Tag: mental health

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Life: Stuck in Shades of Grey

Confession:

The word depression terrifies me.

depression.
depression.
depression

No matter how many times I say it, it doesn’t get easier.

As someone who has struggled with mental health issues for years, I am a huge advocate of reminding others to take care of themselves, but I would honestly much rather succumb myself to the latest remake of “IT” than look someone in the eye and properly admit that I’m suffering from depression.

Maybe because it sucks, a lot. Or because I hate the idea of feeling weak to this intangible thing that pretty much takes over my life. Or maybe it’s just so overwhelming and and I can’t figure out how to shake it and I really wish it wasn’t happening at all.

Yeah. It’s all of the above.

A few months ago, I was living on the edge. And I wish I meant that in a super cool way, but I was really just on edge at all times of every day for a long while. For weeks, I waited for my phone to ring while my Dad attended multiple doctor’s visits to figure out why he just didn’t feel himself anymore. When he was (finally) diagnosed with cancer, I was always anticipating my Mum’s voice on the other end of the phone telling me that the clock was ticking faster than Dad could keep up with and I’d have to pack a bag and jump on plane sooner rather than later. As I made it through every day wondering what was happening a province away, I was walking on eggshells in a toxic household and desperately trying to find a new place to live, while also waiting (im)patiently to hear back about a potential job offer in a new city.

Eventually (not surprisingly) my stress levels peaked. And of course, every situation that I was sitting on burst into fruition at the exact same moment. And just like that amusement park ride I hate so much where you’re sitting in your seat at the bottom of the tower and out of nowhere, you sky rocket to the top and then suddenly fall to what feels like your ultimate death only seconds later — it felt like almost everything about my existence hit the ceiling and immediately plummeted into this sinking direction while I was trying to absorb what was actually happening.

And here we are.

Now sure, it doesn’t always happen that way. Sometimes depression just, well, happens. And I’ll let you in on a not-so-secret secret: it happens to the best of us. Even the people who look like they’ve got it all figured out, all put together. [And yeah, you better believe I’m talking about those people who’s entire Instagram feed screams unicorns and rainbows and sunshine with inspirational quotes] Depression has no preference on who it tortures and if they haven’t already filled you in so you’re in the know – I’m willing to bet that several people that you cross paths with on a regular basis everyday feel the pain.

The way depression slips into our lives is a different experience for everyone. At the worst of times, it can feel like hitting your absolute “rock bottom”; sometimes, it’s less horrific. This most recent bout has felt as though this invisible force is holding me captive underneath the covers of my bed, ever so silently whispering to me that there’s no good reason to face the world or that I am not worth showing my face to anywhere beyond the bed where I lie. All of the sudden, it’s like the motivation to continue my regular routine has been vacuumed right out of me in one split second when I wasn’t paying attention; my drive is non-existent, my beacon of determination has been dimmed.

Depression can feel like life is fading from brilliant light to shades of dark grey, slowly or seemingly overnight. In the process, it’s easy to get lost in the darkness or even to feel stuck inside of it.

It’s been a long time since my couch and I have spent this much time together. As someone who hardly watches TV, I’ve surprised myself by watching 4 entire series on Netflix within two weeks. I’ve been spending time in the kitchen, teaching myself how to cook – and while I’ve boasted that it’s because I really want to stop defaulting to cereal as my dinner option on a regular basis, I’ve mostly just really enjoyed the fact that it gives me an opportunity to hide out in my apartment alone. On more occasions than I’d like to admit to, I’ve had my pyjamas on and tucked myself in around 7pm – usually waking up the next morning still feeling like I didn’t sleep long enough. I’ve cancelled plans to stay home and scroll through my phone, to watch movies I could care less about, to cry on my balcony and wonder about life.

It sounds so awful. I hate admitting it.
As I texted  to someone not that long ago: “Depression is a bitch, eh?”

Life can be hard at the best of times. Even if you’ve found your perfect match, you’ve secured your dream job, you’ve purchased the home that ticked off all the details on your “must have” list, your social circle is full of people who just ‘get you’ and  want to make  your heart explode with happiness… life is never perfect. We live in a world full of high demand (from ourselves and society) to live to certain standards; to always treat ourselves while still maintaining good health, to practice as much self care as necessary while not forgetting about what we promised others, to be an active member of society while also getting enough sleep and taking enough time for ourselves. There just aren’t enough hours in the day sometimes or enough coffee to get you through it, y’know?

And then on top of all the day-to-day stuff,  the love of our life suddenly breaks things off with us. Or the economy can’t seem to turn around and we eventually lose the job we were so desperately holding onto. Or maybe the most unexpected tragedy manifests – and then we fall apart.

