My best friend, Erin, recently told me, I’d be ‘good’ at this blogging thing because I’ve already been doing it for years on Facebook, not afraid to be me and ‘putting myself out there’. True. I’ve learned, or maybe even grown into myself, not afraid to be myself or express myself, and finally force myself be heard (sometimes overkill, I know) after so many years through childhood and middle school, being the shy, quiet, mousy girl, whom I thought no one ever noticed or even heard of or knew existed, being a very small, softspoken (suprising, isn’t it?) ONE out of hundreds more colorful, interesting students. I found my voice the second half of my freshman year in high school, moving to the small town of Gurley, NE with my two sisters, living with our dad and stepmom. Luckily, I already knew some upperclassmen (BONUS), who were friends of my older, already graduated and married stepbrother. The town was familiar, as I had been visiting every summer for years prior, making the move less traumatic, despite an otherwise traumatic situation, previously living with a physically abusive stepdad, whom my mother was divorcing at the time, wanting to spare us girls that unpleasantry after all we’d already endured. I attended school in the next town over in Dalton, both towns consolidated as Leyton, my freshman class with a total of 18 at the time. I believe coming from a bigger, more colorful ‘city’ and being the ‘new girl’, I quickly gained a multitude of friends, a boyfriend (my first EVER at 15), popularity (so overrated), and later on becoming a cheerleader my sophomore and junior years (I later moved back to SD to spend my senior year), which would have been UNHEARD of in Watertown, SD. Although I found my voice and for the first time and felt I finally ‘fit in’ on the surface, while alone, mostly at night, in my room, with just myself and my thoughts, I still maintained and saw myself as that shy, quiet, mousy girl from years prior. To this day, there are people who don’t believe that girl ever existed…or moreso yet, still exists today.
To those who haven’t known me for all those years or haven’t grown close enough to me, this post will be difficult for you to comprehend or believe. I don’t advertise this part of me or like to even show that part of me, as it’s not pretty and would probably find myself with even less friends in my now current small circle. Although everyday more light is shed on the evergrowing numbers of people who suffer from mental illness and is gaining more respect, little by little in the medical and everyday communities, unfortunately, mental illness is still seen as a negative stigma, not even seen as an illness to many, just another reason to ‘pop pills’ to rid us of our so-called troubles. Oh, how I wish I didn’t need to. Without medication (anti-depressant and anti-anxiety), life is dark, ugly, and not worth living. The person I am on medication isn’t perfect by any means. Contrary to popular belief, they are not ‘Magic Happy Pills’ but keep my mood at an even keel, take the edge off of the everyday goings-on that would otherwise keep me home. I have bad days, like everyone else, but my bad days are difficult; the girl I am is difficult…She is best left alone, asleep, in the dark, where no one else can hurt her, because deep inside, she is hurting enough, all on her own. She will do her best to distance herself from everyone around her, and if that doesn’t work, she’ll attemp to hurt you with words, making you WANT to stray from her. There is a dark side of me, not seen and hidden just below the surface of what you see as me, the smarticle, bubbly, absolutely hilarious, snarky, sassy, energetic, TALKATIVE, outgoing girl we all know and love. When ‘the dark’ emerges, it’s nothing that can be ‘just turned off’ or thoughts that should just be ignored and ‘gotten over’. She’s there, and some days, it’s best, in my own mind, to just be alone and sleep…sleep until she retrieves back into hiding, never completely leaving, because although somedays I want to disappear, to not exist, my time here on earth, as painful as it may be sometimes, is not over until I KNOW my girls are ok and on their own, making the most of everything life has to offer, to grow to be better than I’ve become. And to be there for them for all of life’s obstacles (I’ve jumped, ran, hid sometimes, trudged and fought my way through almost all of them). They are my very reason everyday to go on. They are the reason I’m alive today and continue…Am I afraid to die? No. In my heart, I know where I will be…with my son, on the other side. Being a knowlegable, skilled ICU nurse, I have the knowledge