“Days like this, I don’t know what to do with myself, all day and all night. I wander the halls along the walls and under my breath I say to myself I need fuel, to take flight.” This is my favorite line from one of my favorite songs. I first heard it when I was 14 years old and I related immediately. I first felt depressed at 14 even though I didn’t know how to name it at the time. My mom was depressed on and off my entire childhood but I just thought she was sad and tired a lot.
When I was 21 I experienced my first real bout of depression that left me in bed. No one really knew, not even me. I just thought it was a normal reaction to something I had been through. My friends would try to get me to go out and I would decline. Sometimes they would show up and physically drag me out of the house. Then I would proceed to sit in the corner of a room at the party, hoping desperately to not be noticed and snarl at anyone who dared to approach me. I thought it was a passing phase. That I was just unamused by drunken frat guys and uninteresting chatter (which was true). From that point on, however, the darkness would become a familiar passenger in my life.
While I could be happy, outgoing, and even the life of the party at times, this was not the norm. I would just make sure to only be seen during times of high energy and exuberance. These states were socially accepted and I always gained friends this way. I learned to hide when the storms approached. Sometimes just in front of the tv, other times drinking alone in my room, sometimes writing poetry. My mom and I shared in our despair and also in our joy when we were both able to get out into the sunshine. It was always better during the warm months for us both.
Some months were better than others and at times I’d thought it was gone forever. I never fully acknowledged what was happening but it started effecting my life so negatively that I finally sought counseling. My counselor tried to diagnose me as bipolar but I wouldn’t let him. Pharmaceuticals were not my path. I was passionately against them.; as were both of my parents. (I grew up not even taking aspirin) And the only option for bipolar treatment was medication. So I was not bipolar.
Even though counseling helped the darkness would still take over, seemingly out of nowhere and without warning. A normal bad day for someone else would turn into thoughts of hopelessness and suicide for me. A breakup could mean being in bed for weeks, or even months, at a time.
Then it happened. The worst case scenario of my life. My mom committed suicide. She actually did it. She planned it, wrote a long note to me, and disappeared to a motel room. That’s it. She was gone. Just like that.
The grief that followed for all of us was indescribable. Something I had never felt. This was very different than depression. This was grief with meaning. It was justified. And it forced me to move out of depression entirely. Grief was a catalyst for me to live my life. And, for the next year and a half, I did just that.
It’s not that I didn’t experience sadness after my mom died or times of despair. I absolutely did. It just didn’t last long amounts of time. I moved to a new state, I said yes to every invite I got and each new potential friendship, and I smoked a shit ton of weed for the first time in my life. I had panic attacks often and the weed stopped them. I could work and function as long as I was high. And I didn’t sink into depression. It helped.
I met a man during this time. A wonderful man. A man who convinced me to have a child and get married, which were never dreams of mine. This man was so different from me, but so amazing. I wrote in my journal that he was “the best man I’d ever known” and this was true. I was the happiest I’d ever been in my life. Then I got pregnant. Then I stopped smoking weed. Then it all came crashing down. I hadn’t dealt with any of the emotions over my mom’s death, over my rape, over my internal struggles and darkness. I could no longer run and hide.
Then, a second worse case scenario hit my life. While I was visiting my family in North Carolina and planning our wedding, he died in a work accident. My love. The father of my child to come. My future husband. Just like that. He was gone. I flew back and was brought straight to the hospital. As I walked into the morgue I felt unreal. Not there. Not human. I shook, I felt nauseous, I looked into his one open beautiful blue eye. I saw the blood between his teeth. I held his cold hand. I was 8 weeks pregnant and alone.
Fast forward seven years. So much has transpired. I have an amazing son, who happens to have his dad’s blue eyes. I have moved about 12 times between 4 states and 2 countries since he was born. We have settled back in North Carolina. He is smart, funny, sweet, and wonderful. We are healthy and live in a great neighborhood. I have been in one relationship since his dad and it was horrific and tragic. I have tried to stay in therapy, have tried medications, have done yoga, stopped drinking for periods of time, done endless affirmations, read countless self-help books, changed my diet, smoked weed, not smoked weed for long periods, exercised, not exercised, and have gone back to school.
The passenger has stayed with me through it all. The darkness encompasses me unexpectedly and for unknown amounts of time. Then I will suddenly be filled with energy and creativity and plan our lives 5 years into the future. Then it begins again. I feel awful when I am down in it. I don’t want to be seen by anyone, I just want to hide. A simple act like going to the grocery store can take hours of self-talk and preparation. I feel like a horrible mother, friend, sister, aunt, daughter. I lose track of time and space. I miss birthdays and moments with my son. I miss myself.
I don’t know how to reach out from this space. I just don’t. I guess I’m writing this as a way to do that. I am, in no way, ever thinking about self harm. As long as Benny lives I will be here, cheering him on. I just don’t want to pretend anymore. I don’t want to make excuses and only show myself when I am doing well. I don’t want to make plans and cancel them with no explanation. I don’t want to be ashamed anymore.
I have episodes of deep depression and less often, episodes of mania. They are partially circumstantial and partially not at all. There is no “fixing” this so please don’t try. I am potentially bipolar. I have been diagnosed with CPTSD. I do not want to take medications again. I just want to be ok with myself and try my best. I want to figure out what works and what doesn’t. I want to feel the emotions fully. I want to stop running and hiding from myself and others. I want to be ok with not being ok. I want to befriend the dark passenger. Learn how to be in the world even as he rides alongside me, possibly forever.
“But its calm under the waves, in the blue of my oblivion”