Or, at least I do.

Reminder: It’s absolutely acceptable to feel defeated by life sometimes.

I don’t recommend having a full-on meltdown in a public area — work, the mall, the grocery store, in the middle of spin class.  There’s nothing wrong with doing so, but it’s just slightly more embarrassing or uncomfortable than if you just broke down into a fit of tears on your kitchen floor, in the shower, or even in your car. I will tell you that I’ve crumbled to my most vulnerable state in almost all those scenarios though – sometimes it just happens and/or it’s just too much effort to fight against it. So hey – if the final stitch gives out when you’re struggling to find a ripe avocado in the produce section or one more person sends you an unnecessarily feisty email or you’re just worn out and tired and your emotions burst through the seams – you do you, wherever that may be.

As much as I hate to admit that I feel really out of my element right now, I’ve learned (over time, dealing with depression on several occasions) that the importance is in recognizing that this experience is happening to me, and I’ve got to feel it to heal it. Ignoring it will only make it worse.

depression.
depression.
depression

1000 words talking about it, and it still doesn’t feel good to put that out in public. And maybe it never will. But if nothing else, there’s someone reading this who’s struggling and now they know that they’re not alone. I know how uncomfortable it can be to feel like you’re trapped in the dark on your own – so this is your reminder that there’s at least one other person who is fumbling around in dim lighting with you.

Fact: it’s not just you and me with these feels.

If you’re fighting your way through what seems like a tunnel with no light at the end, know that you’re not going to stay there forever – at least, as long as you don’t want to.  And while you’re surrounded by fog, there’s other people (including me) who are doing their best to find their way through the dark clouds at the same time.

I know it isn’t easy – admitting that you’re not okay, that you’re unsure, that you’re struggling. It sucks to feel less than yourself, when all you want is to feel like the best version of who you are.

*depression.
depression.
depression*

Nope. Still doesn’t feel good.

If you’re not okay, you’re not okay. The first step is embracing the reality and then deciding how you’re going to bring the light back into your life. (And if you want to talk options or you’re unsure which direction your second step should go towards, shoot me an email.) In the meantime, feel free to catch up on all the never-ending list of quality Netflix series available to watch or take up a new hobby from the comfort of your home. Or even just treat yourself to a few extra bubble baths, a few more hours of sleep, and a new book to read. Right now, I fully encourage you to do whatever it is you need to feel somewhat peaceful in your existence.

Be kind to yourself. You’re a human who’s experiencing a bumpy ride, and that’s totally okay.

We’ve all got struggles, and this one is yours right now. And if nothing else, I hope you find comfort knowing that we’re in this together.

Trust me – that’s exactly what’s getting me through.

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Life: Beyond Comprehension

I’ll never forget the moment I found out my Dad had passed away.

I had selfishly decided to leave the hospital for the first time in 28 hours to have a shower – I wanted to wash the stale scent of mystery meat and excessively pureed vegetables from my skin. In the back of my mind and in my heart, I was hoping that he would find the strength to open his eyes and see me; if by some magical miracle that moment happened, I wanted to look almost my best. But after one of the fastest showers I’d ever taken, I was on my way back to the hospital when my Mom called to break the news (and my heart). I had barely pulled over to the side of the road and from behind the wheel, my road rage had gone from non-existent to full throttle. In a matter of seconds, I was suddenly screaming in tears for other drivers to get out of my way, for the traffic lights to hurry up and give me a green light, for the universe to turn back time and take me out of this nightmare.

Within the hour, that anger was suppressed in the presence of staggering heartbreak. I sat there staring at my Dad with a shattered heart and a fierce regret for leaving his side for a damn shower. I knew that even if I had been there, I would have never been able to execute a suitable goodbye, but I never got the chance to try – and I only had myself to blame. By the next morning and as the days slowly passed, the unaddressed anger lingered in my body. When friends would check-in to see how I was coping, I’d scowl at my phone while pretending I was pleased to hear from them. On my flight to Toronto just a few days later, I had to exert all my effort into not blowing up to my neighbouring passenger while she told me stories about the family she was on the way to visit. I withheld my anger in business meetings – because, I didn’t want to be the one to make others uncomfortable with my unfortunate series of events.

For the past 4 months, anger has been simmering inside me with nowhere to go. I’ve been wandering, working, and filling my time with anything to stay distracted; to avoid unleashing my emotions where people can see them. Because death – the idea of it, the subject of it, the reality of it and the concept of it happening to us and to people we love is fucking uncomfortable and no one wants to talk about it, especially not for months on end. So yeah, at work and when (on the rare occasion) I meet new friends in this city that doesn’t feel like home yet, we don’t talk about it. Why would we want to talk about losing the people we love, when we can simply talk about what we love (that we still have)? Why talk about devastating circumstances, when there’s a million other even-just-slightly-less devastating events we can discuss? Why should everyone else feel uncomfortable, just because I’m not sure how to wrap my brain around the way my life’s unfolded over the summer?