and ability to expedite the process in a quick, unmessy, and painless way. Will I do it? No. I know where I need to be, where I am most needed. My girls need their mom more than my son needs me. I know I will see him again one day, and he remains in my heart and is with me everyday. He knows he is not forgotten and that he has a family that loves and thinks of him to this day, and I KNOW that he is ok, coming from a message I received straight from him, as I was a lucky girl of very few, very deserving people who had received a special, rare reading from Theresa Caputo, last November in a stadium of THOUSANDS. A life-changing experience I will NEVER forget or could never THANK enough for…that topic is for another time, another blog…bottom line, Mason is OK; I need to remain here, alive, to make sure Jacey and Ally are OK, or I have failed as a mother. That is one area where I cannot fail…many, many mistakes, YES!, but failure is out of the question. So, I carry on…
Not everyday is like today. I’m your average, ‘normal’ 40-year old, going through the everyday joys, despair, the ups and downs, the exciting, the mundane, the ‘normal’ everyday cycles of life, married twice, with two teenage girls I have raised mostly on my own, with the help of my second (and current), most kind-hearted, self-less, loving husband of five years, loving my girls as if they’re his own from the ages of 9 and 7, as being married to me, he will never experience the opportunity of fathering children of his own. How he came to choose me and all the baggage that comes with being me, I guess I’ll never know, but I Thank God everyday he sees in me what I don’t see. Most days are good, but then there are days my depression emerges…and I wait for the day he runs, but luckily for me, he still remains, for now…
Major Depression with Generalized Anxiety, an actual diagnosis I’ve owned for nearly 3 years with proper treatment from a smart, wonderful, completely understanding Nurse Practitioner, specializing in mental health, but have sufferred for decades, untreated or inadequately treated by my Family Practice PCP. They do their best, but sometimes fall short of what could be a better mixture of medications to treat. For years, I thought the numbness and detachment were a better alternative to the craziness going on in my brain and that was as good as is was going to get. Although currently treated with medication, the diagnosis, moreso defined by the aching, burning, painfully stabbing feelings from the depths of my soul, creeping upward into the more superficial parts of my brain, manifesting itself into physical, very evident, pain…the non-cardiac chest pain, the difficulty breathing/shortness of breath, both usually the physical features of my anxiety/panic attacks, the never-ending tears that form just below the surface of my eyes, causing the burning and the unbearable headaches, everything that gives me feelings of wanting it all just to go away.
Another lovely myth or opinion is that it’s a choice we have to be miserable and spread misery all around us. Yep, I wake up every morning (or evening, as I’ve been a night nurse for 14 years) and think I want to be crabby or happy or suicidal or downright manic and obnoxious…the choice is all mine! No! As I’ve said, the medication keeps the mood at an even level, trying to avoid the peaks and valleys of mood swings that drive me and everyone around me absolutely bonkers!!! Oh, to be a teenager again… Sometimes situational stressors can trigger the darkness or in my work life, I’m sure my crazy schedules of long stretches away from home, the driving to and from (100 miles, one way), and working mixed day/night shifts hasn’t been of much benefit for my mental health, but I don’t dwell on it, put my blinders on, and just get it done. Of course in the work environment, much like an athlete, I put my “game face” on. Keep personal feelings at “home” and out of the workplace, even when I’m falling apart inside. Of course at home, it’s all a different story. Everything bottled up for too long tends to explode, and unfortunately, it blows up on the ones we love the most. No, it’s not a choice to be miserable or sad or depressed and make it my mission for everyone around me to feel the same pain. It has been embedded in my DNA since conception. This I honestly, truly believe, due to a strong family history that includes my own mother, having attempted suicide twice. Both times during my fragile pregnancies; both times, thankfully, failed. It’s a chemical imbalance that I DO choose medication in which to create more of a balance to allow me to live a more normal life.
