Posts Tagged: depression

I Will Still Rise: Surgery, Complications and Recovery

October 12, 2016 Katie A personal: health, personal: that spoonie life 1 Comment

endoTwo months ago today, I went into the operating room for a surgery I had been trying to get for a year.

At that point in time, my health had continued to decline, and it was declining faster and faster as time went on.I saw an amazing nurse practitioner who listened as I cried, explaining at a 7am appointment about how miserable I was. I had been in the ER the night before due to the pain. She told me that I had gone through more than anyone else should ever have to endure, and that while she couldn’t do much for me as a nurse, she could refer me to a doctor and start me on the path to surgery.

The doctor I ended up seeing after two rounds of blood work, two ultrasounds and a month of anxiously waiting while dealing with the daily pain from endometriosis made it very clear at that appointment that she had no interest or plan in even helping me have somewhat of a normal life.

She told me:

I was fat.

That OTC pain killers would cure all the pain (yeah, okay).

She told me to come back in three months, and if then I had “lost weight”, she would “consider” surgery.

I walked out, got into my car and sobbed. I had such high hopes for this appointment and wanted to feel better. I wanted to feel like a medical professional understood me, cared about me, wanted to help me as I had only been getting worse, and worse, and worse.

Instead, I was pushed out and told to make a follow up appointment in three months if things didn’t get better. They didn’t. They got worse. My girlfriend saw me start to wither away because I was exhausted. I couldn’t sleep. I continued to be in and out of the ER due to pain and heavy bleeding. I was only getting worse… and no one cared. emdo2

Three months later, I anxiously made my follow up call.

I spoke up, saying this doctor really was not the right fit for me and asked to see someone else.

The next doctor I saw changed my life entirely.

At that same appointment, the first time I met Dr. Hastings – she agreed surgery was what we needed to do. She sat and listened and watched as I cried, telling her about how no one wanted to help me, how my health was going downhill. I had been in and out of the ER several times in the past year because of endometriosis.

She told me as I left that she was going to help me get the relief I needed, the relief I deserved. That same day, she carried my file into the surgery coordinators office. I was told to call back if I hadn’t heard back in about a week. I walked out of the appointment stunned.

Time and time again, I had gotten my hopes up and had them crushed.

Time and time again, I was left to only get worse, worse, worse.

fight-songThree weeks later, when I got the phone call with my surgery date – I sat at my desk with “Fight Song” playing and cried. This was going to happen. I had a surgery date. I was on the road to recovery. I was on the road, waiting anxiously until my surgery date.


On August 12, 2016 – I walked into the outpatient surgery center, registered and sat anxiously to be called back to be be prepped for surgery. I had hardly slept the night before. I was anxious. I was worried. At the same time, I knew that I was in good hands. I had a doctor who cared about me and who wanted the best for me.

Oddly enough, I had found out just two days prior that my doctor would be having a collegue assist in the surgery. At first I was pissed when I found out who it was, but Dr. Hastings assured me that she would be doing most of the work and the assisting surgeon would be there only if needed. Who was this doctor? Yup. You guessed it. The one who called me fat and made it clear she didn’t want to treat me.

Going into it, I knew that there was a very real chance that I could end up with a larger incision. It was one of those things where we planned for it to be a last resort, but I also knew because of how sick I was – that it was a very real chance it would happen.

My mom came in and we took some pictures before they wheeled me back into the operating room.

The last thing I remember were the jellyfish floating around on the operating room, moving onto the operating table and the anesthesiologist telling me he was giving me some medication in my IV to calm me down before surgery started. I don’t remember anything after that.


20160812_104032 When I woke in recovery, I really had no idea what the fuck was going on. I don’t remember much, even two months later. My mom said I was in a lot of paint, but I don’t remember it.

I remember feeling gross. I vaguely remember my doctor coming in and giving me an overview of the surgery. I remember trying to focus on her and what she was saying but the only thing I could absorb was this:

“We had to do the larger incision, we got in there, and we realized we needed to open you up all the way. It was the best option and we were able to excise a lot of the disease, adhesions and scar tissue.”

What I didn’t know and understand at that point in time was just how sick I was.

