Into the Depths of Depression

Posted by Jenkins on January 16, 2019January 16, 2019

Like a small seed dancing across the fertile soil, it landed softly, but I didn’t see it.

“Let’s go for a walk,” he said.
“I can’t,” I whispered.
“Yes, you can.”
“I can’t. It’s too hard.”
“You’re doing hard things now, remember?”
“You don’t understand.”
“I know I don’t, but I understand you, and you need to go for a walk, so let’s go.”

At that moment, I hated him for making me go.
I needed him to make me go.
I loved him for making me go.

Falling into the darkness, I was confused.

I had spent the last few years researching anxiety and had finally learned how to manage it effectively. I’d been so successful that I foolishly believed I had this all figured out.

In one way it was true, I hadn’t had an anxiety attack in several years. But depression without anxiety is a different animal altogether.

Many years ago, I had visited our family doctor — a small pinched man who never quite seemed to be able to look you in the eye.

“I think I’m depressed,” I said.
“Are you suicidal?” He asked.
“No.”
“Do you think about hurting yourself?”
“No.”
“You’re probably just run down. You should try and take it easy for a while. You’ll be fine. Come and see me again if it doesn’t improve.”
“Okay,” I replied.

He told me what I wanted to hear — It wasn’t depression!
I was just run down. Mentally and physically, I felt like roadkill, so the diagnosis seemed legitimate. Yes. I was just rundown. What a relief!

We had two young boys at the time, and my husband often worked out of town. I had no time to acknowledge what was wrong with me. I was just relieved it wasn’t ‘depression.’

Every time I felt the darkness approaching, I pushed it as far away as I could. It closed in on me, but I refused to surrender.
I couldn’t surrender.

During the day, I had two little boys who depended on me, and I desperately held them close and drew strength from their unconditional love.
But when the sun went down, and those two little boys were safely tucked in their beds, I took off my armour. Retreating to my bedroom, everything changed.
I changed.

I couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. The emotional pain was too much to bear, and I teetered on the edge of the black hole, as it threatened to take me down. To pull me into its depths.

The next morning I’d put on my brave face and start the day all over again.

My little boys were my beautiful distractions.

They saved me from me.

Depression without anxiety was unfamiliar, and it scared the hell out of me. The darkness. The oppressive heaviness and endless tears were all there, but this was different.

This was a deep hollow void and I was floating.

I desperately tried to find a thought I could embrace. I reached out for something. Anything. But it was like holding a delicate bubble in the palm of your hand. It disappeared.
I needed a thought to process, but there was nothing.

No worry. No doubt. No fear. Nothing. I was numb.

Like a small seed dancing across the fertile soil, it landed softly, but I didn’t see it. As it took root, I ignored it, and it started to sprout. I turned my back on it foolishly believing that acknowledging it would somehow make it true. It grew.

I cried, and I slept.
I told myself I’d be okay in a minute.
In an hour.
In a day.
Soon.

Days passed and morphed into weeks.
Nothing.

For the first time in my life, I thought about nothing, and it terrified me. I knew I could process thoughts, but I couldn’t find one. I was used to racing thoughts — a mind out of control — but this was different.

Something was wrong, and I couldn’t shift it.

My husband’s concern was palatable, and he watched over me.
He kept me safe.

I wanted him to leave me alone, but I needed him to stay.
And he did.

I wanted to drift, but I needed him to be my anchor.
And he was.
He always was.

When I drifted too far out and lost sight of the shore, he pulled me back to safety.
He never lost sight of me.

When I shut myself away, hiding under blankets like a wounded animal, he brought me tea and tucked me in.

“Is there something I can do? Is there something you need?” He would ask. Concern etched in his furrowed brow.
“No. I’m okay.” I would answer.

He never realized that he was already doing all that he needed to do.

He was there.

Until the cloud had lifted.
Until I could shrug off the heaviness.
Until we were back to our usual lives.
Until we were laughing at silly, stupid things again.

Until then, he saves me.
He saves me.
Every time.

Thanks for reading!
This is an excerpt from Taming Crazy-Confessions and Lessons