No, I’m not trying to guilt trip anyone for living their own life and focusing on life moments that make them happy instead of sad. I’m just voicing my frustrations (because it’s my blog and I do what I want).

It’s just a bit discouraging how afraid so many of us are when the topic of death is brought to the table. It’s this outstanding part of life that we all experience in some form or another; it breaks all of us apart from the inside – yet no one wants to acknowledge the pain and maybe work together to find our way through it. I understand that it’s depressing, but it’s an element of life that we can’t just ignore; I mean, we can for a while, but you can’t outrun it forever.

So, what do you do when death unfolds right in front of you and takes over?

I’ve been trying to find an answer for months; I don’t think there’s anything really concrete. Whether it’s something we’re waiting on or an event that happens when we weren’t even a little bit ready for it, I’ve realized that death has different effects on every person it encounters. Some of us feel sad. Or maybe you get mad like I do. Or perhaps, it just doesn’t bother you at all. Actually, I think that last one is a lie – unless you actually do have a decrepit rock for a heart. But some of us are better at just not letting our emotions get the best of us and just plugging along with minimal fucks to give about what we can’t control.

But I think what I really want to get across with my words here is that if you’re ever going through something so utterly painful as someone you love passing away, you’re allowed to feel however the fuck you want to feel. If your heart just keeps breaking no matter how many ways you’ve tried to tape it up, that’s understandable. If you’re a little down and out and just not feeling yourself, that makes sense too. If you’re maybe a tad anxious, a bit unsure, slightly uncomfortable without the presence of someone who was always there – it’s not surprising. And hey, if you’re pissed right off that there’s absolutely nothing you can do to make things feel better right down at the root of it all – I feel you.

Just as discouraging as our minimal discussion about death, is the fact that so many people don’t recognize anger as a healthy emotion. Maybe it’s not healthy to be consistently angry – so angry and unstable that we let it fuel our habits and turn into destructive monsters – but I think it’s necessary for us to be mad about things that happen and to recognize what makes us tick. If we’re bothered and really shaken up about something, we shouldn’t just throw that away. Except, all too often I think we just feel the need to find a way to calm down, let go, distract ourselves with positivity.

Anger is just as important as any other emotion and if it’s surging through your body, I highly recommend taking the time to feel it (feel it hard!). I mean, if your lover broke your heart or the universe lit a match to your carefully thought out plans or if someone stabbed you in the back – or if your parent died the moment you stepped away for a 20 minutes – then I think you’re more than deserving to be mad about it — on top of whatever other emotion(s) you feel, too. In fact, I’d be super curious as to how dark and empty your soul is if you felt close to nothing at all in any close to awful scenario that happened to you.

It’s important to remember that you’re entitled to however you feel, but also to be mindful that other people may not feel the same or understand what you’re feeling. I’ve constantly tried to make my pain relatable to others, but no matter how I try to explain it – they’ll never feel the pain the way I do. And as frustrating as that truth is, that’s just how it goes.

So no matter how jealous, bitter, pensive, sad, or just plain miserable I feel — I’m just learning to live with it. Unfortunately, that means other people sort of have to, too. I’m doing my best not to lose my cool or cry excessively, and I’m trying to similiar to the fun, energetic self I was 5 months ago (before everything changed) but sometimes it just happens all that stuff just happens because I’m just too tired to stop it. Sometimes, getting upset  and feeling unhappy just needs to happen.

Grief seems to do whatever it wants to, and it seems as though the healthiest way to deal with it – is to just let it do it’s thing without feeling too bad about it.

If you haven’t faced it already, I’m sorry to say – but you will eventually. And when you do, I hope that you’re not too hard on yourself and give yourself permission to be incredibly imperfect in the process of navigating the pain, hurt, and uncontrollable way it affects your life – whatever that turns out to be. It may be bearable or it may feel impossible, and there’s really no way to prepare for it. The only thing I can tell you is that it probably won’t make sense.

But hey – neither did taking a shower, just to smell and look good at the hospital.

I guess that’s just how life unfolds sometimes. We just gotta’ keep doing what feels necessary in each moment that presents itself,  and the do our best  to take another step forward and figure out the rest from there.

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Let’s Talk: Me and My Issues

I like meeting new people.

When I meet them, I introduce myself as Jen: writer, panda obsessed,  jelly bean fanatic, only child, dedicated gym member, lover of love.