I later learned that I was unable to be weaned off of the oxygen, and even with the oxygen, I was wheezing. My heart rate was sky high and eventually that started to come down as we found a pain medication to help… it didn’t last long once they had me up and moving.

img_0230They had gotten me stable enough they thought I could go home and removed the catheter. The nurses helped me into a wheelchair and took me into the bathroom to make sure I could urinate on my own. I remember clutching one of those barf bags in my hand, remembering how I threw up post op nine years ago with my first surgery.

The moment they got me up and started to get me back into the wheelchair, I nearly passed out and threw up.

It wasn’t too much later that they decided to admit me for the night for observation. I was still too sick, too unstable. I was upset, but I knew that this was the best option for me. I hated it. I wanted to go home. I wanted to be in my own bed. I knew I had to stay.

I surprised my nurses over the night 18 hours at how well I was up and moving on my own and how well I had begun to recover. I was still shaky, exhausted and sore. My blood sugar was high but my breathing and heart rate had finally stabilized. I blew those nurses away.

I proved to them, and myself, that I am a fighter. img_0059


It’s been two months now.

In a way, it seems like it was forever ago. What turned into what was supposed to be four one inch incisions, turned into a six inch incision and two months off of work while I recovered.

I had staples. I had a minor infection.

I sunk into a deep post op depression.

When I look back today, I don’t really think I grasped how this surgery was going to impact my life. I knew it would change a lot of things. I knew I would start to feel better as I got further and further into recovery, but I never really fully understand how different things would be.

img_0499I celebrated the day I had my staples removed (that entire experience had me terrified and on the edge of a panic attack, but it was over before I knew it with minimal pain. I felt so much better once those damn things were out).

I celebrated my first shower (thank god for shower chairs).

I celebrated as each steri strip began to fall off.

I took daily incision photos. img_0196

Every day, I started to notice a difference. Some days I slept more than others, I bled heavily for the first week post op. The day to day pain I remember before surgery wasn’t entirely gone… but the surgery had helped so much that I have only had two, maybe three days, where I’ve had to take the prescription strength pain meds.

It’s been a long two months. It feels like it’s been forever.

meI just went back to work last week (surprised my work kids – they had no idea I was even picking them up, much less coming back that day). It’s getting into a new routine. It’s learning that I still need to be gentle on my body. I’m still healing. I had major surgery with major complications. img_0115

It’s a period I shouldn’t be having and the endometriosis pain that comes along with it. Even with surgery, I knew I would still have pain. Remember, there is no cure for endometriosis. It is a daily battle, even with surgery making such a huge difference in my life already.

20160812_143019It’s learning that I still need to rest when my body is telling me to rest.

It’s learning that my body is still regaining the strength and energy I once had.

It’s pushing through the last of school and walking the stage for the local graduation ceremony – one month and three days after surgery. I walked across the stage and become a high school graduate.

It’s been healing – and it hasn’t been easy. It’s exhausting. It’s painful. There are days where I have to stay in bed and just listen my body and take care of myself.

A lot has changed in two months… I’ve come so far, and there’s even more to come as time passes.

Overall, it’s learning that my entire life has changed.20160915_191242

 

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The (Brutally) Honest Truth About Depression

July 3, 2016 Katie A Chronic Illness, personal: mental health 0 Comments

she’s a bitch.

she will creep up on you out of nowhere and silently. she will hide behind the amazing moments you live for, waiting to strike.

she will follow you around, making you second guess every move you make. she’s waiting and watching and ready to strike when you least expect it.

she will leave you broken. she will leave you crushed. she will attack and tell you things you may begin to believe. she’s left me broken. shattered. she’s left me unable to eat. unable to sleep. unable to get out of bed. she’s left me in the dark, wondering why i am still here.

even with medication and therapy, she’s still there. waiting. watching.

sometimes you just have to wait for it to pass, holding onto your friends and family. sometimes you brave the storm alone, one breath, one step at a time. each storm that passes, you come out a little higher than you did before, piecing the pieces back together.

it takes time. she will rear her ugly head again and again. you’ll feel the storm pushing you back, drowning you but you fight, you push against the wind, you get through the tears, the nightmares. you want to give up, to give in, but you don’t.

