The Black Blanket
This one isn't easy to talk about. It's not funny, it's not charming or endearing but there's a chance that you'll get it and then you'll know you're not the only one....and so will I.
I've known for many years that mental health issues have reared their ugly heads in my family history. I've known that depression, anxiety and addictions have laced their way through generations of my family but that knowledge has always been something I kept at arms length. "Oh, that's a sad history, good thing it's not my personal story. Good thing that won't happen to me." Aside from spending a week under the duvet after a high school boyfriend dumped me, I have enjoyed a pretty stable and resilient mind. All through my 20's, I navigated all the joy and stresses that a new marriage, new home, new career and new found motherhood brought me without falling apart.
I never saw it coming, that black blanket that would wrap itself over my shoulders, making my body feel heavy. I only had good things, I only had reasons to be happy...yet there it was, without good reason. There it was, unwelcome. Uninvited. I lied to people for as long as I could, regurgitating "I'm fine, thanks. You?" day in and day out. Until I just couldn't any longer. Until the facade came apart at the seams when a man blocked my driveway and wasn't apologetic or respectful when I asked him to move his van. Sure, he wasn't polite but my level of upset wasn't logical or proportionate. I wanted to rip his face off. After the fact, I was embarrassed and felt like I wanted to crawl out of my own body; it was time to talk to my doctor.
I was prescribed a low dose anti-depressant for post-natal depression and the improvement was incredible. I didn't even realize just how lost the old me had become until she could start to resurface. It was incredible to come into my own again, regain my interests, my joy, my sense of humour. Since then, it's been a good 2 years. I wish I could say that taking that tiny white pill each night was a guarantee that I wouldn't be revisited by the blanket but that's not the case.
Last month, I underwent a minor and routine surgery. Since then, it's been one setback after another. I suffered an infection after the surgery, then the flu, then some random chest virus. My body has been shaky, weak, achy and sore for the better part of a month. The most basic task has felt like climbing Mt. Everest. Things that I would've managed without a second thought only 2 months ago, have taken triple the time or have been abandoned altogether. Things that were once a priority for me, aren't even on my radar any more. My brain has felt foggy, I've done dumb things that I'm sure a lab rat wouldn't fall for. For the past few weeks, I have been in bed by 5:30pm, sleeping through the night, missing dinner, bedtime stories, and snuggles with my kids and time with my husband. Over the past month, my kids have learned not to call for me; they call for dad. The guilt that comes sliding along with these circumstances is hefty. Guilt feels like shit. Mama guilt. Business guilt. Wife guilt. Daughter guilt. It all hacks away at me.
"Why are you telling me this?", you ask? I'm telling you because, if I didn't, you wouldn't know. You'd look at my Facebook life and think it was perfect, think I'm doing it perfectly. If you think I'm lucky, you're right-it's a good life that I lead. I have a husband who has wrapped me up in his arms every single night and repeated that he loves me and that it's OK to be human and flawed. Reminding me every day that I am getting healthier and that this too shall pass. I have parents who love me unconditionally, a mother who is pulled in many directions who is still finding time and space to help out. I have healthy, vibrant, clever kids and I know how lucky that makes me. The black blanket doesn't care about all the good, it's mission is to trick my brain into fixating on sadness. So I'm going to take that tiny, white pill every night. I'm going to listen to self-care meditations on Youtube that I would've made fun of a decade ago. I'm going to get up every morning, a little stronger than I was the day before. I'm going to get back to being me again.
I've known for many years that mental health issues have reared their ugly heads in my family history. I've known that depression, anxiety and addictions have laced their way through generations of my family but that knowledge has always been something I kept at arms length. "Oh, that's a sad history, good thing it's not my personal story. Good thing that won't happen to me." Aside from spending a week under the duvet after a high school boyfriend dumped me, I have enjoyed a pretty stable and resilient mind. All through my 20's, I navigated all the joy and stresses that a new marriage, new home, new career and new found motherhood brought me without falling apart.
I never saw it coming, that black blanket that would wrap itself over my shoulders, making my body feel heavy. I only had good things, I only had reasons to be happy...yet there it was, without good reason. There it was, unwelcome. Uninvited. I lied to people for as long as I could, regurgitating "I'm fine, thanks. You?" day in and day out. Until I just couldn't any longer. Until the facade came apart at the seams when a man blocked my driveway and wasn't apologetic or respectful when I asked him to move his van. Sure, he wasn't polite but my level of upset wasn't logical or proportionate. I wanted to rip his face off. After the fact, I was embarrassed and felt like I wanted to crawl out of my own body; it was time to talk to my doctor.
I was prescribed a low dose anti-depressant for post-natal depression and the improvement was incredible. I didn't even realize just how lost the old me had become until she could start to resurface. It was incredible to come into my own again, regain my interests, my joy, my sense of humour. Since then, it's been a good 2 years. I wish I could say that taking that tiny white pill each night was a guarantee that I wouldn't be revisited by the blanket but that's not the case.
Last month, I underwent a minor and routine surgery. Since then, it's been one setback after another. I suffered an infection after the surgery, then the flu, then some random chest virus. My body has been shaky, weak, achy and sore for the better part of a month. The most basic task has felt like climbing Mt. Everest. Things that I would've managed without a second thought only 2 months ago, have taken triple the time or have been abandoned altogether. Things that were once a priority for me, aren't even on my radar any more. My brain has felt foggy, I've done dumb things that I'm sure a lab rat wouldn't fall for. For the past few weeks, I have been in bed by 5:30pm, sleeping through the night, missing dinner, bedtime stories, and snuggles with my kids and time with my husband. Over the past month, my kids have learned not to call for me; they call for dad. The guilt that comes sliding along with these circumstances is hefty. Guilt feels like shit. Mama guilt. Business guilt. Wife guilt. Daughter guilt. It all hacks away at me.
"Why are you telling me this?", you ask? I'm telling you because, if I didn't, you wouldn't know. You'd look at my Facebook life and think it was perfect, think I'm doing it perfectly. If you think I'm lucky, you're right-it's a good life that I lead. I have a husband who has wrapped me up in his arms every single night and repeated that he loves me and that it's OK to be human and flawed. Reminding me every day that I am getting healthier and that this too shall pass. I have parents who love me unconditionally, a mother who is pulled in many directions who is still finding time and space to help out. I have healthy, vibrant, clever kids and I know how lucky that makes me. The black blanket doesn't care about all the good, it's mission is to trick my brain into fixating on sadness. So I'm going to take that tiny, white pill every night. I'm going to listen to self-care meditations on Youtube that I would've made fun of a decade ago. I'm going to get up every morning, a little stronger than I was the day before. I'm going to get back to being me again.
Your post is so thoughtful and revealing. You have a sense of self-reflection that will only strengthen you as you move forward. Thank you for putting your story and yourself out for people to read.
ReplyDeleteWow Susi, sweety, I had no idea!
ReplyDeleteIt takes a strong woman to share the things you've shared. Thank you for allowing us to share in your journey. Mental health issues effect every one of us at different periods of time in our lives and you are definitely not alone and unfortunately no one is immune to it. Find that inner strength, dig it out from the rumble that it is piled overtop of it. All you need is to get some freedom, a little bit each day and one day at a time. Don't be afraid to continue to ask for help, it will be there to help stand back you on your feet again. I'm here for you... Big hugs and keep fighting to put that blanket where it belongs, locked away in linen chest with the key at the bottom of the ocean.