I’m not going to comment…

I’ve been playing shrink to a number of people lately… having lost both my parents by my 26th birthday and my 3-ish year old cousin, I’m somewhat of an “expert” on depression/mourning after a close family member passes away.

Other than the reaction blog entry a few days ago, I’ve said very little. The majority of my posts on Facebook related to the shooting are in the form of shared links. I’ve been trying to keep quiet and not add my voice to the deafening roar.

And I’ve been asked why - seeing how I never know when to shut up.

Publicly, I’ve said nothing regarding the Newtown shooting, except that I have a college friend whose daughter was killed. I’ve mentioned being on the fence as to whether or not I’m making the four hour trip to attend the wake/funeral. I’ve donated to both the Engel family and the UConn scholarship set up for the surviving children and their siblings in Newtown. I have no public opinion on gun control. I’m ambivalent regarding the media’s insistence on tying this back to some sort of mental illness.

In the end, it boils down to the fact that I don’t have the “right” words to describe what happened, or my reaction to the flood of emotions I’ve experienced.

Sometimes it’s best to just keep your mouth shut.

This situation is fucked up enough as it is without me saying something in my normally tactless manner and managing to make it worse…

This wasn’t supposed to happen…

OLIVIA ENGEL :: 2006 - 2012 :: NEWTOWN, CT
photo lifted from one of the news sites and is used without permission

I went to school with Olivia’s father Brian. We marched in the band together.

I’m not going to link to all the media because it’s easy to find… but here’s one story that focuses on her.

The family has put together a paypal account to receive donations. You can visit the Facebook page here.

This shit isn’t supposed to happen to a six year old. Period.

Real life example: broken down

So, a few days ago, I received a request to write down what it was like in my head during a depression cycle. I said sure and then promptly wondered how the hell I was going to manage that.

Enter R.E.M.

Yesterday, after the entry went live, it ruffled just about the number of feathers I figured it would. (An un-alarming number of people told me to “get over myself and stop being such a fucking drama queen.”) Then the same person who started all this asked me to write the “true side” of each comment.

I bring you a cut, pasted, edited version of yesterday’s entry. Truth and lies.

——
Today I woke up to R.E.M.‘s “Everybody Hurts”.

Specifically, the lyric “Everybody hurts, take comfort in your friends.” Seriously. That’s the first thing I heard. The timing was ridiculously perfect.

My brain automatically started in:
- What friends? You don’t have any friends. Bullshit. I have PLENTY of friends. Some are the take off the shelf once a year types, others are more frequent visitors to my world.

- When was the last time you heard from any of your so-called friends? That’s right. Forever ago. Also not true. It’s mostly Facebook communication, but there’s a lot of chatting going on either publicly or privately.

- They don’t like you. They never liked you. VERY NICE, SUBCONSCIOUS. Misquote “Rocky Horror.” Running out of material, are we?

- They only hung out with you out of pity because you’re pathetic. They hang out with you because you’re a nice person and funny as fuck when the mood strikes.

- Tell the truth: you’re skipping the party because you know you only got invited because they felt they had to. The party is Saturday night in CT. I have a 10AM WIT with the Muchachos Drumline on Sunday. You tell me if you’d be able to do both…I know my limits and I know that’s not going to happen. I am very bummed by this fact, but I need the ensemble practice. Plus, I committed to the Muchachos. My friends will understand.

- The comment to “Leave your drama at the door” was meant for you and you only. Um. No. Just. No.

- They don’t want to deal with you and your shit. Possibly true. The depression is hard for my friends to deal with. I get that. It’s why I try to hide it from them.

- You’re alone, alone, alone. Again, no. I have lots of people in my life. Some I like, some I don’t, but I am never alone.

—-

As Jenny once said, DEPRESSION LIES. It is the cruelest bully I’ve ever met.

It’s hard to deal with, it’s harder to explain.

I invite any of you who feel that I should just “get over myself” to spend a day like yesterday in my head. I was so upset ALL day over stupid shit that wasn’t true, but once it takes root, it’s all over.

I can’t take anti-depressants, but before I discovered that, I noticed that they didn’t help anyway. My particular biology trumps science when it comes to depression lately.

And it sucks.

But I do the best I can to deal with it. After all, life goes on whether you want it to or not.

Real life example

Today I woke up to R.E.M.‘s “Everybody Hurts”.

Specifically, the lyric “Everybody hurts, take comfort in your friends.” Seriously. That’s the first thing I heard. The timing was ridiculously perfect.

My brain automatically started in:
- What friends? You don’t have any friends.

- When was the last time you heard from any of your so-called friends? That’s right. Forever ago.

- They don’t like you. They never liked you.

- They only hung out with you out of pity because you’re pathetic.

- Tell the truth: you’re skipping the party because you know you only got invited because they felt they had to.

- The comment to “Leave your drama at the door” was meant for you and you only.

- They don’t want to deal with you and your shit.

- You’re alone, alone, alone.

So far, I haven’t been able to shut the voices up.

It’s affecting my work big time today, and I want to go home early because I’m sick.

But I’m not physically sick, so I’m going to put on my big girl panties and deal with it.

Because that’s what we depressed people do.

We hide how we’re really feeling.

We don’t want to burden anyone.

We don’t want them to pity us and give the voices reason to gloat.