some days are harder than others, but you’ve made it this far already.

let her rear her ugly head. let the depression be the bitch she is, but don’t give up.

don’t give up. ♥

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#MedicatedAndMighty – Why I’m Taking Medication for Mental Illness

November 6, 2015 Katie A Chronic Illness, personal: anxiety, personal: bipolar disorder, personal: mental health, personal: psychiatry, personal: that spoonie life, personal: therapy 0 Comments

04b98602857b22cd85129f52d6e64cd7When I saw this post on BuzzFeed, I instantly knew that I wanted to turn it into a blog post of my own. It had been lingering in the back of my mind for awhile, but it didn’t hit hard until I read this post yesterday.

For a long time, I fought with the idea of getting help. I’d sit in a funk for awhile, debate over finally calling EH where my doctor had set up a referral for me. Eventually, it’d pass. It took awhile, sometimes longer than others – but it would pass.

It didn’t mean I wasn’t sick anymore.

I was. I knew it. Those closest to me knew it. Deep down, I was wrestling with the idea of getting help. I knew that something wasn’t right, that this back and forth, the battle, the flip of a switch mood swings and everything I was feeling wasn’t normal. It wasn’t healthy.

It wasn’t until last winter where I finally knew that I was either going to give up, or find help. My first try got me nowhere and basically was told that I wasn’t “sick enough” to get help from the county mental health department. I still look back and think, had I been worse… that outcome could have been so much worse than it was.

7395b496d3afbe4bb7e0bbfc64a0b70aMy biggest fear at that point in time, was starting to come true.

Getting out of bed was a fight.

Getting ready for work or class was a battle.

The smallest things would trigger an avalanche of emotions.

I wasn’t sleeping.

I was hardly eating.

It was getting worse and worse as every day passed. I felt like I was drowning, sinking and that I was going to feel this deep depression for the rest of my life.

That’s not even including the anxiety that was quickly taking control of almost every aspect of my life.

So, one cold January morning – I walked into my doctors office, broke down in tears and explained what was going on. He was the first medical professional to listen to me. To really listen and see what this was like for me. I left the office that day with a referral to EH to see a psychiatrist and start therapy, but also with a prescription for an anti-depressant.

The adjustment was… hard. I slept, a lot. My moods stabilized somewhat, but then started bouncing around again. I was sleeping 10-12 hours a day once the medication entered my system, and even then I was exhausted. I knew it would take time, that it meant I may have to try other meds.

Yet, I knew that starting medication was the best choice. Nothing I was doing on my own was helping, I’d lost weight, I’d lost friends (later realizing this was their loss and not mine, as they left me when I needed my friends the most) and set out to work through this.

In the end, I ended up seeing a psychiatrist about six months ago.

I was diagnosed with anxiety and bipolar disorder. I was given more medication, with some adjustments here and there over the past six months. It took awhile, but I slowly started to see the difference.

Taking medication meant I could get out of bed.

Taking medication meant that I could make it to work and to school.

Taking medication meant that I could finally feel stable again, despite having a low here or there.

Taking medication means that I am taking care of myself, and in the long run – maybe this is what I needed all along. It took awhile to get to here, and previous experience with taking medication in high school left me hesitant and fighting the idea.

Taking medication means that I am on the road to becoming healthy. Taking medication daily means that I can have a chance to have a normal, healthy life. While I’m still fighting my mental illness, I am taking the biggest step I can in order to regaining my health.

I’m finally starting to feel like myself again.

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Reaching the Surface

October 31, 2015 Katie A personal: anxiety, personal: bipolar disorder, personal: health, personal: mental health, personal: psychiatry, personal: therapy 2 Comments

09e01f3406b1a67399504f3e6b3022a2When I became a patient at EH this past summer, I stepped into the doors full of anxiety, fear and uncertainty. I didn’t know what treatment would be like, I didn’t know anyone there.

All I knew was that I needed help.

The same afternoon I began therapy, I began seeing a psychiatrist. I started seeing LP once a month and we began the process of finding medications that would work for me.

