Adulting through the Fog

As many of you probably know, May is Mental Health Awareness Month.  Though I have mixed feelings about awareness months (sit down October, I've seen Pink Ribbon, Inc) I think this one is important, and after a lot of thought, I've decided to contribute by sharing a bit about my travels with mental illness and how it's helped and hindered and wreaked havoc on my transition into adulthood.  

I live with anxiety and depression.  I have for as long as I can remember, and was first diagnosed and medicated in 5th grade.  I'm very fortunate to have had help managing it for so much of my life, and I credit my very in the know and emotionally intelligent parents for that.  As a kid I had what my family called "meltdowns" just sobbing and sobbing until I wore myself out, and never knowing quite why.  I was physically nauseated with guilt over trivial things and never told anyone.  If I wasn't able to finish my homework...watch out.  My spelling book was always a battlefield, and the 5th grade project where you had to plan and document an imaginary cross country trip was harder for me than writing my Senior Capstone.  Even so, if you asked me to describe my childhood, "happy" and "wonderful" would be the first words out of my mouth.  High school was...high school.  I had a hellish junior year, but I went away to college feeling prepared and well adjusted.  It was a rough but positive transition, to be sure.  My second year I called my mom in tears so often that she still asks me occasionally if I've been crying in any alleys (I shared a room, you gotta cry where you can!)  

Then I had what I'd consider my first real bout of depression as an adult.  I had just moved off campus, had an horrible job, and was totally overwhelmed.  It was much lower energy than my experiences when I was younger.  I couldn't sleep at night, I couldn't get up in the morning.  Fun stuff stopped being fun, I left countless parties and gatherings crying because I felt so lonely.  My main interests were watching Law and Order SVU, laying face down, and trying to make people not worry about me.  I changed my medication, and that was really empowering.  I relearned some of the techniques I'd been neglecting.  I surrounded myself with love.  I didn't go to therapy, but I talked about my feelings a lot.  I probably should have gone to therapy instead of coaxing it for free out of unsuspecting loved ones.  

A friend sent me this excellent post  about executive dysfunction and for me, it makes a lot of sense.  For example, these are the normal instructions I give a recently potty trained child who sometimes and kind of needs help going to the bathroom.  This is the actual level of detail I give them, they can get completely sidetracked at literally any point.  

Walk to the bathroom

Pull down your pants and undies

Hop on the potty

Take some toilet paper 

Wipe with it

Put it in the potty (this is critical, they always try to hand it to me)

Hop off the potty 

Pull up your pants and undies 

And THEN they have to wash their hands!  Is this overkill?  Yes.  Does it get me out of the bathroom in under ten minutes with nobody screaming? Also yes.  But my point here is that when you're a grown up, nobody is telling you the steps, guiding you through them.  When you're a young adult, sometimes it's not just a matter of doing the steps but of figuring out what they are.  When you're depressed, the endless series of steps is an insurmountable mountain, so maybe you just lay on your face for a while.  

On the other hand, becoming responsible for my own life has really empowered me. I feel so much less often like things happen to me, and more like I'm doing things.  For me, feeling like the badass ruler of my own destiny and being depressed don't get along very well.  Seeing beautiful little faces grinning and running up to me because hanging out with me is so darn great and being depressed don't get along well.  And yes, a medication situation carefully tried and balanced keeps depression at bay. Shining a big bright light into all the dark corners of myself and out into the world keeps depression at bay, even if it's a fight to keep the power on.

Like many people, I have a complicated relationship with my depression.  Sometimes, I wonder how much easier it would be to do my life without it.  Sometimes I wonder if it makes me appreciate my happiness even more. Sometimes I get frustrated with people for not getting it.  Sometimes, I wonder if I should keep quiet and listen to people with mental health issues more serious and "real" than mine.  Sometimes I want to kick depression in the face, and sometimes I want to thank it for a particularly good bit of wisdom. I certainly don't know who I would be without it, and I'm pretty great.