Back in 2009 I was talking to my bishop, crying and in despair, and I couldn't explain why I felt so awful.  Nothing tragic had happened.  I had and still have a wonderful and supportive husband and family.  My husband has a good job and we live in a nice home.  There were no physical ailments or other things to be upset about either.  I would ask myself: WHAT THE HECK IS WRONG WITH YOU??  (I was so hard on myself back then. I still am at times.)  When others could tell there was something that wasn't right or wonder why I didn't want to "hang out" I didn't know what to tell them.  How could I explain to them what I didn't understand myself?  


How do you explain what is happening or what you are feeling while you are depressed?  

Quite honestly, I was embarrassed to tell others how I felt because there was no reasoning behind it.  It made no sense! 

I found it was just easier to hide the way I felt.  But it's like I heard once, depression thrives in secrecy and is easier to manage with empathy.  







So please, talk it out with someone who understands or wants to understand. 

"We were not meant for failure here, get up and win that race."

Back in 2009 my husband's step-mom sent me a little book called, "The Race" by D.H. Groberg  It is one of my favorites!  As I read this short book I could hardly see through my tears. It's message is something everyone can relate to and it's a powerful reminder of how important it is to never give up....to "rise each time we fall."  It's message seemed especially fitting for where I was at in my life, at the time.  Please share your thoughts after reading it.

“Quit, give up, you’re beaten” they shout at you and plead,
“There’s just too much against you, this time you can’t succeed.”
And as I started to hang my head in front of failure’s face,
My downward fall is broken by the memory of a race.
And hope refills my weakened will as I recall that scene.
For just the thought of that short race rejuvenates my being.
A children’s race, young boys, young men; how I remember well.
Excitement, sure, but also fear; it wasn’t hard to tell.
They all lined up so full of hope. Each thought to win the race
Or tie for first, or if not that, at least take second place.
The fathers watched from off the side, each cheering for his son,
And each boy hoped to show his dad that he would be the one.
The whistle blew and off they went, as if they were on fire
To win and be the hero there, was each young boys desire.
And one boy in particular, whose dad was in the crowd,
Was running near the lead and thought, “My dad will be so proud.”
But as they speeded down the field, across a shallow dip,
The little boy who thought to win lost his step and slipped.
Trying hard to catch himself, his arm flew out to brace,
And amid the laughter of the crowd, he fell flat on his face.
But as he fell his dad stood up and showed his anxious face,
Which to the boy so clearly said, “Get up and win the race!”
He quickly rose, no damage done, behind a bit, that’s all.
And ran with all his might and mind to make up for the fall.
So anxious to restore himself, to catch up and to win,
His mind went faster than his legs. He slipped and fell again.
He wished then that he had quit before with only one disgrace.
“I’m hopeless as a runner now, I shouldn’t try to race.”
But, in the laughing crowd he searched and found his father’s face.
That steady look that said again, “Get up and win the race!”
So, he jumped up to try again, ten yards behind the last;
“If I’m to gain those yards,” he thought, “I’ve got to move real fast!”
Exerting everything he had, he regained eight or ten,
But trying hard to catch the lead, he slipped and fell again.
Defeat! He lay there silently, a tear dropped from his eye.
“There’s no sense running anymore. Three strikes, I’m out…why try?”
The will to rise had disappeared, all hope had fled away.
So far behind, so error-prone, a loser all the way.
“I’ve lost, so what?” he thought, “I’ll live with my disgrace.”
But, then he thought about his dad, who soon he’d have to face.
“Get up,” the echo sounded low, “Get up and take your place.
You were not meant for failure here; get up and win the race.”
With borrowed will, “Get up,” it said, “You haven’t lost at all,
For winning is no more than this–to rise each time you fall.”
So up he rose to run once more. And with a new commit,
He resolved that win or lose, at least he shouldn’t quit.
So far behind the others now, the most he’d ever been.
Still, he gave it all he had, and run as though to win.
Three times he'd fallen, stumbling, three times he rose again.
Too far behind to hope to win, he still ran to the end.
They cheered the winning runner, as he crossed the line, first place,
Head high and proud and happy; no falling, no disgrace.
But when the fallen youngster crossed the line last place,
The crowd gave him the greater cheer for finishing the race.
And even though he came in last, with head bent low, unproud,
You would have thought he'd won the race, to listen to the crowd.
And to his dad, he sadly said, “I didn’t do too well.”
“To me you won,” his father said, “You rose each time you fell.”
And now when things seem dark and hard and difficult to face,
The memory of that little boy helps me in my race.
For all of life is like that race, with ups and downs and all.
And all you have to do to win is rise each time you fall."
By D.H. Groberg



By the time I finished reading this short book I was shaking with emotion.  It's message was exactly what I needed to hear as I too felt I was hopeless and there was no use in trying anymore.  How wrong I was!  Now, several years later, I stand (sit) here triumphantly and can confidently tell you I MADE IT!  I want to shout it to the world that there is hope even when everything seems hopeless.....especially when you feel hopeless.