I can remember times as early as childhood where I didn’t feel “happy” when i should have or “fit in” with my family, even my sisters (with whom I should feel closest to), my best friends, peers, everyone. I recall as early as my high school days, looking around my classroom or cheering at football or basketball game, wondering if anyone would even notice if I was ‘gone’, even though I had close friends and a boyfriend, ‘popularity’ in a small school, much different from my middle school years of feeling unnoticed, blending in with the dull colors of the painted lockers and painted cement brick walls. Like the lockers and walls, I was dull. In ways, I probably overcompensated and most likely currently do, at times, for fear of being forgotten… ironically, if I really take the time to think about it, why would I really care if I’m remembered or not when I’m dead? I’ll be among loved ones on the other side, happy and perfect. My legacy is the lives my girls create for themselves…their achievements and successes are indirectly mine. My wish is for them to achieve more and be more in life than I’ve ever done. If they succeed in doing that, my role as a parent, a single mother, would be complete and unfailed.
My first real dose of depression hit when I lost my son, due to my inability to carry him to term. Born at 24 weeks, I had no idea of knowing I had an incompetent cervix that would lead to his early birth and death AND the difficult pregnancies of my daughers that later ensued. Although, both were born early, they were healthy and I was able to take them home shortly after necessary C-Sections, again due to the early birth and breech presentation of my Mason. I chose to ignore my depression symptoms; others probably saw me as grieving mother, mourning the loss of her child. I pushed my depression aside, while pushing for another baby. I got what I wanted, obviously, but was hit with colic in Jacey, her constant screaming that made me cry and feel like a terrible/inferior/failing mother on a daily basis and postpartum depression with both, SHOCKER!! How I became preganant with Ally, I can’t recall to this day, but she sure came by surprise! I just hoped upon all hopes she would be a happy baby and revive the feelings of being a good mother. My Dr. prescribed Sarafem, basically a low dose Prozac, to curb my bouts of balling for no reason and my crazy mood swings that ensued, which didn’t help, so just quit taking it.
I tried treating my depression with just about every anti-depressant under the sun but could never quite get to that ‘sweet spot’ dose of derailing my mood swings or persistent ‘sadness’, ‘blues’, ’emptiness’, for lack of better terminology. The supposed ‘magic drug’, Prozac, at a slightly higher dose gave me heart palpitations that felt worse than the depression and made me even more anxious. I quit trying after a long period of time until I reached a point where I simply couldn’t stand myself and after growing even more anxious and depressed due to an ensuing divorce, another failure in life, as a wife. Zoloft did the trick, at a very high dose, or so I thought. It did nothing for my anxiety and as far as treating my depression, made me ‘numb’ and basically ‘unfeeling’ and detatched emotionally. At the time, better than the latter. I guess this is as good as it gets. Turns out, when you’re busy caring for others and their needs, as a nurse, you tend to ignore your own symptoms of illness. Funny, a low thyroid count (hypothyroidism) causes depression, worsening if already diagnosed, loss of energy, excessive sleeping, hair loss (FUN! a ball of hair with every shower!) and intolerance to cold. All of those on paper described me to a T!! Anywho, so my thyroid numbers are under control, where they need to be….it took the comment from another Dr, looking at my Zoloft dose, to mention that my depression and anxiety could most likely be treated better with a medical professional who specialized in that specific area….hmmmm, who woulda thunk it??!? Again, the nurse who takes care of everyone else, fails to take care of herself. Currently, I’m being medically treated by a Nurse Practitioner with a PhD in mental health, who does an EXCELLENT job looking at my entire picture of health…sleeplessness, depression, and OMG, added meds for anxiety. THANK YOU!! And due to my internal clock out of whack with changing day/night shifts and difficulty maintaining a normal family life outside of work, diagnosed me with Sleep Work Disorder…yes, it is an actual diagnosis, with medication to treat the fatigue, giving me the energy and awareness to stay alert on night shifts AND to actually be able to function a normal life outside of work with my OWN FAMILY… Holy Hannah, imagine that!!
Like I’ve said, most days are pretty normal, and I’m just me. Other days….like the past couple I’ve had, most likely caused by little sleep, away from home, and a couple situational stressors, I can definitely do without, but they DO exist, not by choice…but I do the best I can to maintain a positive life and to always be there for those who need me.
Depression and Anxiety don’t define who I am, but they remain and always will be a part of what makes me, me.
To anyone suffering, you are not alone, as lonely as life feels at times. Stay Strong!
Just Me ~ Kasey
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