Depression: Lean on Me

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Image credit: Ariel Corenthal at the art of ariel on etsy

Image credit: Ariel Corenthal at the art of ariel on etsy

“In the summer of 2012, I started writing about depression. Ultimately, I wrote thirteen articles that were published monthly at the online magazine Scoutie Girl.
A part of it includes my experience with a long, dark episode of depression. But mostly, my goal has been to remind myself of good things to do and help others to help us when we’re unwell: something I couldn’t do when I was down.
The first full week of October 2015 encompasses Mental Illness Awareness Week in Canada, so I thought, why not republish these? So, here they are. Where possible, the articles exist as they did in 2012-2013, with links to originals. ”

Depression: Lean on Me

Support: where do you lean when you aren’t strong?

It’s not easy. Ours is a culture of do-it-yourself, of self-starting and pulling ourselves up by the bootstraps. And when you’re sick, this is what you most likely can’t even think of doing.

When you’re feeling low, you both desperately need someone to lean on and also sometimes feel like it’s far too much to ask. It’s not. If it’s all you can do, please try to reach out. Talking to someone thoughtful can make worlds of difference. Here are a few places to start.

1. Friends. If friends are family that we choose for ourselves, try to get in touch with your most care-giving, heart-open, motherly (in the best way), favourite-aunt-or-sister-like friend. She might be able to meet you where you’re at and hear what’s on your mind when you need ultimate caring-for. And if she’s also smart (of course she is!), she will help guide you to people and things that can help.

2. Family. That is, if you are close with your family. They know you. They know how to comfort you and help you, and you might have to stretch a little and ask specifically for what exactly you need. Possible script: “I have been feeling not-so-great lately, and need to tell you what it’s like. Would you be able to listen for a few minutes while I tell you?” (If family have been unhelpful, forget this point and move on.)

3. Professionals. They are called that because they are that: professional. In my gang, I had a family doctor, counsellor/ therapist, acupuncturist, nutritionist, and psychiatrist. It cost money. And lots of time in travelling. And it took a few tries to find people who were helpful for me. Again, it is not ideal: it took some work. A lot of work. Work that was hard to do, and I had little energy, but it ultimately helped me to become healthy again. Because there came a point where, if I didn’t do this work, what kind of work could I ever do? They helped me. Tons.

4. Social groups. Now, I’m not talking about joining a volleyball league because that’s what someone said you should do. (Unless you like volleyball league, and it makes you feel slightly fleetingly good when you go. Or you’re a part of a program and volleyball is a part of the program. In that case, yay you! You’re taking charge of your getting-better!)

What I am talking about is trying to show up at something that happens with other people, and it makes you feel slightly fleetingly good when you go.

It might not feel great. In fact, it might be the biggest, hardest job you have all day: getting ready to go to the community choir practice. Or knitting club. Or swimming practice. It might be the hardest thing you do. And you do it. So you can feel good in the doing of it, even if that feeling-good-for-doing-something feeling lasts one minute. It’s feeling something, and that is good. And the actual doing-of-it might also feel good. Maybe these aren’t the people that you talk to about “how you’re doing.” Maybe these are people that you talk to about music. Or knitting. Or swimming. Or nothing at all, but you’re sharing the same physical space with a common activity. And that has you connected to the world.

5. Other larger-community-type-groups. Here, I’m talking about gatherings like the sacred and religious kind, whether or not you are fully committed to the theme. Or your local folk music club (you can arrive just as the doors close and leave at the break, if you need to). Or the coffee shop around the corner that people go to because it’s around the corner and they can. It is important to find some way to try to be with other semi-anonymous, probably-not-unfriendly people.

6. Animals. It sounds corny, but they help. Find a dog to walk or a cat to snuggle. They don’t ask any questions and will probably simply be happy for the attention. (They also give back exponentially.)

And a point that might be moot for some of you (if you are currently unwell, this might be tricky), but could help too, is to actively cultivate supportive, loving relationships. Not everyone will be open to talking about what’s going on for you. Some, though, might be able to give you a ride to an appointment if you need it. Or ask you to go for a walk once in a while (and be okay if you can’t that day, without needing to hear a reason). It stings, but some people in your life might kind of drop out while you’re sick. Some might return, and some, well, some might not. It’s okay if they have their own thing going on. And you have people in your life who want to be around you; who want to see you get better.

It is possible to get better.

If you’re actively at the bottom, know that there are people who can help. It does get better. And on your way back, try to be kind with yourself.

What is your experience with finding someone to lean on? What’s it like to know you need help, and to ask for it?

– – –
*I use the feminine pronoun throughout. And my single strongest survival supporter has been and still is a man. You will know your people when you meet them.

I am writing this because I had an experience. I am in no way a medical professional. I had an experience, and I have learned a lot from it, and that’s the foundation of all of this.

