No, not Divorce. Depression.
My story
When I was a little girl, I knew I was different from the time I was about 5. I am sure my parents knew much earlier than that, as signs of my disorder began to show. It is a deeply personal, yet a too silenced subject that we are only on the cusp of in our daily conversations. It is sometimes joked about on fb, sometimes dismissed, and sometimes exaggerated by those seeking attention.
I have Obessive Compulsive Disorder, OCD. My doctors have suggested that it was triggered when our house burned. My particular disorder is coupled with severe depression that, at times, takes me on a rollercoaster ride, whether I’m ready or not.
I am an evens girl. I have to do things and have things in evens. ALWAYS. 4 or 6 pieces of ice in my glass, 2 or 4 times turning off a light switch, 2 kisses- one on each cheek. The same goes for hugs. And when I play the piano, I struggle because the left hand gets a less even amount of play time than my right hand. I untie and retie both shoes in 2’s and 4’s.
Then there are other things, like arranging objects, washing my hands incessantly, and making sure that the rugs in my house are straight. It is exhausting.
See, with OCD, there is often a “pay off.” An “if I do this, then this will or will not happen.” Mine is my mother. If I don’t do evens, then something will happen to my mama. Again, every doctor I have seen for this associates it with the house burning, as my mama was the last to leave it. My OCD reached a pinnacle in college, and I sought help. I had to have help and therapy and medication. I was a miserable wreck. I kept it hidden in most cases, but when Scott and I got engaged, I just couldn’t any more. He needed to know my true self.
I have been on medication since I was 22, minus pregnancy and nursing months with each child. I have learned to redirect my thoughts for the most part, but when tiredness and stressful situations arise, it sometimes rears its ugly head. Sometimes it causes me to freeze and to hesitate in living life to the fullness that God intended. It generates random, scary thoughts of death at times and makes me unable to leave my children with others. It causes panic, anxiety, and guilt. I think the guilt is the worst. I feel guilty if I don’t do or say the right thing to or for people I care about.
The depression was an added bonus. Yay, me! I couldn’t sleep, and when I was still teaching, I would come home at night and have the most horrendous worry while replaying every moment of the day in my head. I tossed and turned and kept Scott up many nights with tears and screams. I was a well-hidden mess. Only those closest to me know the toll it took.
When Maggie was 6 years old, I had a change in medicine that sent me into a tailspin for months. I stopped going to church, stopped following through on anything I had previously agreed to. I would drop Maggie off at school, come home, never eat, never dress, and get back in the bed, only to awaken in time to pick her up from school. I could only relive in my mind past mistakes that logically I knew Christ had forgiven me for. I had regrets that continuously felt like mountains to climb. Maggie was having health problems, and her school was not sensitive to her needs. And, I wanted a baby. It had taken 4.5 years for Maggie to enter this earth, and I had been trying for 6 to give her a sibling. She would plead for a brother or sister to love, and while I had no control over God’s plans, I sunk further into a kind of oblivion that is hard to imagine now.
But, I got help. I entered an outpatient hospital program where I had the most caring therapist and doctor. Scott took the reigns to help Maggie, while I had to help me- so I could, once again, be the mother she needed me to be. She was in 1st grade during that time. I went every morning at 8, and went through group and individual counseling for 8 hours a day. I met people like me, who were learning how to cope and how to not feel guilty about mental illness. I saw my doctor daily, and my medicine was adjusted accordingly. I learned how to live again, very slowly, with each week that passed. I read a book called The Happiness Project, and I began the devotional Jesus Calling. I kept a daily log of my blessings for the day. It helped me keep perspective. After I felt well enough to exit the program, school was coming to a close for Maggie. I worked so hard those months, and I finally handed over the baby issue to God. I remember praying and literally holding out my hands and giving Him all of those past mistakes, wants, needs, fears, and worries.
2 months later, I found out I was pregnant with Samuel.
It was difficult to come off of my medication, and for the first 6 weeks, my mom came and helped so much. I was in a fog of withdrawal and vomiting.The pregnancy ended up being the most trying 9 months of my life. With every passing hour, vomiting ensued. It lasted even through my delivery. I was a diabetic on insulin. I couldn’t sleep, my OCD was flaring, and I was bed-ridden.
But, I made it.
I am still making it, day by day. I see my doctor often. I even have had testing to rule out certain disorders and found out many things about my genetic make up. I have the PTSD gene. Who even knew that a particular gene could be pinpointed? I also have an absorption problem with certain vitamins and minerals that causes my medicine to be less effective, so now I know which vitamins to take in order to maintain a good balance. I am taking care of my mental health, so that my children will grow up in a happy home. I am taking care of my mental health so that I will keep a happy marriage. I am taking care of my mental health for ME!
thisblandlife 