I was diagnosed with anxiety disorder, as well as bipolar disorder. We were already treating my depression through my primary care doctor, but LP kept lines of communication open and said if I needed a different medication, she would help me find it.

She was there to help. She wanted to help me get my feet back on the ground, to begin to feel like myself again.

It was overwhelming. Draining. Scary.

It was a lot all at once.

I trudged through, I adjusted to medication, increased dosages, changed medication and finally. . . after nearly six months, I walked into her office yesterday morning for our monthly meeting.

Seeing the smile on her face when I told her how I was doing, how I was adjusting to the change in dosage of the mood stabilizer made everything come into focus. Even now, I’m smiling.

For so long, I had told myself that I would always feel that way, that I’d always be numb, cold and sinking under the weight of depression. LP and my therapist CY have been amazing. I have a support team, these two cheer me on, listen to my struggles and encourage me.

They ask the hard questions.

They ask how I’m doing, and expect me to answer with exactly how I feel. I have to. If I don’t, I won’t be able to keep taking steps forward. If means changing medications over and over, adjusting to new ones – it’s something I have to do.

When I sat in LP’s office yesterday, I never expected her to tell me this:

“You are doing really, really well. You’ve graduated to the next step, the mood stabilizer is obviously working for you right now at it’s current dose. I think our next step is to graduate you to coming in to see me every two months.”

Wait, what?

Really?

It was not something I expected, and yet, I felt a weight lift off of me. I didn’t feel the anxiety sink in. I knew that if I need to come in sooner, that LP is there. They’ll fit me in and we can take things from there.

For now, I am enjoying this milestone. I’m proud of myself for getting this far, for fighting through the worst days, sinking under depression and losing part of myself.

All these little steps I started to take in July led me to today. Slowly but surely, I am starting to reach the surface – I fight the bad days, I fight when depression rears its head and tries to push me back down under it’s weight.

I’ve come so far already, and reaching the surface just a tiny bit is a breath of fresh air. I’m not sinking anymore.

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The Guilt of Self Care

October 22, 2015 Katie A Chronic Illness 1 Comment

Let me be honest here. Brutally honest.

It’s been a bad week. Rough. Emotional. Full of pain. Frustration. Stress. And then, just when I thought things couldn’t get harder – depression started to rear it’s ugly head. All while I battle an unexpected flare up of endometriosis complete with my second period this month.

All of this the week of my birthday.

I missed work Monday because I was that miserable. On my birthday.

It’s been rough.

I’ve missed more class this week than I have in the entire semester. Between the exhaustion, the pain and just being unable to do anything – I couldn’t drag myself out of bed. It was either classes, or work – but not both.

I couldn’t do both. fbc5c7c32a79e92133988542e01f159f

I had every intention of getting up and going to both classes this morning, but a rough night of sleep, pain that left me doubled over this morning and the fact that it was one of those mornings where I knew I had to take some serious pain meds, – that wasn’t going to happen.

I hated it.

I wanted to cry (and still do).

Worst of all?

I felt guilty for realizing that I need to take care of myself.

It’s a hard thing to learn that you need to take care of yourself, especially when you are facing so many chronic health conditions. It’s been my biggest fight sometimes. It’s hard. It’s frustrating. More often than not, I’ve pushed myself too hard, too far and too often. e96032de17b086e2017a2c77765d2777

Lately, it’s been too hard, too far and much too often.

When I turned off my alarm this morning, I sat in bed fighting with myself over the choice I made.

Do I go and push myself too far?

Do I stay home and rest?

I’d look at the clock every minute or so, telling myself I still had time to get up, to get ready and get out the door.

Eventually, knowing that I needed the rest, the heavy medication and to take care of myself won. I still felt guilty. Even more so when I woke up after noon, despite knowing how much I needed the rest, despite knowing how bad the pain was this morning.

I felt guilty.

I felt guilty, horrible and selfish for taking care of myself.

I felt guilty for taking the medicine I knew would help me get some relief. I felt guilty sleeping for another few hours when my body absolutely needed it. I felt like in many ways, I’d lost the fight. I’d given in – that guilt was a hungry thing, grabbing onto everything I had and lingering.

fce7b6e1bf9f77bf30006f84921412b5I knew that I had to take care of myself.

