Trigger warning: this post contains discussions of depression, self harm, and suicidal ideation. Please steer clear if these subjects may act as a trigger for you.

Since I rarely pay attention to much of anything anymore, it’s taken me until the middle of this week to realize that it’s Mental Health Awareness Week…in the United Kingdom. (A large portion of blogs I follow and bloggers who follow me hail from the U.K.) Awareness Week here in the States isn’t until October 7th-13th this year. But since I haven’t written of my mental health in some time, I figured it might be time to offer an update. Why not? 62% of my DNA is British.

Warning now, my responses are blunt.

Am I Still Depressed?

Yes. Some days are better than others. I don’t even want to write this. That’s one way I know I’m still in the grips of depression.

But Why?

Unfortunately, there is bountiful depression fodder to be had in my life. Granted, it’s been that way for over two years now. When one problem goes away, another takes its place; it’s merely a question of what the current problems are and how they cause my depression to wax and wane.

I’ve completely lost all faith in myself when it comes to blogging, which is why I’ve more or less stopped. When I put my all into writing this post for Endometriosis Awareness Month in March, it got such a pathetically lukewarm response for the subject matter that I basically threw my hands up and said, “Screw it.” I’m not even sure I’ll write the sequel since no one cared about the first part. Writing was my outlet. Not being able to do it anymore because my brain doesn’t work properly is akin to taking away my voice.

My employment officially ended as of May 7th. Once my FMLA ran out, I went on short-term disability in May 2016. After six months, this became long-term disability. At that point, it was simply a countdown to the end. I had 24 months to get better and I couldn’t do it. The first six months involved waiting for and then enduring pelvic surgery in Atlanta, then brain surgery, then the stenting of my aneurysm. The remaining 18 months was taken up with trying to manage my POTS, which is now the bane of my existence. My condition has reached a sort of plateau with little improvement to speak of in recent months. So since I still can’t work, my employment was terminated. Again, I knew it was coming. But that doesn’t make it any easier to deal with. A post for another time.

I suppose I’m a bit lonely. The problem is, I don’t want to see anybody. Not because I don’t appreciate my few remaining friends and miss seeing them. It’s because it is so difficult and literally physically exhausting for me to speak. Carrying on a prolonged verbal conversation (meaning, more than about five minutes) is next to impossible. Not to mention the fact that with my brain fog, conversations are an embarrassment to me because I can’t speak fluently; there are words I can’t remember and the words I can remember get jumbled.

How Is Depression Affecting Me Physically?

My sleep is completely unmanageable. A hallmark of depression, unfortunately. Most of this is due to my pain being equally unmanageable at times. I’ll be awake for 24-30 hours because I just can’t sleep. Following this, I’ll sleep fitfully for 2-3 hours at a time following by prolonged awakening. Then I’ll sleep for 12 hours the next night. Then I won’t be able to sleep for another 24 hours. I’ll soon be completely nocturnal (which I prefer anyway.) Sleep medications don’t make me tired anymore.

Another reason my sleep is so out of whack is because of the way my brain works now. Most of the time, I can’t remember anything anymore. That thing about forgetting what you’re doing while you’re doing it? Actually true for me. I will get up to get something and by the time I’ve taken four steps, I can no longer remember why I got up. It’s not funny, it’s frightening. And frustrating.

Now, my practice is that whenever I think of something, I do it, even if it means getting up in the middle of the night. Which is why as I’m writing this paragraph, it’s 5:40 am. I just dozed for an hour and a half, woke up at 4 am, and have been laying awake ever since. Pain is keeping me awake and despite the good intentions of the three cats literally laying on top of me, I’m unable to get comfortable. Then writing about this crossed my mind and so here I sit in bed, in the dark, with David snoring next to me, because if I don’t write it down now, I won’t remember that I wanted to.

Am I Still Self Harming?

No. I am happy to report that I have not self harmed in 14 months.

Am I Still Suicidal?

No. I mean, I never really was. At least, I was never actively suicidal, I was passively suicidal. I didn’t want to actually end my life, yet I didn’t want to be alive. But I’m going to be honest: I’m not at all afraid of dying. Why? Because of my faith, I believe that once I die, I will be in Heaven. I will have a glorified body that will work as it was designed to do before sin entered the world and caused this whole mess of sickness. In Heaven, I will never feel pain again, which will be such a beautiful feeling since being pain-free isn’t a sensation I can recall anymore. I will get to spend eternity with a perfect body in the presence of the Lord. So yeah, getting to Heaven is going to be awesome. But that’s on His time, not mine.

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So there you have it. Life could certainly be better. But it’s been worse. And I really don’t want to go back there again.

💛ribbonrx