For those of you struggling, you too can make it!  We can live happy, productive lives in spite of mental illness! 

 I am living proof.

If for a while you cannot trust your own thoughts and feelings, trust mine.  I certainly don't have all the answers but I have a lot of personal experience that I feel strongly about sharing.   

One of my dreams is to be a motivational speaker but even if I never end up standing in front of a group of people, to pour out my heart and soul, I can definitely try to reach others through other means, one person at a time.  
All of us can make a difference! 
Be the difference. 

"We were not meant for failure here....get up and win that race." 

~Much Love, Shirley

When the constant weight was lifted. My experience with ECT.

How often have you been in a seemingly dead end situation and thought to yourself,  "That's just the way it is" and figured there was nothing more you could do?

Sometimes we don't know how much we're carrying around until we aren't carrying it anymore.  You get used to the weight and after so long, you just start to accept that that is how life is. 

This was how I felt at the beginning of 2012. I had surrendered to the weight of depression.
After nearly 4 years of coming off of one of my anti-depressants (Effexor) and trying multiple other medications, my psychiatrist and I finally found an anti-depressant that worked pretty good.  (Or so we thought.)  I was feeling better than I had in quite awhile even though, looking back now, I was still dangerously near the edge. It seemed "normal" to wake up feeling exhausted and drag myself around the house, as if weighed down mentally and physically by some unseen force. I was used to not feeling much, if any, passion for life. The positive side was I wasn't having anymore thoughts of death. In my mind, I was doing pretty good.
 My psychiatrist, husband and family saw things differently.

When I went in for a follow-up visit in February 2012 my psychiatrist thought I was only functioning at about 30% where a person with normal or good mental health functions between 70-90%.  I thought 30% seemed doable. I was not completely lifeless. I still laughed at funny jokes and had moments, sometimes even days of what I thought was happiness. That was my life. That was what I was used to and what was familiar to me.   

My psychiatrist mentioned ECT and explained that ECT, or Electro Convulsive Therapy had been effective in treating depression in patients who weren't responding well to anti depressants.  After my doctor explained how ECT worked and why it could really help I was very skeptical. The thought of being put "under" and then having my brain shocked, causing me to have a brief seizure, seemed too extreme. I was sure it wasn't something I would ever try. Still, I came home and looked up everything I could find on the internet about ECT. I talked to my husband, family and some of my friends about ECT and found out that a friend of mine worked with a man whose wife had undergone ECT treatments. We emailed back and forth and he told me ECT wasn't a "cure all" but it helped.  That was encouraging to hear since his wife had experienced what I was experiencing and had found some relief.  I still wasn't convinced but my husband and doctor continued to encourage me.

In my mind, ECT was for people who couldn't function at all.  People who never laughed or smiled, etc...  To my husband, sister and the rest of my family, ECT was just another step in determining what would work best.  They had seen me at my best and didn't think I should settle for so little.

One night in April of 2012, I happened to be talking to my youngest brother, whom I've always been close to. He told me that I had to let go of the "good" in order to get to the "best." I thought his words were profound for they really touched my heart.  His words, in addition to my husband's wishes and my doctor's recommendation brought me to where I was willing to try the treatments, even though I was SO scared. 

My first treatment was scheduled for April 23, 2012. On the nights before treatments I couldn't take an anxiety or sleeping pill which made for a long, sleepless night.  Early, on the morning of the 23rd,  I drove myself to the hospital.  My husband would later take the bus from his work to the hospital to drive me home after my treatment.  After I checked in and got changed into my hospital gown, I was trembling with anxiety. Up to that point I had not felt peace about what I was doing but as I waited in the quiet of my room for the nurse to come put an IV in my arm, a feeling of peace came over me and I felt for the first time like everything was going to be okay.  I fought hard to contain my emotions but it was no use.  As that feeling of comfort and reassurance washed over me, tears streamed down my cheeks. I needed that feeling of peace more than anything else.

Quickly trying to gain my composure before the nurse came in, I wiped my tears and blew my nose.  Luckily the nurse didn't seem to notice my red face when she came to put in the IV.  After waiting in the hospital room for an hour and a half to two hours, I was finally wheeled in my bed to where the procedure would take place.  My ECT doctor and an anesthesiologist had a section off to the side of the surgical recovery room where the procedure was curtained off.  As my bed was wheeled into place, I could feel that familiar lump in my throat and my heart pounding wildly in my chest.  I was hooked up to the machine that monitors your heart and other vitals.  My breathing became fast and shallow and the beeping of the heart monitor quickened as my bed was laid back and the anesthesiologist prepared the medicine that would put me to sleep. As the oxygen mask was placed over my nose and mouth, I looked to my doctor as if asking him for reassurance and he told me that he would take good care of me.  The injection stung as it went through my IV and into my arm.  I felt like I hadn't slept in days and then suddenly I was out.  When I started to wake up, only 40 minutes had passed by.  I tried to open my eyes but everything was blurry and I was disoriented.  I heard someone moaning from the bed next to mine and a nurse asking me strange questions like, "Do you know what today is?" and "Can you tell me where you are?" I just wanted to close my eyes and go back to sleep...that wonderful, safe place where I could escape the way I felt.

