having had several bouts of clinical depression I can be an emotion phobic person.  If life feels painful or I feel sad, I accidentally let the depression gremlin in, because he never turns me down,  but I'm so done with that mindset, so I'm gonna send him packing.

So rejection....not a great feeling right?  Especially for those of us that are emotionally sensitive, have been bullied and on some level question our self worth. As I'm writing this I'm exploring the murky emotional waters that rejection has created in my mental landscape.  It doesn't feel good, I feel sad, alone, tired and vulnerable to depression.  Lucky for me I'm an optimist and I have faith that this too shall pass it I play my cards right.

I hope the people that hurt me don't read this, because its really none of their business how I feel.  They didn't care when they hurt me to know who I really am and where cold and inconsiderate when I needed love the most.

Thats the hard part about all of this, I put my trust and love into people that where unable to reciprocate and I took it personally.  The rejection I'm talking about has been from the men in my life.
It started with my father, he rarely took the time to care about my emotional needs or give me the validation I needed growing up.  Sadly, even today he's short with me on the phone and he's not able to be there for me in crisis situations.  I love my Dad, and I accept this is just life on life's terms.

So I come by the habit of choosing emotionally unavailable men and bad boys honestly, its what I grew up with, its my comfort zone.  If my own father didn't know how to be there for me, why would anyone else?

Lately I've had a string of destructive relationships with men, and I've repeated my parents mistakes in my own first marriage.  It breaks my heart that I could love someone so much and put my heart and soul into a relationship and never get my emotional needs met.  I had to walk away from an otherwise amazing human being, because I didn't want to stay in a relationship that wouldn't allow me to grow.

Being single for the last few months, I haven't done much better with men, and my poor choices resulted in me breaking down in tears last night.  I tried to reconnect with a hot bad ass from my rave days and he was really nasty to me, and because I was at my breaking point I did not handle the perceived rejection well at all.  It was a huge wake up call, no one is gonna make me happy but me, and that at the end of the day, in-spite of being surrounded by great people I am alone with only my higher power for large portions of my journey and its tough changing 34 years of mental habits! Jesus did 40 nights in the desert with the devil, and I think I've outdone his record!

Anyways the point is we attract what we think we deserve and its pretty fucking sad that as I overcome depression and a failed marriage, I think I deserve to be treated like shit by men.  It's pretty harsh that I even expose myself to people that are potentially toxic to me when I'm trying to heal.

At the end of the day, I actually have alot of compassion for all the bad boys and emotionally fucked up men, and I really hope I can respect them and we can eventually get along.

But its time to get real, the person I really need to be best friends with right now is myself and if I know I'm just getting my feet back under me after dealing with heartache and depression, the last think I need is to allow people to kick me when I'm down.

****I want to say a sincere thank you to all the stand up men I've dated and been friends with that treated me well.  It sad to say but I have lost out in love because I didn't always treat the nice guys with the respect they deserved, and I'm the one who lost out in the end.  Some of the amazing men I've dated are now happily married to great women and they deserve the best life has to offer.
 I remember those good relationships with fondness and they serve as reminders I can have great relationships in the future.