Talk About Depression

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fox and megaphone image from The Black Sheep Studio on etsy

fox and megaphone image from The Black Sheep Studio on etsy

“In the summer of 2012, I started writing about depression. Ultimately, I wrote thirteen articles that were published monthly at the online magazine Scoutie Girl.
A part of it includes my experience with a long, dark episode of depression. But mostly, my goal has been to remind myself of good things to do and help others to help us when we’re unwell: something I couldn’t do when I was down.
The first full week of October 2015 encompasses Mental Illness Awareness Week in Canada, so I thought, why not republish these? So, here they are. Where possible, the articles exist as they did in 2012-2013, with links to originals. ”

Talk About Depression

Does anyone really want to talk about depression?

I didn’t think so.

Starting last month, though, I vowed to (and Scoutie Girl agreed to let me) do just that. Remember that I’m not a professional. I had an experience, and I am getting better at talking about it.

When you’re depressed, you both do and don’t want to talk about it. Both, with strong feeling. You want someone, anyone, to listen to and understand you. You want the people in your life to “get” how certain things feel impossible for you, and how you’re not making it up. And then you diligently go to your helper people (doctor, therapist, acupuncturist, nutritionist, psychiatrist, and so on), even when you can barely make it down the stairs (you know that it will help, somehow, so you get someone to take you), and you must talk about it. About, like, every last detail, including whether your bowel movements have gotten any more regular, because depression slows everything down, and we all want to know if anything is getting any better yet.

And you simultaneously, desperately, want to stop talking about it because all you do is talk about it.

Part of depression also involves wariness of others: they can hurt you with their unknowing words. The whole scene can also be quite confusing to people around you. It’s not like one day you were in a crash and your leg snapped and now you’re in a cast and everyone can see it. There is no defined minute when depression happened, and there is no glaringly obvious visual cue to others that something has changed. It’s hard to talk to others about what’s going on for you. (And you might not be so sure yourself.)

How to talk about it: the basics

When you start feeling strange – not quite yourself, out of energy, having trouble concentrating and feeling bad about yourself (these are some basic symptoms, and the Mayo clinic has a good self-diagnosis guide) — it is critical that you talk about it with your health care people. I started with my GP. It’s important that you are as thorough as you can be with her or him so that they can try to help you.

When you know that something is wrong and you are trying to make it better, let your closest people know. For me, that started with my partner. He actively became my primary caregiver when I couldn’t really take care of myself. I told close friends. I told my family of origin. Some wanted to listen. Others decidedly didn’t. Some asked how they could help. When you can, tell them how. Let them in and let them help. There is no one set path through talking about it. None of it was easy for me, and I found that people were triggered by their own scripts and experiences. People wanted me to help them through receiving this news — when I could barely look after my own self.

Know that telling people might make your condition worse and learn when you are best able to deal with this possibility — and gauge your disclosures appropriately.

How to talk about it at work and in the community

My day job is in a unionized workplace. They are bound by law to respect my illness and support me in recovery and wellness. However, people are people, and mental illness, as much as we might want it to be otherwise, has stigma attached. I have been both careful and reckless about telling colleagues. Some will never understand and my energy is better spent elsewhere. My immediate supervisor, though, is supportive and understanding (I understand that I am fortunate here).

Out in the larger community, a friend saw that I was becoming stronger, and asked me to speak about what depression is like at a local Rotary club. I jumped at the chance. Well, I was completely freaked-out nervous, but felt an obligation to talk, to help people to learn something about mental illness, and maybe to chip through the stigma. I talked about my journey and what it was like, how it felt, and the medical hoops I crawled through. I could hear hearts beating and eyelashes touching eyelids, it was so quiet in the room. Then, I had three public disclosures and people lined up to talk to me privately afterward. I believe that it’s not so much that people don’t want to hear about it as people don’t know where to begin the conversation.

Leaders in “talking about it”

Some public figures have recently helped the discussion along and are good examples of how to talk about mental illness. Canadian Olympic cyclist and speedskater Clara Hughes began talking about about depression a few years ago and heads a public campaign on the topic. Popular author Marian Keyes writes in her newsletters about her debilitating depression and how it functions for her. Actresses Gwyneth Paltrow and Courtney Cox have spoken about their post-partum (post-natal) depression. And this spring, Sinéad O’Connor cancelled her North American tour due to her bipolar disorder and spoke out quite clearly about her illness.

The more we talk about mental illnesses, the more informed our public will be and, perhaps, we can lessen the stigmas and incorrect information out there. Maybe we can make it, somehow, easier for someone who is living through it. And maybe it can somehow be easier for us to live through, too.

How do you talk about mental illness? Do you feel comfortable telling people about your lows and other symptoms? How have you navigated these sometimes seemingly treacherous waters?

Notes

Clara Hughes has a new book, titled Open Heart, Open Mind.
This article was originally published in August 2012 at Scoutie Girl.

Note: I am writing this because I had an experience. I am in no way a medical professional. I had an experience, and I have learned a lot from it, and that’s the foundation of all of this.