Minutes later the nurse was talking to me again and I was able to answer her questions.  From there I was taken to another recovery room with lounging chairs to sit in until I could safely walk out of the hospital. My husband was there waiting and he was such a welcome sight! About 3 hours since the time I first arrived at the hospital, I was ready to go home.  I fell back to sleep in the car and continued to sleep after we got home. Just a few hours later I felt like my normal self and I was impressed that I could remember everything that happened.  The treatment period was supposed to be 3 treatments a week for 4 weeks.

After my 4th treatment I felt like the weight of the world had been lifted from me. It was as if a light had finally come on and exposed all the distortions of my mind.  I could think and see things clearly!  While blinded by depression it was as if I could only see a few feet in front of me - now I could see for miles and I marveled at the beauty all around me.  For the first time in my life, I felt alive and excited about the future. I was finally able to recognize that I was not depressed because of my selfishness and weaknesses, there was truly something chemically wrong in my mind. Only when the weight of depression was lifted was I able to see just how much I'd been carrying around with me for so long.

Thinking I had finally found a way to stop my depression or at least keep it in check, I felt indescribable relief and happiness.  I thoroughly enjoyed the next several weeks and we did all kinds of fun stuff as a family. I finished the 12 treatments by the middle of May of 2012 and it was as if I were a new person - a happy and positive person, the person that had been struggling to emerge since I was 9 years old.   

Two weeks after the treatments ended, my insomnia and anxiety returned and I felt like I was slipping back fast. Feeling desperate not to go back to that hellish place in my mind, I called my doctor.  He explained that some of his patients had been having treatments for years. Years? I was hoping my new found feelings of happiness would last at least 6 months to a year and then maybe have a few "maintenance" treatments and be good for an additional length of time.  My hopes were dashed when I slipped back so quickly.  My doctor and I decided that I would come in every 7-10 days to have a treatment.  After another few ECT treatments my anxiety again subsided and I slept well.  Our summer was packed full of fun activities that I finally had energy for.  I was the girl's camp director for my ward and I got to go on the Pioneer trek with our Stake.  By the middle of August 2012, I had had a total of 23 treatments.  I started school on August 22nd and I didn't want to devote any more time to treatments. 

Again, roughly two weeks after I had stopped treatments, I felt like I was back where I began the April before I had started treatments, if not worse.  This was very discouraging.  I felt like everything I had done up to that point was wasted - all the money, time, everything. It's hard to describe exactly what I was feeling but my thoughts raced, I felt incredibly irritable, out of control, hopeless and beaten.

During Labor Day weekend, I was determined to get out of the house no matter how awful I felt.  We decided to go as a family to Seven Peaks water park. We had season passes but had hardly used them. It took all the mental and physical energy I had just to get everything ready for the day.  When it came time to leave, my then 13 year old daughter decided she didn't want to go.  I was crushed for some reason.  My overwhelming feelings of being so out of control and trapped inside a mind that seemed completely incapable of seeing anything but doom and gloom, was more than I could bear for even one more hour.  Feeling helpless and desperate, I took 6 of my sleeping pills. I wished I could die although that was not my intention when I took the pills. I just wanted to escape my relentless negative, draining thoughts and anxiety.  As I headed for bed, I must have mentioned what I had done to my dear husband.  I was sure that 6 sleeping pills would not kill me but my sister had told me about a woman who had died from taking 5 sleeping pills, which scared me a little bit.  My husband tried to get me to go to the hospital.  I told him I would be fine, I just wanted to sleep for a long time.  After I laid down he called an ambulance.  I was asleep when the EMT's arrived at our house, then I was taken to the nearby hospital where I woke up enough to drink liquid charcoal and was monitored while I slept.

Later on I was transported to LDS hospital and checked into the psychiatric unit, where I would spend the next 6 days.  During my stay my ECT doctor saw me and suggested we try a more invasive treatment called bi-lateral ECT.  I would be shocked on both temples instead of just one.  I was told I would experience a lot more memory loss but I didn't care at the time.  I felt as if I had nothing to lose.  I began the bi-lateral treatments while I was an inpatient at LDS hospital.  With each treatment my mind became more confused and my memory loss got much worse.  After my 6th bi-lateral treatment I refused to have any more ECT treatments done.  I had lost so much of my memory about what had happened during that summer full of fun activities and I could no longer spell a lot of common words.
  
