Drowning

    The very first picture I drew depicting depression was drowning. It was easily one of the first things that came to mind.

 Have you ever swam for a very long time and gotten tired, but you couldn't stop? If you did, you would drown. You are constantly treading water, trying to get somewhere, but you are starting to get tired and your muscles ache and the water around you gets heavier and heavier. You push harder to keep afloat, and you feel the panic rise in your chest because you can't keep up. Waves are throwing you, crashing against you; the storm is rising. You are exhausted, and fighting hard, but the waves are just too big and strong and they start to push you down.

Depression is like that for some. Anxiety as well. There are times when life starts to get rocky and you are trying to balance it all, but you are mentally so exhausted that it overcomes you. Life can hurt sometimes. It becomes unbearable and no matter how hard you try, you can get caught up in the rolling motion of day to day tasks.

Slow down and take a breath. Meditation is really good for moments that seem to fast. Take a moment to let your mind catch up with life. Close your eyes and count to ten, slowly. Let the panic subside. I promise you'll be okay.

The art of depression

I am an artist. Most people know about my love of photography. It has its perks of a nice little side job to earn money for the kids birthday and Christmas gifts. Ultimately, that's why I started doing it for money. we were financially strapped and Christmas was coming. So I offered pictures for Christmas cards at a cheap starting price and it's grown over the blast seven years. Sometimes it monotonous, but I really love when I can branch out with some fun ideas to be more creative.

What people don't really know is that I also paint and sketch. I've done it since high school, though I've lost technique over the years without practice. But to me, art comes naturally. It's a family trait. Both my parents have excelled in visual and performing arts, as well as my dad's sisters. I did theater and choir and even band in high school, and took drawing classes in college so I'm familiar with art. I'm even excited to see my girls dancing, singing, drawing, and painting, and I have no doubt that they will excel at them as well.

A few months ago, when I was in the depths of despair (as Anne Shirley would say), I decided to draw. The strokes on a page help me to focus, to concentrate on other things than my feelings and release tension. However, I wasn't feeling very inspired to draw anything. I didn't want rainbows and unicorns, or flowers in a tree. I wasn't feeling happy and couldn't portray happiness in a sketch. It would feel like a lie.

Then I had an idea. Very rarely do I ever see any artwork depicting depression and anxiety. There will be images that come up with on Google, but you have to search them. They won't just pop up on your Facebook feed. Why? Because it's taboo. People are afraid to talk about it. It's as if depression is an embarrassment and they are ashamed. Or they are afraid of judgement from other people who will shy away at the disease. How do you share that with people without worrying about their reaction and the awkward response that might come? Unless we are open about it, people won't get more comfortable with the subject.

As Hank Smith says, (amazing EFY speaker, check out his collection of talks here) you wouldn't be embarrassed to take insulin if you have diabetes, so why be embarrassed about anti depressants? You wouldn't tell someone with cancer that they are faking it and doing it for attention. So why is that said about the disease of depression and anxiety? It is a disease. It just doesn't have an outside appearance. It's mental health. And there shouldn't be any shame in it. People have different types of depression and anxiety, just like there are different types of physical diseases, but it should all be treated the same.

Anyway, my idea was to take my emotions and sketch them on paper. I wanted to show a view of how I was feeling personally. The different ways that depression affects me in my daily life. So I did. I found it very therapeutic to release  my emotions into my work. Being able to draw a picture and say, "this is how I feel," made it easier to describe my life. I haven't really shown them to anyone, other than a couple family members and friends. But I'm hoping that posting them here will help bring awareness and understanding to depression and anxiety and help those who suffer to be more open and less ashamed about it.

Waking up...very slowly

It's been almost a year since my last post.

A year of things that happened that I really don't remember. Brain fog is a real thing. Sometimes at night I can't even remember what happened that morning my mind is so clouded, memories seem fuzzy, like a dream. Many of the things I associate with the past year I can't tell if it was real or not. But I'm still alive, still here to fight the good fight.

I've been pretty distant from most of my friends. After my granny died, I spiraled into a dark hole. I told everyone I was fine. I understood the circumstances. She was old and sick and had lived her life. She was ready to go back to our Heavenly home. I accepted that. At least, I thought i did. But every day weighed on my mind. A week later, a dear friend passed away from cancer. My heart ached for her family, for the beautiful person we all lost. my grief was unbearable.  A few weeks later, another friend. I couldn't breathe. It was all too quick. I began what I told myself I'd never do again. I started cutting my arms up again.

I knew it was wrong. I knew I shouldn't do it. But the release of endorphins and adrenaline felt so good to my mind that it momentarily distracted me from the emotional weight. It's almost like a drug, like that first sip of a diet coke, or coffee( I've never had coffee, but I'd assume it's the same. People are crazy about coffee), after months of not having one. The feelings just whoosh into your soul and make everything better. It's kind of...orgasmic, if you will. Cutting made everything feel better...until it didn't. Then I'd have to do it again.

