I have missed blogging. I've missed writing and journaling but I have been under the impression that I can only write when depressed. When I'm numb and devastated in an unfeeling way that only depression knows. It used to be hard for me to even roll over in bed, reach down to the floor and pick up my laptop. Lighting a cigarette was an emotional burden. However, once my fingers started flying across the keyboard, the familiar click-clack filling my brain, I became alive...in a sad, dead kind of way.
Now that I am no longer sad, I struggle with the idea of starting a blog. For years now, I have resisted writing again. I figured it would be too forced, too contrived and ultimately, insincere. The few times I tried, it was. I've reached some sort of turning point though. It's almost as though my entire consciousness has shifted and I really have a lot to say. My snarkiness no longer feels bitter and depraved. My humor, though tactless and crass, doesn't seem cruel anymore. For once in my life, I feel truly content. Who knows though. Maybe 5 years down the line, I'll look back on this moment and realize I was fooling myself. Our perception of ourselves is very fleeting.
I'm screwed financially. I am 30 years old and I have no savings. My credit is shot to shit and I get paid like a 20 year old right of high school. I live frugally and don't vacation. When I go out, I pinch pennies. Fortunately, I am spoiled by both my parents and they help me out enormously. Despite my financial ruin (yes, I'm being dramatic), I am extremely happy. Not the giddy, over zealous happy that comes from fooling yourself into thinking everything is ok, but a content, consistent and calm happy. This is the kind of happy I am not sure I have felt before. It's amazing.
My life was put on hold in October of 2001. The two main contributing factors were September 11th and my mom leaving my dad. I don't blame my mom. Perhaps I used to, though I never admitted it in such black and white terms. The truth of the matter is though, I fell apart. There was something incomplete directly under the surface. It didn't take much to scratch away a layer or two to leave me completely immobilized. I was 20 years old and right on the brink of adult hood. I was enjoying college, albeit community college, but I took a genuine joy in the kind of knowledge I was acquiring there. It was exciting and so unlike high school. My teachings were so thorough and concentrated. I was looking forward to pursuing life on the path prescribed to all well to do 20something Americans. That being said, I ended up dropping out and the following two years were filled with half assed attempts at a normal life. In and out of school, registering for classes only to drop them so I could remain on my father's insurance plan. My panic attacks became more frequent and more severe and it became hard to function outside my bedroom on a daily basis. Holding jobs became a stressor unknown to me until that point and I felt alone and lost and unequipped to handle the things that were happening to me. I didn't even understand it so it was hard to expect anyone else to. The more I convinced myself that I was a failure in everyone else's eyes, the easier it was to allow myself to give up, roll over and just go to sleep. My sadness became comforting and safe and after awhile, all I really knew.
My energy was draining. To be around me was exhausting. People who never experienced depression and panic attacks couldn't fathom a pretty, intelligent girl wallowing in such unforgivable depths of despair. Depression was for the misfits, the drug addicts and ugly kids who had nothing to look forward to. I am not exaggerating when I tell you this was, and IS, the mindset of a lot people. I don't blame them. Until you've been there, you assume the depressed person's lack of direction and motivation is due to laziness and delinquency. Just get out of bed and go! Everyone gets sad! Everyone gets nervous sometimes! You'll be fine, goddamnit, just fucking do something with your life!
Unfortunately, it's not that easy. Let's make a long story short here. I got the help I needed. My dad, who for so long could not figure his sad daughter out, forced me into therapy. He didn't drag me kicking and screaming, but he called someone and of course, because I was over 18, I had to make all the arrangements. I guess I was ready because I jumped on it. In a year, through Cognitive Rehabilitation Therapy with an amazing intern at Jersey Shore, I became a new person...without heavy medication. My depression was controlled with some mild anti depressants and my panic attacks became manageable without meds, through journaling and basic self awareness. It was a turning point. I owe my life to this woman. Cindy Haines is truly my savior.
My mantra became, "A lapse is not a relapse." I tend to think in visual terms. I was in a very deep, black hole and my fingernails were cracked, broken and bloody in my attempts to climb towards the light time and time again. Poetic huh? During my time in therapy, I would experience what I referred to as "glimmers." Brief, almost ethereal moments where I'd come to a startling realization that things could be ok. They'd flee as quickly as they came. I'd become horribly discouraged because I couldn't conquer this in one quick, effortless step. When Cindy told me for the first time, that a lapse is not a relapse, my entire approach changed. Five very simple but profound words were the turning point I needed. Soon, my life began to make sense. This debilitating illness ceased having power over me. Slowly, I began to control my depression. I recall vividly, near the end of my therapy, driving down the parkway one evening and just smiling. In this smile though, was a new beginning. It was pure, unfiltered joy and appreciation for life. Like my glimmers, it passed quickly, but from then on, the black hole that had become my life became shallower. It began to break apart and light filtered in through the crumbling cracks.
I'm still trying to get my bearings. My life was put on hold for over 5 years, but I feel it's beginning to take its natural course. What I "should" have accomplished in my 20s, I feel confident I will tackle in my 30s.
Call me a late bloomer :-)
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