In my last blog, I talked about depression and depression triggers. I could blog on depression for the rest of my life. It's so hard to explain depression. It's one of those things that if you get it, you get it. If you don't, I'm not sure you ever will and for your sake, I hope you never do. Depression is thought by some experts to be a combination of genetic, biological, environmental, and psychological factors. It is a horrible feeling. It's physical pain: everything literally aches, you have no appetite (or eat everything in site) because your stomach hurts, your limbs feel heavy as if they weigh 1000 pounds each from fatigue, your head hurts, your eyes ache causing vision problems. It's emotional pain: you have an overwhelming sense of hopelessness, you feel sad, you can't stop crying, you can't concentrate, and you can't make yourself get up and do the simplest task like shower or brush your teeth. Occasionally, you honestly get to the point to where you feel like the world would be much better if you were dead.
This week has been a particularly bad one for me. I was accused of several things I didn't do which triggered me into a depressive episode. I received some negative feedback on my blog which more than anything, pissed me off. I was defending the blog, reading some of the comments I have received in messages and text, when a person asked me did I really think I was helping people or did I think people were reading this just to be nosey about my life? First off, if someone has no life and gets off by reading about mine, knock yourself out! Except for the past week, this is no doubt
A B S O L U T E L Y T H E B E S T I have felt in years (mentally speaking)! I am
G E N U I N E L Y H A P P Y! Is my life perfect? Absolutely not. I still have health problems I am dealing with. Perry and I have a son we have no communication with because he chooses a lifestyle we don't approve of and can't support (No, he's not gay or transgender. He has addiction/anger issues.)
In my opinion, the worst part of depression, other than dealing with depression itself, is dealing with those people who think they have all the answers but have never been clinically depressed a day in their life. I just want to hold them down and scream in their face, "YOU DON'T GET IT"! It's ok, I don't expect them to get it. However, I do expect them to not give advice that is actually more harmful than helpful. If you have someone that suffers from depression, do not say:
1) I choose to be happy. Why don't you do that?
2) Have you tried exercising? Have you tried chamomile tea? Are you hormonal?
3) You have a great life! I would love to trade places with you.
4) Your life isn't that bad.
5) You just need to get up and find something to do.
6) It could be worse.
7) This too shall pass. You'll get over it.
8) Why are you so selfish? Think about others that have real problems.
9) You need to be better. There's no point in this nonsense.
10) It's all in your head. I don't understand what is wrong with you.
I'm sure there are other lists, but those are things that have personally been said to me and have not been helpful in any way. The most helpful things for me are hearing someone is listening, someone cares, and most importantly someone loves me. My friend BCH always told me she was not only listening to me, but she could "hear" what I was saying. It makes such a difference to know just one person cares what you have to say or how you feel.
Poor self-esteem and self image isn't considered a mental disorder, but the way you feel about yourself clearly relates to how you think others see you. If you don't think you are worthy of love or happiness, why would you think others would love you or want to make you happy? Poor self esteem seems to walk hand in hand with depression and anxiety. I'm not sure why I've always had poor self esteem and self image. The first thing Perry says to me is, "Good morning, beautiful". The last thing he says to me at night is, "I love you, beautiful". It used to be "beautiful angel" but I guess through the years of wedded bliss, I've lost my angel status. Maybe my poor self image is because my sister was so pretty. Maybe it's because I was so awkward and skinny growing up. Maybe it was the thick glasses I wore as a child. Maybe it was feeling like my parents didn't want me. In all honesty, maybe it's because I always seemed to be last in Perry's "rotation" of girls until I won the prize. YAY me!
Once we were married, I had little episodes of depression and signs of BPD, but I still didn't know what they were. I was a trauma nurse. Definitely not a psych nurse. We were doing ok as a married couple. I was still jealous and he was still telling lies to stay out of trouble (if he drank any alcohol before he drove home or if he took his jeep offroad). Ten months after we married, we bought our first house in Mt. Olive. It was a cute starter home with three bedrooms and 2 bathrooms. We painted, put up wallpaper, and made it our own. Perry had started working at O'Neal steel. He couldn't decide what he wanted to do when he grew up. He quit going to school until he could make a decision. We started talking about having a child. Sometime early that summer it happened and we found out I was pregnant. I was already a little paranoid about my weight because I had gained about 15 pounds since we had gotten married. Since we had moved to Mt. Olive, we weren't working out like we had been. After all, Perry did have a tag bracket in high school that read "no fat chicks". Once I was prego, I thought I had an excuse to eat whatever I wanted. I gained 75# and Perry gained 30# during my pregnancy! Those late night waffle house runs were deliciousness. I clearly remember watching a Janet Jackson video and saying something about her navel ring being cute and how I was going to get one after the baby. Perry laughed at me. It was on!
Samuel Jordan Scarborough was born on March 8, 1995 at 0610 am and was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen. He looked exactly like his dad from minute one. I must've had a little bit of delusion at childbirth because I thought I could fit into those size 4 jeans and wear them home when we left the hospital. I wore my maternity clothes home and begged Perry to stop at the tanning bed on the way to the house. I've always said dark fat looks better than white fat. I walk in and ask if they have any beds available. The lady working tells me she's sorry but pregnant women aren't allowed to tan. At this point, I sit down in the floor of Movie Madness (where the tanning beds are located) and start sobbing about how I'm not pregnant. That was the last nudge I needed. Sam I were on a routine from that day forward. I went on a low fat diet and was an exercise machine. I ran twice a day with Sam in his stroller. I progressed up to five miles each time which was fairly easy for me since I ran cross county is high school. I did aerobic videos while he sat in his swing. I was down to 120# by the time Sam was 6 months old and I was solid muscle. I even had a six pack in my abs. I did get my belly ring during a trip to Gatlinburg. I did great, but Perry passed out when they stuck me.
Sadly, I still saw myself as unattractive, unwanted, and unloved. I still needed attention. I saw myself as the girl below, a loving wife and mother, but ugly on all accounts. To be truthful, I was very ugly on the inside.
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