Depression: it ain’t [all] heavy

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Down the Rabbit Hole by Stephanie Bracciano on etsy

Down the Rabbit Hole by Stephanie Bracciano on etsy

“In the summer of 2012, I started writing about depression. Ultimately, I wrote thirteen articles that were published monthly at the online magazine Scoutie Girl.
A part of it includes my experience with a long, dark episode of depression. But mostly, my goal has been to remind myself of good things to do and help others to help us when we’re unwell: something I couldn’t do when I was down.
The first full week of October 2015 encompasses Mental Illness Awareness Week in Canada, so I thought, why not republish these? So, here they are. Where possible, the articles exist as they did in 2012-2013, with links to originals. ”

Depression: it ain’t [all] heavy

Depression. No one wants to hear about it. But I’m not on about the ugly nuts and bolts of the bottom of the bottom, and not the clinical diagnosis. Not the other one, either, that goes something like “I’m so depressed that my favourite chocolate store closed down!” (Note: this is sadness. Maybe disappointment. Check out Danielle LaPorte’s thoughtful separation of the two and come back, just so we’re all on the same page here.) 

I’m talking about what it’s like to know my own early signs that depression is calling, and what I do about it. And let me start by announcing that I am in no way a medical professional. I had an experience, and I have learned a lot from it, and that’s the foundation of all that follows.

Background: I survived a three-year, need-help-to-leave-the-bed-for-the-couch  depression, and I can now see how I had wrangled my way through milder depressions before. My prognosis includes “high risk of relapse,” and it’s my goal to prove this wrong. I’m not here to talk about how bad it can get, but rather, to talk about how to recognize when the rabbit hole door is swinging wide-open with a “JUMP DOWN NOW!” flashing neon sign out front and warm, flaky, chocolate croissants just inside (I’m a sucker for chocolate croissants: the good, freshly baked kind). And then to learn how to not jump down it.

Are my early signs like yours? If so, then maybe some of this can help.

For me, I know something’s starting to go haywire when I feel like I can’t accomplish anything. Now, it’s important to remember that it’s a feeling: I may actually be accomplishing a lot, but I feel like I’m not. This feeling is often accompanied by slow moving, thinking, and talking; and generally feeling dull.

The truth: humans have higher days and lower days, and it’s important to remember this. 

Part of depression recovery for me was tracking every teeny tiny change in mood or feeling; it became a habit, so that I could identify positive or negative change. That isn’t so super-helpful now. It actually feels pretty bad, like I’m neurotically charting every bump and fart in my mood and on alert to panic if something feels low. I’m feeling pretty healthy now, and when I have a “lower” day, I have learned to hit a mental override that says “remember: other people do too. It’s just a day.”

Next early sign that things are going haywire: it’s super hard to do the mental override. The self-talk loop starts saying “You’re getting unproductive. In fact, you really haven’t done anything productive in ages.” If I don’t catch this and change it, it leads to “You’re actually kind of worthless and never really have done anything useful.” This is the rabbit hole! There is nothing good down here!

Useful (to me) turnarounds

I stay alert for that first “You’re so unproductive” script. I know the difference between the helpful one (the one telling me that the coffee break really should end after 55minutes of gabbing about my latest kale chips recipe* and how it’s so awesome: this really is inappropriate when I’m supposed to be working) and the unhelpful, destructive one. When I hear the destructive one, I summon all of my strength to get it out. I tell it, “No, you’re wrong. This is a lower moment, and is perfectly okay.”

I go for a walk. I know, we’ve all heard it a million times, but it really does change something. I like to think that it jiggles the unhelpful thought around and shakes it out of my brain.

Or, I grab a friend for a walk and not talk about it. Talking about it sinks me deeper sometimes, so purposefully talking about something else—best: something in their life—can shift the destructive thoughts.

I smell something good. I know, it’s weird. But sometimes even digging out the awesome hand lotion or putting on some tingly mint lip balm does something.

I stop and dance. This has taken some training, as I am not, and never have been, a dancer. But I have a fledgling list of songs that I can pull up and play that force me to shake. Even just a little bit. Partially because it is so ridiculous (me, dancing?) and partially because they are happy songs, something shifts.

I don’t need it to be scientific: I just need the low-mood early-signs-of-depression to shift. Because nothing really good is down that rabbit hole, especially not the flaky chocolate croissants.

Down the road, I’ll talk about preventative and ongoing good-health habits that have worked for me, but for now, tell me: is there anything that you do when you see your early warning signs rearing up? Is there anything that helps you to determine what is an early warning sign for you?

*The secret is in the nutritional flake yeast. Add it to olive oil, lemon juice, and garlic; massage the kale with your hands until each leaf is completely coated; then spread on your dehydrator racks that your kind friend gave you as a housewarming present and dehydrate for a few hours until those babies are super crispy. Yum.

More information

If you are in crisis, follow this link to find someone to call.
Simple Mayo Clinic depression self-assessment 
Mental Illness Awareness Week
Best croissants in Alberta. . . or maybe, the world! (I prefer almond now, just for the record.)
Were you looking for my songlist link? It went the way of a dinosaur website. Until I get my Spotify lists in order, please go there or to Songza and explore!

Note: I am writing this because I had an experience. I am in no way a medical professional. I had an experience, and I have learned a lot from it, and that’s the foundation of all of this.