The election came and went. Everyone was against everyone else so I took a break from social media.I began to believe that I wasn't needed in this world. I just wanted the madness in my mind to stop. I thought a lot about Robin Williams. When he died by suicide, it had hit me hard. Why didn't he ask for help? How could he be so sad to take his own life? Didn't anyone see behind his disguise?

That's when it hit me. And I knew why and understood completely. It wasn't sadness. It was madness in his mind. He wanted a break from it. He was tired. Fighting a mental battle is so hard and exhausting. And dragging other people into it brings guilt and shame. And as a fellow depression sufferer, I know how easily it is to hide it, mask it, call it something else.

The night I made the realization that I would actually be willing to end my life to rest my mind, I cried and prayed harder than I've ever prayed to be at peace and make it through the night. The next morning, I handed my hunting knife to my husband and showed him my arms and told him I was not okay.

It's pretty scary to actually re live it as I write it. I know the only reason I made it through was because loved ones in heaven were there to comfort me. Even now, I can sometimes hear them cheering me on, "you are strong. You can do this."

There are days where I believe I can and days I really think I'm failing. As long as I am not fighting the battle alone, I will make it. And I have more people rooting for me than I think. I'm starting to wake up, holding on to whatever I can remember about my days and weeks. I'm trying to focus on what's most important and staying busy so I don't stop to think about negative things. I will beat this, no matter how long it takes.

Being a piss and ASD

A few weeks ago, my 3.5 year old had an assessment with a pediatric neurologist to determine if he had some for of autism or behavior disorder. Of course, my boy wasn't having anything to do with this new doctor and his activities. He ignored every attempt to get his attention, he used hand gestures to answer questions, and sat sullen in my lap. Somehow the Dr made an assessment.
He said," if anyone questions him or you, tell them you've seen a neurologist and to mind their own business. He's not autistic, he has no behavior disorders. He's a cute kid and extremely smart, but he's a piss. And what do we do with pissers? We give them choices. He can choose to speak or choose to follow directions or he gets nothing. He's stubborn. Just be consistent with him and he will outgrow it."
A- I didn't take offense because he spoke plainly and I liked the honest raw truth. I actually laughed at his statement. B- Wed been doing the whole choice and consequence thing.
  I left feeling disheartened because he was my last hope to figure out what was wrong with this kid of mine. We'd been around in circles and no one could tell me why he is how he is. I have worked with many many young children and I know the difference between a child who is stubborn, and a child who can't cope in social situations. I did schedule a follow up per the Dr's request and hoped that our next appointment would be different.

A couple days ago, we had the follow up appointment. The Dr asked me how it was going with his behavior, but this time I had written down specific examples of the things that concerned me. After sharing those examples, the Dr did another assessment. He got the same results, but more defiance than before. It confused me because on the drive there, my son had said he was ready to talk and play at the office and now he was giving the Dr the cold shoulder.
The Dr decided to diagnose him with ASD- autism spectrum disorder. He said he uses the term lightly because he can't evaluate where my son would be on the spectrum, and also he doesn't like the unsure term( he's more of a either you are or you aren't kind of guy). However he knew in order for us to get insurance approval, we'd need a medical diagnosis. He gave a referral for an ABA therapy assessment that can determine what areas he needs help in.
Even though I felt a weight come off me because I knew we were finally getting the help I knew he needed, I realized that our battle has just begun. We'd fought with the school district and private speech therapy and insurance to get some help. Now we have someone that listened and we get to battle more.
It's worth it though. I long for the day when I can understand his behavior and needs and not have to guess what he wants. I can't wait to see him open his mouth to speak to his friends and to participate in school activities. I hope that whatever is holding him back can be changed so that he can learn to cope with his emotional outbursts and social life.
One step at a time. Deep breaths.