I never introduce myself as Jen: woman recovering from her eating disorder.

But that is a part of who I am.

Jen: the Anorexic/Bulimic

I can’t remember a time in my life when I wasn’t self-conscious about how I looked.

I have constantly worried about how my body appears in (and out) of my favourite clothes. I have spent a lot of time, over so many years, criticizing every inch and curve of my skin in every mirror and window and other reflective surfaces that I pass by.

I have told myself that I’m not good enough. Not pretty enough. Not as beautiful as everyone tells me I am.

I have convinced myself that I need to be perfect*

Mirror 1
I stressed so hard about how I looked, I made myself very sick.

Jen: Shy, Silent, Scared.

There was a time in my life, just a few years ago, where my eating disorder ruled my life:

Wake up, binge, purge, cry myself to sleep. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. 

It was an endless cycle I couldn’t find my way out of, and it turned me into a miserable and incredibly depressing human being.

I was keeping this huge secret of bad habits, and holding this guilty obsession about achieving perfection. It filled me with a toxic energy that horribly affected everything in my life.

I was scared of myself and my addiction, and potential judgement of everyone. I didn’t want anyone to know about all of it, so I hid my fear behind fake smiles and false positivity.

Therefore, no one seemed to fully understand why I was so unhappy.

My parents worried. My best friends were concerned. My boss knew there was something wrong.

Eventually, all that bad energy put a halt on my career. My sense of hopelessness contributed to a crushing breakup.

All of it completely changed my life.

Let’s talk about it.

I spent a lot of time struggling alone.

I was too scared to say anything. I was ashamed. I was so embarrassed. The thought of telling someone about what I was going through was extremely daunting.

In my head, I thought: “You did this to yourself. YOU have to fix it.”

THIS IS NOT TRUE.

I truly believed that this awful ordeal was my responsibility, but I also knew that I was incapable of turning it around by myself.

I had tried, and had always fallen back into the cycle: Binge, purge, cry, sleep. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

I decided that I could stay silent, and likely put myself into the express lane to my ultimate death. Or, I could try speaking up… and hope for the best.

^ that sentence makes it sound easy, but it was not. AT ALL.

I decided to tell an old friend. It was someone I didn’t talk to all the time, but trusted and held a special place in my heart for. I remember standing in his kitchen, looking into his eyes, and taking a deep breath… then pausing and debating not saying anything at all.

But, as much as I wanted to be skinny and beautiful and look just like a flawless magazine cover model…

I wanted to be happy. And healthy. And enjoy my life, rather than put an end to it.

It took 4 years, but I found the courage to tell one person. The next day, I used that courage to tell three of my best friends. A few days later, I still had enough courage left to tell my mother.

And to my surprise, none of them judged me or shamed me or told me how disappointed they were.

Being honest with those 5 people was the turning point, and the first step in my recovery. It was followed by a few more baby steps, where I started to be truthful with other people and soon realized I wasn’t the only one who struggled.

I found out that friends, old coworkers, acquaintances, and so many other people were fighting the same battle. There were so many people I crossed paths with at so many points in my life who struggled with anxiety, depression, and toxic addictions to food and their body – just like me.

I quickly learned that I wasn’t alone.

By connecting with them, they weren’t alone anymore.

None of us are alone.

I don’t make a point of publicizing my issues, all the time.

That doesn’t mean it’s not important to me to talk about them.

If I never chose to open up to even just one person about the downward spiral I was stuck in, I might not be here to write this blog post and share my story with you.

If you’re fighting yourself, inside your head > this is for you:

I know that it’s scary to open up about dark secrets and demons that haunt us from the inside. Being vulnerable and honest about your biggest fears is terrifying.

But trying to fight your battles alone, and inevitably killing your soul in the process, is a frightening thought.

No one should have to endure that. Life is too good and too short to suffer this way.

Those monsters in your head – you didn’t put them there. This is not your fault.
You are not responsible for battling this all by yourself.

Mirror 2
If I’ve learned anything in my journey to recovery thus far, it’s that exposing who I really am – good and bad – has improved my life immensely. It’s allowed me to connect with people (many who I now consider great friends) that understand and empathize with my struggle. These are people who inspire me, who I admire, who I can talk to when I’m feeling good, bad, happy, sad, or just absolutely frustrated with the tortured thoughts inside my head.

Talking about my troubles has always been one of the best decisions I have made.

Let’s keep talking

A few years ago, I made a choice to tell one person: I have a problem. I’m struggling with an eating disorder.

These days, when it really matters, I tell people: I am in the process of recovering from anorexia and bulimia.

It matters today.

You and me. We’re going to be better, stronger, and we’re going to be okay.

We just need to keep talking about it.