Mental Illness’ Poster Child?

my workplace cheering section: katniss, my red dress moment, katniss
yes. a stupid fictional character gives me the strength i need to get through the dark days

If you’ve ever come across any of the blogs I’ve run since 2000, you’ve been exposed to my flavor of crazy.

If you’ve been a part of my ‘real’ life since… oh, I don’t know, BIRTH?, you’ve lived with my flavor of crazy. Whether you knew it or not.

I’ve had a few people tell me that they knew something was wrong with me, some called me broken, some told me flat out that they thought I was crazy.

Well, guess what? I am.

For those of you late to the party, or too lazy to go through the archives, my official diagnosis is Bipolar 1 with Borderline Personality Disorder plus some anger/rage and anxiety issues on the side.

Because being bipolar doesn’t suck enough.

I do write a lot publicly about the depression portion of the bipolar roller coaster. It’s the part that consumes me. It’s the part that I need to work through. It’s the part that I need to survive.

I just came out of one of the worst cycles I’ve ever had in my entire life. Like I was hours from going to the ER and getting admitted to a psych ward. A few people know that, a lot don’t. If I were the suicidal type, I wouldn’t be here today. That’s how bad it was.

Let me repeat that: If I were the suicidal type, I wouldn’t be here today. That’s how bad it was.

I got through that part of the illness relatively early. Before I even knew what bipolar was. When I still thought it was all in my head. I’m glad. It’s not the answer. It’s NEVER the answer. But holy mother-of-fuck, when those voices start telling me to do it, to end my suffering, they make so much sense.

At any rate… the reason I’m revisiting this topic yet again is simply because I’m pissed off. (What else is new? Right, Peanut Gallery?)

I had my first CrossFit work out on Monday night. It was hard, but I survived it. I know it’s what I need to do. It’s the necessary evil I need to face if I want any hope of surviving the GORUCK Challenge. It is what it is.

I was expecting the endorphin rush. I was expecting… something positive.

What I got was the fast lane to The Ick. It couldn’t have even been an hour before the depression came on. Strong.

I made the decision Tuesday morning to cancel Wednesday’s workout. I told the trainer that I needed to see my doc before I continued. When she pushed, I came clean about the bipolar and the depression. I CAN’T go back to that dark place. I WON’T go back there. I need to know what caused it.

I was told that it was because my insulin was out of whack, that I have a shitty diet, blah, blah, blah, blabbity, blah, blah, blah. I was expecting every word of it. I’m not stupid.

However, I’m on some serious psych drugs over here. I’m not sure what they’re fucking up, but my first instinct is to run to my drug dealer and get a handle on whether or not any of this is due to side effects. The bipolar has to come first. If it’s not treated correctly, the rest of my life is shit. I was told that I should go see my GP first. Maybe even my cardiologist. Diet and more exercise is the answer and my drug dealer was going to be useless. Oh, by the way, here are some books on Paleo you need to read. They’ll cure ALL your problems.

I had well meaning friends try to tell me it was a problem with the workout itself, that I should try yoga or something like that.

Nope. Ain’t gonna happen.

CrossFit will get me through the GRC, so it’s that or nothing.

I was prepared for nothing and then I started to google “depression and exercise”. Turns out, it’s fairly common.

SO glad to know I wasn’t alone.

There’s a bunch of things that could be the cause. Some people get lucky with anti-depressants. I won’t be one of those… a-ds trigger the mania. (Mania is just as dangerous as depression, but a hell of a lot more fun.) Maybe it’s insulin. Maybe it’s cortisol. Maybe it’s caffeine. I don’t know. There are a gazillion variables and everyone reacts to different chemicals differently.

But you can bet your ass I will know what caused it.

I don’t want to be like all the people who had to walk away from stuff they loved doing because they couldn’t handle going off the deep end after a workout… but if I have to be, I will. It’s that simple.

I came across the blog entry I posted yesterday about someone else’s experience with depression.

All of my struggles yesterday were documented on Facebook… from the sadness about having to cross the GRC off my bucket list before even attempting it, to my anger at the trainer, to the blog entry, to the google search results.

The reactions were insane.

People were emailing me and messaging me and posting publicly that they were happy I was letting them know they weren’t alone.

It’s crazy (ha!) that the simple act of just standing here admitting how amazingly fucked up I am makes people feel better. It makes me feel better, too.

I never meant to become the poster child of mental illness to a select group of people…

But I’m kinda glad I am.

No one should have to go through this alone.

News flash: Your friends and family DON’T understand. They CAN’T support you. They can try, and maybe they’ll help a little, but unless they’ve been depressed, the odds are pretty decent that they may do more harm than good. (And I don’t mean “boo-hoo, I got a c on my paper” depressed. I’m talking “I can’t get out of bed, I want to die” depressed. There’s a BIG difference, Sparky. Like crack in the sidewalk vs Grand Canyon different.)

If my standing out here, screaming “HEY! LOOK AT ME! I’M BIPOLAR!” makes other people feel better about themselves, then I’ve done what I can. I’m not an advocate - I don’t want to be - but I want my experiences to help someone out.

IF YOU ARE FEELING THE SLIGHTEST BIT SUICIDAL, CALL 1-800-273-8255.

THE WEBSITE IS ASS UGLY, BUT SUICIDE HOTLINES CAN CONNECT YOU WITH SOMEONE IN YOUR AREA.

Or you can call and email me. Whatever works.