Sunday

I've known many mothers, and even fathers, that have had the same thoughts as I when it comes to getting young kids ready for church. Sunday is the most chaotic day of my week. It's not like I have something hard to accomplish....oh yes I do. Getting kids to church.
In the morning, I get up, race through breakfast, beg the girls to get dressed and ready, and then wrestle, literally wrestle, the boys into their clothes. In the midst of the chaos of complaint girls, pouting boys, and a dog who doesn't want to be left behind, I start running a obstacle course marathon from one end to the other of the house, trying to successfully beat the clock and be at church on time. Somewhere in there, I miraculously don on my own Sunday clothes, slap on some makeup, throw my hair up because there's no time to do anything with it at all and grab the bag of random stuff to keep my kids quiet during the meeting and hustle everyone out the door, leaving the dog behind, whining in his cage about the unfairness of being stuck at home.
  As soon as I get there, I'm hustling kids to their various classes, only to collapse on the couch in the foyer and catch a breath. There really is no point in going to class. Once I sit my butt in a chair, the baby will squeal and wiggle and want to run. So we wait in the foyer. I'm doing the class a service because if I let the baby cry, they wouldn't be able to hear. So really, I'm just being a kind friend. I can hear the bits and pieces of the lesson over baby talk from the couch.
  First hour passes, second goes by. Is there really a point to going? By now, it's naptime, and the squealing has increased to a fussy scream and mainly a time for J to throw himself on the floor. Aa few moms will join me at this point. Our church foyer is baby central.
   Our third hour is the main service all together. My kids are hungry, the baby is restless, at this point L is cranky from being tired and sitting still. Today particularly, we sat in front of our friends, and behind our other friends. The friends behind us, entertained the baby as much as they could until their mom shushed them. In front of us, was L's little girlfriend and the two of them shared snacks and then rolled under the bench, laughing and talking to her. Reverence doesn't happen with little ones.
Sometime in the middle of the meeting, J decided to have a hollering match with his cousin across the isle. Eventually, daddy took him out because he was walking down the isle and stopping to say hi to each person. I inherited the job of getting L to settle down, and the girls both started whining about wanting candy or something to eat because they are starving.
  I'm not sure what was said during church, I'm sure it was wonderful. Most Sundays I wonder why I'm even there. I spend three hours struggling with kids, and I get nothing out of it. Except I do. I'm teaching my kids obedience by example. We need to go to church and letting hardships stop us doesn't show obedience. I, as a mother, am in charge of  teaching my children. It would be easier to stay home, but that would teach my kids that church isn't important when the kids don't behave. They will learn to sit still as they grow and someday I'll be able to hear some great messages. But for now, I'll just be sitting in the back entertaining babies.

Goodbye

How do you say goodbye to someone who's been with you your entire life? The one who listens to you ramble without judgement, who attends every event you invite her to, who has the kindest heart and has always been willing to serve anyone in need?

That was me today. I said goodbye to my granny. She didn't die, but mostly likely our visit today will be our last.

She loves my kids, but can't remember their names. She dresses everyday in her Sunday best because she forgets what day it is. She can't even figure out what she likes to eat. She celebrates her 90th birthday in a few weeks. But she doesn't remember.

Watching her grow old makes me sad. I just can't imagine my life without her. She's always been there. I always assumed she would be there forever. That I would have plenty of time. And now that time is gone.

I'm so glad my kids got to have time with her, making memories and enjoying some of the same little moments I did as a child. Reading to me, singing songs, her gardening hat and gloves that she wore while caring for her rose garden. She always had special treats for the kids, new toys and crayons, fun little trinkets. She sent me Valentines in the mail every year, as well as my children, when they came along. The ten dollar bill in my birthday card.

She always had a way of putting things in perspective for me, experience in relationships, or teaching my children, or trials I suffered. She was kind. She never judged. I was never a disappointment to her.

Tomorrow she leaves for Utah. She can't live on her own anymore and her kids found a home for her there. I've been told it's nice and her room is big and they are taking some of her possessions to make it feel more familiar and cozy. I don't travel to Utah often. I don't know if I'll make it out there before she dies.

Tonight I told her I would miss her. She said she would only be gone a few days. She doesn't understand what's happening. She asked me to come and visit her again soon. I promised her I'd try. I told her I loved her. I kissed her. I told her to be a good girl and try not to give her kids a hard time. She laughed. And now I am home, sitting here with a hole in my heart.

Just in the last few moments have I really realized how precious life is. I knew it already, but what a great reminder for me. As I watched my baby toddler across the yard, listened to my granny ramble nonsense conversations that she can't finish, it will all disappear in the blink of an eye. Time does not stop, use it wisely.
Oh how I love you granny. Till we meet again....

2 a.m.

 I have a love/hate relationship with 2 a.m.

     I love 2 a.m. It's quiet and dark and an even number( I have an obsessions with even numbers). I, however, hate 2 a.m. when I'm awake. And I have to say, it's been quite often lately that I have met up with 2 a.m. And it's all thanks to the teething toddler that won't sleep without his mama.

     Don't get me wrong, I love that boy, even in the wee dark hours of the morning. But, when I'm trying to fight for my mind to be clear and my body needing energy, waking up is not the greatest thing. Frequently, it's been an every hour kind of party for the kid and my mind is out of control. I just need him to sleep. The hours have crept by in the night, 1 am, 2 am, 3:30am, 4:27am...5:36 am. I just can't do it anymore I need sleep.

     I love this story. I think the bad language makes it funnier. And at 2 am, I cannot deny that I haven't thought the same thoughts as this book.

     Now that the kids teeth have broken through, I am hoping he will sleep. I may be running on fumes for a while, but I know when he goes to college, he won't be in my bed at 2 am. It will end eventually.

I hope.