I knew that if I pushed too hard, too fast, too often – I’d make myself worse.

I sat in bed, staring up at the ceiling as I felt the guilt eat at me, repeating quietly to myself that I had to take care of myself. I had to put myself first.

There are times where I feel like people around me don’t see how hard I fight. I fight hard. I always have some sort of barrier put up to protect myself.

Sometimes, I stand surrounded by people – and watch and wonder if they can hear me scream as I drown with the fact that self care is hard. Putting yourself first is hard. Learning to do this every day is even harder – but so many times, I feel like it is a silent scream that no one hears.

Do they see the fight in me? I honestly don’t know.

I’ve been at my job for nine years and I am just now getting to the point where I am comfortable telling my boss how I really feel on these bad days, and that is something incredibly hard to do.

Learning to say no, to create boundaries, to take care of myself (in any way I have to), is a fight. Sometimes it’s more than I can handle and I feel like I’m drowning in the guilt – but these are the times where I know I am doing the right thing.

It’s the hardest times that make you realize that you can be at your lowest point, drowning underneath everything but finally feel like you can breathe and just let go.

23f5f3154a725194b3af582c8d5e92bb

 

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Wednesday Words – A Letter to My Younger Self

October 7, 2015 Katie A Uncategorized 0 Comments

(Wednesday Words was originally created by me when I was blogging for The Hunger Games fansite – The Hob. Now I’m hoping to use it here once or twice a month)

Dear younger Katie,
You have already been through so much. You’ve seen your parents divorce, you survived a messy divorce, and moved around a bit. You went through a period of time where there wasn’t enough food, lived in place to place, had some really, really rough times, but you stayed strong (even though you hid the truth from family).

You saw a parent in and out of a psychiatric hospital while you battled your first big bout of depression.

You struggled with an eating disorder (and still do) even after several doctors told you that there’s “nothing wrong”. You survived high school where you were bullied, humiliated by a teacher and began self harming.

You survived a break up that changed your entire life – in good ways and bad. It left you depressed and wondering what went wrong, but you learned that things were better now. It opened up the door to a new relationship – one that is healthy, full of love and with your soulmate.

You came out. As hard as it was, you knew it was something that had to be done. It was hard, and scary. You were publicly humiliated by people you thought were friends. You were called a liar. You were called disgusting. You were told you were going to hell. You were prayed for because it would “heal” you. These same people stalked and harassed you for months.

You survived, again and again.

You don’t know what lies ahead – you don’t know that you’ll be diagnosed as type 2 diabetic just months after your 30th birthday. It’ll come as a huge shock and will leave you wondering WHY. You’ll feel alone and ashamed when others tell you things like “you can’t be diabetic, you’re too young” or “you better get it together and make changes” or “you’re too thin and active to be diabetic”. It’s harmful. It hurts.

You don’t know that you’ll be diagnosed with PCOS just months later, even after the thought of it has lingered in the back of your head for a couple years. While the diagnosis is somewhat of a relief, it brings more hard news – between the diagnosis of PCOS, having endometriosis and being a diabetic… chances of having a pregnancy are slim. It crushes you. You knew there was a chance of this, but you didn’t want to think about. That news from a doctor hit you like a ton of bricks.

You’ll fall in love with an amazing woman, exchange promise rings on the beach in Florida, and make plans for “the big move”. The long distance is hard, but you two are meant to be. She’s your rock, your anchor, your strength when you are weak. She will always love you, for you.

You’ve survived so much already, and you’ll keep surviving. You’ll fight every day, no matter how hard things get. You keep moving – one foot in front of the other. One day at a time, even one second at a time.

Everything you go through now will lead up to where you’ll be later on in life – but don’t forget how strong you are.

One day at a time.

Love,
me.

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My Health, My Treatments, My Choice

September 29, 2015 Katie A Chronic Illness 0 Comments

Yeah, yeah, yeah. . . I know I suck at this whole blogging thing, but let’s face it: this summer was brutal for me. Two ER trips due to Endometriosis, a shitty doctor who told me my pain was “in my mindset” and the agonizing wait to get into a new clinic (which has a much happier ending).

