In the media lately there’s been a lot of hype about the 12th of February as “Let’s talk about it” day to promote Mental Health Awareness. The irony is that the 12th of February 2013 is Shrove Tuesday, the day when, historically, all fat i.e. butter, sugar, etc., was used up before Ash Wednesday, and the beginning of Lent.
The 12th of February is also my 3rd wedding anniversary. So our romantic Anniversary Dinner will consist of pancakes. Andrew will eat the sausages for me (he’s good like that), and we will spend a couple of hours with our Parish Family and the wider community.
I’d like to begin discussion a little earlier than the 12th of February, as I’ll be rather busy on the actual day.
I have struggled with depression since puberty and it was, ironically, our First wedding anniversary in 2011 when I finally recognised that the black hole had returned. It is said Winston Churchill referred to his depression as a black dog, but for me, the image is more of a hole, that may or may not have a cover. I feel like I need to go there and stay there as it is quiet and nobody bothers me. I get enveloped by the darkness and feel comfortable in my absolute inability to move. My inability to do much of anything, but absolutely cannot sleep.
The year 2012 was particularly difficult as my husband was unemployed for a good part of it. My father died in June and the grief, at times, felt unbearable. But I persevered, as that is what I do. I put on a happy face and simply got on with it. Until the fall. There’s something about the fall that sets me back on my heels. It’s one of my favourite times of the year and also a very frightening time of year. As the earth begins to prepare herself for hibernation, I find myself longing for the longer nights. I like the darkness. It’s peaceful.
Recently I saw a periodontist about TMJ (I don’t know what that stands for) and he suggested I increase the meds I take at night to help me sleep. He’s also built up my night guard so I can train my jaw muscles to not clench as often as I sleep. He said it will take me a couple of weeks to get used to it. I’m on day 4 of it, and not sleeping well, but I understand why.
Mental Health is something I live with every day. Most days are completely manageable. Some days even feel like there’s nothing wrong at all. And then there’s the “bad patch” days when everything is massive. Getting dressed is a chore. Going to work is a struggle, and I LOVE my “job”. The idea of talking to anyone feels like an insurmountable obstacle, and most days like this I can force myself, one step at a time, one minute at a time, one moment at a time, to do what I have to do. And some days like these, I can’t. So I don’t.
I recognise that there are times when I am not fun to be around. And I try to remove myself from everyone so I can try to figure out what on earth is going on. Or at least, rest myself, perhaps journal, do yoga, and sleep.
Mental Health is something that is greatly misunderstood. It is much maligned as something that a strong person can “snap out of” if they choose to do so. That is, with all due respect, absolute bullshit.
I can act, I can pretend, and I think I do a pretty good job of putting on a game face and getting the job done. Very few people have ever seen me in a deep depressive state, because I tend to not be around folks when I’m in the cave. We, as society, need to stop closeting people who struggle and live with mental illness. It’s not all in our head…well, actually, it kind of is. It is not imaginary. There are voices, smells and sights that may not exist to anyone else but us.
Sometimes we talk to ourselves, sometimes we answer ourselves. But aside from the quirks and anomalies that make us stand out, there is the private hell that we face. You can’t save us. You can’t say a magic phrase to make it all okay. There is no magic pill to “cure” us. The reality is, we have to find our way through combinations of drug therapy, talk therapy, good nutrition, exercise, and a support group of professionals, amateurs, family and friends.
No two of us are the same, and that’s awesome.
If someone you love seems to be struggling, don’t be afraid to ask us if we’re okay. Chances are we’ll tell you we’re “fine”, but we may tell you the truth. And it may be frightening to hear.
If you are someone who struggles, find someone to share your struggle with. Find someone to trust completely and share what you’re really feeling. It won’t be easy. You may get hurt. But the reality is, no-one deserves to struggle alone.
As a relatively high-functioning depressive in a small Southwestern Ontario village, I think it’s important that people see me for who I am. A quirky, humorous, dignified Anglican priest (not priestess) who tells it like it is, is as down to earth as she can be, and who loves what she does.
Ask me anything at all. I reserve the right to refuse to answer. And I reserve the right to tell you the truth.
It’s time for us to talk about mental illness. So let’s get the conversation started…
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