**Trigger Warning. (But then again, life is kind of a trigger warning, and you are on a site called a delightful blog about depression, so… ya know. Read at your own risk).**
It’s been a hot minute since I’ve done anything with this blog. Contrary to popular belief, depression isn’t just listening to sad music and crying into a tub of ice cream; it’s also characterized by long stretches of gnawing emptiness that result in profound apathy. Who knew.
This apathy continues to reach into every area of my life. It takes too much energy to maintain relationships, and so I let them fall by the wayside and then grow angry and resentful that if I don’t initiate conversations with people, they just ignore me. It’s a vicious cycle where everyone loses.
I’ve held off on writing these last few weeks because I don’t have anything good to report – no lesson to learn, no obvious way that God and the universe have been working (though I know it’s all happening in the background); I’m just in the middle of the mess right now and I can’t see a way out.
But then I remembered that’s why I started this blog in the first place. We are all too happy to talk about things that happened in the past where we know the ending and can see how it all worked out for good eventually. And if by chance, we’re struggling through something at the moment, we just build up another wall and pull down the mask a little further until it’s all over and then try to reconstruct meaning out of the tragedy so we can have a good story to tell the Bible study friends when it’s all said and done. Or maybe that’s just me.
So let me invite you into the mess.
Last Thursday was a low point for me. I had gone through all of these hoops with the pharmacy and my insurance and a pre-authorization form and special ordering this new anti-depressant, and getting a special card that was supposed to bring co-payments down, and I got a call in the morning that it was finally available to pick up.
I had a therapy appointment in the afternoon, and my plan was to pick up the pills afterward. Therapy has been… underwhelming to say the least. Not to discount therapy at all – I just haven’t found the right therapist for me yet. But, being the people pleaser that I am, and hating confrontation, I can’t bring myself to tell her that I don’t want to schedule any more appointments. So the plan right now is to get well enough to set boundaries and then start practicing on her. More on that story as it develops.
Anyway. Towards the end of my appointment on Thursday, I told my therapist that I was picking up my meds that evening and I was anxious about starting them. She asked why, and I reiterated for the third time my history with medications and their adverse effects on my life, health, and general well-being. (It’s totally fine that I had to tell her this story three times, it definitely doesn’t play into any insecurities that I don’t matter and no one cares, not even my therapist who couldn’t be bothered to take a freaking note. It’s fine.)
All she said was, “Well, as adults we all have to do things we don’t want to do. I don’t like switching up my diabetes medication, but I have to do that sometimes.”
… yup. Good advice, thank you for showing compassion and for making a really well-educated comparison between anti-depressants and diabetes medication. Well done.
I left the appointment half raging and half feeling really stupid, which resulted in a full-blown meltdown in the car on the way to the pharmacy. But, like a champ, I got it together and reined it in enough to run errands like an adult.
I got to the pharmacy and they rung me up for $150 worth of medication. I tried showing them the card I got that was supposed to help bring the cost down, but they told me it had expired. I may or may not have had some choice words for the pharmacist. Those words may or may not have been: You’ve got to be effing kidding me. I could feel myself becoming one of those hysterical customers I despised as the thin veil of “blending in like a normal adult” slipped ever so slightly out of place.
Instead of jumping behind the counter and grabbing my medication and telling the nice lady that these pills cost all of $10 to manufacture but thanks to the government protected monopolies on prescription drugs they are somehow deemed worthy of $150 making them unavailable to the marginalized people who actually need them… I said I’d be back later and turned around before she could see me cry.
At home, Doug really just wanted to help. I know in my head he was trying to love me the best way he knew how. But I would have none of it. He was in “fix it” mode, but I didn’t want to be fixed. Depression (and borderline, as I’m learning) is so isolating in this way – we shut off the parts of ourselves that need healing the most.
Doug had to meet a friend after dinner, so I was left alone with my thoughts and frustrations. I was in a very, very dark place. A symptom of borderline personality is that you’re unable to communicate your needs in a healthy way, so you stuff it all down further and further until you do something destructive. For some people it’s drinking, promiscuous behavior, spending large amounts of money, etc. For a lot of borderline people, myself included, it’s self-harm. This is different than suicidal ideation, as the point is not to die, but rather as a release.
I don’t cut or bang my head against the wall, rather I pick my skin. This is more than just scratching or an OCD fixation on a perceived skin imperfection. I scratch until I bleed and then I keep scratching. I have always done this, even as a little kid. Mostly it’s on my legs, so I just wear pants and it covers everything up. I was always self-conscious about it, but I couldn’t stop. It has never been addressed before now, and it’s scary to write about.
I’m learning that this behavior is developed after a traumatic event in a child’s life, as a way for them to cope if they haven’t learned how to deal with whatever happened. This, coupled with shame, has perpetuated the behavior into adulthood. And we’re right back to isolation – shutting off parts of ourselves that need healing the most.
How do we break the cycle? Well, I guess this is my attempt to let the light shine in my darkest places. It was so freeing to hear that I’m not the only one who has this behavior, and furthermore, that it doesn’t always have to be this way. There is another, better way to live and cope with frustration. The tradeoff is, this healthier way is far more vulnerable. I can’t shut myself away deal with it in my own self-destructive way, I have to actually tell people what I’m feeling and what I need from them, and ultimately open myself up to be hurt and disappointed. But also, open myself up to be fulfilled and to have my needs met. Honestly, I don’t know which one is scarier.
God created us to be people who bond. Ideally, we bond with Him, and with a community of people. But, in place of God and people, we’ll still bond with something – food, sex, unhealthy relationships, skin picking, etc. The road to recovery is not complicated, but it feels impossible most days.
So that’s it. That’s my mess. I’m working through it but it sucks. And it’s hard.
Deep calls to deep
at the roar of your waterfalls;
all your breakers and your waves
have gone over me.
By day the Lord commands his steadfast love,
and at night his song is with me,
a prayer to the God of my life. – Psalm 42:7-8