I walked out of that new clinic with yet another diagnosis – one that makes so much sense when it comes to my type two diabetes diagnosis. I was diagnosed with PCOS and told that between this, the diabetes and the endometriosis that I am unlikely to be a candidate for pregnancy.

It was crushing, honestly. I’ve cried about it. I’ve been angry.

This diagnosis though makes sense. The symptoms, the diabetes… it all makes sense.

That being said, this post was triggered and inspired by one of my classes today. I’m back in school after a semester off and while I am loving it, let’s be honest – it’s draining. I come home and nap after my classes before I go to work for the afternoon. I try and get homework done early in the week, but that has yet to happen. I’m just wiped out.

Today we were discussing gender and how our identities often intersect with other aspects of our lives. Some of the things I listed were my sexuality (I’m openly lesbian), a spoonie, endometriosis warrior, a chronic illness fighter and someone who has invisible illnesses.

When it came time to discuss these with other classmates in smaller groups, I was hesitant. I didn’t want to share this because it’s so hard sometimes. It’s frustrating to hear “but you don’t look sick”, or “you’re too young”, or “you’re too healthy and thin to have diabetes”, but guess what? I do. I fight every day. I push myself every day. I don’t want to have these – but I do. 1efbedb94b1252751abd144718c73922

I am sick.

One of the people in my group is very vocal about her approach and a family member who has been ill. Which, I appreciate – it’s nice to hear from someone else about what they may be dealing with.

The problem I have is that today, when I brought up my illnesses – all of them being invisible – I was immediately thrown into a whirlpool of health treatments that don’t mesh well with me. They aren’t something I’m comfortable with, something I feel that would benefit me. She didn’t seem to understand that and kept going on and on.

When I talked about how a recent trial of me being off of metformin for the diabetes sent me back into the range of the 200-300 blood glucose level, she said I just need to get off of the medication and let my body detox.

Yeah, no. I’m not willing to risk that and put myself in a possible position to end up in the emergency room because my blood glucose won’t come down to a safe level. I’m not willing to risk going off of my mood stabilizers or anti-depressants. I know what I am like without them, and I don’t want to go there again.

I know how I am without being on my current birth control pill. It sent me to the emergency room twice this summer. I bled for six weeks. I was sick. I was in so much pain I could hardly even eat.

Let’s face it: what may work for you, may not work for me. And that is totally fine. We all have different bodies that react to things differently. Right now, my body is doing fine on the metformin, it’s doing really well with the new birth control pills to help my Endometriosis, and my mood stabilizer (while I am adjusting to a higher dose currently) is worked wonders.

When my girlfriend and I talked today about this entire thing, this is what she said:

“I, personally, have seen the amazing benefits your treatment plan has had on you: a happier, healthier katie.  ❤”

Having her and my friends and family at my side helping me through these last few months has been life saving. I’ve been in a very dark place for a long time before I finally started getting treatment and for others to see the changes in me? Means the world and really hits home that I am doing what is best for me.

Let me make my own choices with my doctor and psychiatrist and gynecologist about what works for me. Let me take the medications that keep me stable, keep me out of the emergency room. Let me handle my own treatment, knowing what works for me.

Being chronically ill is hard enough as it is, but knowing what works best for me? Has been amazing and I am not letting that go anytime soon.

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What’s Wrong With Me?

January 4, 2015 Katie A Uncategorized 1 Comment

You may have noticed that I haven’t been around as much as I usually am. I’m quieter on social media. I don’t get out much other than work and basic errands. I’m quiet, don’t say much and don’t interact with my friends much.

As hard as it is to say, I know I need to say it.

I’m struggling with depression.

It’s quite possibly the worst round of depression I’ve ever dealt with, and it’s exhausting, terrifying and I am still wondering how I am supposed to pull myself out of this and come out stronger, healthier and happier on the other end.

Right now, I don’t think I ever will. That kills me to even think about. That’s how bad this is right now.

