Very sad to hear about the passing of Robin Williams. People (myself included) are recalling his inspirational roles, quoting his best character quotes, watching clips on youtube, etc. I'm finding it most interesting to find out that he, as a real person, was suffering from depression. I've read a few quotes about how hard it was to believe that someone so famous, so popular, so funny, so loved, could have possibly suffered from what people must view as super-sadness. I was hoping that his apparent suicide might wake up the world, and help people see that depressing isn't being mopey and sad, or weak, but it is truly the absence of hope and happiness.
This past year, I started to have what I am now referring to as "one of my dementor episodes," and for the first time, I knew I needed to ask for help before it got out of control. I was so frustrated at myself, because I had been taking the right steps to PREVENT this from happening. I was seeing a therapist, working out my anxiety. I had a major breakthrough about a possibly triggering life event thanks to my best friend. I was facing things, I was dealing. Yet I found myself in that familiar pit of despair once again.
There were ways that this episode was much better than the past. I didn't drop work for months; I missed only a couple of days. I called my therapist and went to see her right away. I told my dear friend, who not only came to my house, armed with books and literature that helped her feel better when she was going through rough times, but the number and recommendation AND appointment of her friend/colleague doctor who has been instrumental in helping me.
Summer time is another weird time for me and the Dementors. The lack of structure leaves me lazy, unprepared for their sneak attacks. My anxiety has gone through the roof, and it has my inner critic going wild ("What the hell do you have to be anxious about? Sitting home with your kids? Going to the pool? You are weak, hopeless, and just stupid as shit!") which makes my anxiety even worse. My insomnia has come crashing back (racing thoughts about everything from your sister's wedding, to elementary school, to my first job, to what I'm going to make for dinner tomorrow, highlight reel of everything ever done or said to me in a negative light; not fun). I promise you that I am "happy" with my life. I love my little family, my husband, who is my best friend in the world, my awesome girls. I love my house. I love my neighborhood. I love the freedom of the summer. I am looking so forward to going back into 1st grade and really like my school and colleagues. I pray for the gratefulness and mindfulness to keep the dementors at bay, but sometimes they just DON'T.
It is a hard thing to explain. It is a hard thing to admit to. If you want to help someone battling depression, I ask that you listen to someone who says they aren't feeling right, who seems off, listless, not themselves. Don't judge, don't ask them what they could possibly feel sad about, don't tell them they should or shouldn't be on medication, don't tell them they are weak. Listen. Sometimes that helps. Sometimes it doesn't. But sometimes, knowing that someone is willing to bend their mind and try to understand something that they truly don't, helps quiet the critic, which is at least something.
Depression is real. It isn't always stereotypical. It isn't always all-consuming. It doesn't come in the form of one wearing all black or writing The Cure lyrics on their Facebook wall. It isn't someone screaming for attention; usually, the opposite. Be sensitive, because it is real.
Depression is real. It isn't always stereotypical. It isn't always all-consuming. It doesn't come in the form of one wearing all black or writing The Cure lyrics on their Facebook wall. It isn't someone screaming for attention; usually, the opposite. Be sensitive, because it is real.