It’s the kind of depression where I’m so exhausted most of the day that I can barely keep my eyes open at times, but when I try to fall asleep – I can’t sleep. I doze off for a few minutes at a time, only to wake up even more exhausted than before. For the most part in the last couple of weeks, I have gotten half of my normal amount of sleep each night.

It’s the kind of depression where for most of the day, I’ll be fine – still down in the dumps and blue, but dealing okay. Then something, anything will flip a switch and I’ll lose my cool. I’ll cry over anything and everything, no matter how small. The little things that normally don’t bother me cause me to snap, to lock myself in my room.

I don’t want to do anything – just going to work before the holiday break was a struggle. I barely made it through each shift and I tried so hard to keep myself in one piece until I got home. I watched the clock anxiously; I made myself focus on something, anything other than what was going on in my head. It was exhausting, it was a battle.

It’s the kind of depression where I’m not eating much – and even when I do eat? It’s only because my body has gotten to the point where I will be sick or pass out because I haven’t eaten enough. I’ve lost weight, I know I have. I don’t know how much, but I’ve noticed because my clothes are loose on me, nothing fits right, nothing feels comfortable.

It’s the kind of depression where I don’t want to do anything I love. I can’t read. I can’t listen to music. I can’t watch my favorite movies or television shows. I sit in my room in my bed, in the dark and stare at the walls for hours. Sometimes I’ll have the television on, but I am not paying attention to it. I’m still in the dark, wrapped up in my blankets and wondering when this will end.

This is the kind of depression where I will curl up at the end of the night and fight back the tears as I try to go to sleep. I wonder what’s wrong with me, why this is happening, when it will end and I try to tell myself that I have to take it day by day. I tell myself that I got through this before, I can do this again – but this is the worst I have experienced.

I’m not myself.

It has been the longest and hardest month I have ever gone through.

What is worse are the weird thoughts in my head. I hate them. They scare me. They don’t happen often, but when they do – it startles me and really makes me wonder what the hell is wrong with me. I know what’s wrong with me. I’m depressed. I’m a shell of myself and I’m waiting for the light to come through, waiting for something to change.

There are days where I sit for hours and wonder if I am making it sound worse than I really feel, if it isn’t this bad and someone will come up to me and tell me that. I wonder if this will end and I’ll feel like myself the next morning, but I don’t. I wake up, hoping it’s the day where I will finally feel like things are turning around… only to face the cruel reality that it hasn’t.

This is the kind of depression where it’s hard to just get up and do those basic things I need to do in order to get through the day. Getting through work or a quick grocery shopping trip have become something that a exhausting and nerve wracking. I go out and I put on the face that everyone is used to – the happy, normal, take it as it comes kind of girl.

Except on the inside, I’m broken, sad, depressed and trying to figure out what my next step is. Nothing I’m used to doing is fun – friends have had to drag me out of the house to get me to do something, anything. I’m not excited (or even focused enough) to read or watch television. I barely have enough energy to roll out of bed most days.

It’s been like this for a month.

Failing my math class after sixteen weeks of working my ass off, countless hours of homework, studying, going to class, asking questions, getting help from friends and family members – and still I didn’t pass. I was in a funk before that – but this was my breaking point.

I realized that no one is going to know that I am struggling unless I tell them. No one will know that I need a little extra love or time, a little more understanding or space unless I speak up. No one will know that I’m stuck in a deep and dark place, trying to find my way out unless I tell them. Everyone thinks I’m okay – that I’m maybe just worn out or overwhelmed – no one has really realized that I’m depressed.

I’m depressed.

It scares me. The way I feel scares me, the thoughts that randomly creep into my head scare me and I am depressed. Making it through each day in one piece is hard – I’m mentally, physically and emotionally exhausted. I cry over anything and everything. Even the smallest thing will make my mood crumble.

So no, I’m not okay and it is harder than you can ever imagine to sit and here and tell everyone that. I’m not okay. I’m struggling. I’m depressed. I’m scared. I’m sad. I’m not myself. I’m in a dark place, I’m exhausted, beaten down and not sure where things will go from here. I can only take things one day at a time, one step at a time.

But the truth is, I’m struggling with this round of depression. Really struggling.

 

 

 

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