Again, my anxiety and depression returned and I was jittery, irritable and felt out of control.  My husband kept bugging me about going to see an endocrinologist to have my thyroid levels checked.  I wasn't thinking straight and it took all my energy to focus on just trying to survive each day, sometimes each hour.  Finally, the end of October in 2012, I went to see my family doctor and then an endocrinologist.  The endocrinologist said my thyroid levels were "off the charts" He told me if he had had thyroid levels like mine he would have been taking anxiety pills all day long.  My TSH was 0.01 meaning I was being over-medicated on thyroid medication.

Back in January 2012 my thyroid was tested and my TSH was 15.25, meaning, my thyroid was functioning too low.  My doctor put me on 100 mcg of synthroid and I was to be retested in 6 weeks.  Unaware of how much your thyroid can affect your body and mind, I didn't even mention my thyroid problem to my psychiatrist when I went in for a follow up visit in February 2012. Nor did I go back and get retested in 6 weeks.  This was a HUGE MISTAKE on my part. I just wasn't thinking clearly or logically but getting on thyroid medication at the end of January 2012 is probably what was making the most difference in how I felt in February and March of 2012.  Not the "new" anti depressant.


On November 8, 2012 when I found out I most likely felt so awful because of my thyroid, I was overcome with relief.  That meant I wouldn't feel so awful forever!  Finally, there were answers and solutions.  I would get better and should notice a huge difference in just a few weeks by lowering my thyroid medication to 50 mcg of Synthroid.  

It is now May of 2014.  Many ups and downs have occurred over the last year and a half as my doctor and I try to find the right dose and medication for my thyroid issues but I've seen so many positive changes.  I'm in a much better place mentally and I no longer beat myself up relentlessly when I need to take a nap or when I'm not physically or mentally able to accomplish everything I want to do.  During the time when my levels were great, I was able to run 5 miles in 56 minutes.  During the time when my thyroid levels are too low or too high, my muscles feel so weak and I feel tired a lot, unable to do much exercise. But, all things work out with time and effort.

Unfortunately not all of my depression is caused by my thyroid issues. (I wish it were!)  My depression started a long time before I had any thyroid issues.  Looking back at medical records, my thyroid was on the low side in the summer of 2008 but my doctor just wanted to 'keep an eye on it." I've tried decreasing my anti-depressant dose a few times without any luck but I have been able to get off the mood stabilizer that I was put on in September 2012 and I'm down to only needing half of a sleeping pill at night.  I've also been off of my anxiety medication for 2 weeks now.   "Slow and steady wins the race." :)

Would I do the ECT treatments again if I had the chance to go back and do things over?  That's a hard question to answer.  I might have never known just how much I was carrying around or experienced such a dramatic change....even if just for the few month's I had treatments done, had I never had the treatments.  One thing is for sure, I don't recommend bi-lateral ECT treatments to anyone.  I still have memory issues but slowly, especially as people remind me of certain events, my memory has and continues to return.  I can spell again, too! :) 

You know, if you or a loved one is struggling with depression that is not easily treated with an anti-depressant, please see an endocrinologist.  I can't help but think about how differently things might have turned out had I just focused on my thyroid issues to begin with.  But, we are here to learn....sometimes the hard way.  I just hope my experiences can somehow help someone else who is struggling.

May we all keep on, keeping on.  It is all worth it!

Sincerely,
Shirley


P.S.  Feel free to ask me anything you want to know.  After struggling for so many years, I've heard pretty much everything and I will be perfectly honest and frank.  I don't feel I need to hide anything anymore.
I would also love to hear what experiences you or your loved ones have had.

The inspired and healing words of my bishop.

My former bishop once told me that the reason my depression frustrated me so much was because it wasn't something I could just fix. I couldn't control it and there was 'no end in sight'  He was right! He explained, for example, that when you break your arm you know you will recover in about 6 weeks. 
I had a therapist I went to see a total of 2 times who also explained how a person who is struggling with depression is similar, in some ways, to a person with chronic back pain, (or any chronic illness for that matter) For instance, the person suffering can find ways to ease the pain and learn to cope with it but the likelihood of the back problems or clinical depression going away entirely are slim.  There will be days when they feel pretty good and then there will be days that the person is completely debilitated. This made complete sense to me. That is exactly how depression feels. What complicates depression is the fact that the person isn't thinking rationally.  Everything they look at is distorted as if looking through tainted glasses.  In a severely depressed persons mind, there is no end to what you are feeling.

By the summer of 2008, my bishop had been serving for almost 3 years.  He needed the experience before I started to 'unload' on him. ;) I was very cautious at first, wondering if my bishop would be able to understand the depth of what I was feeling. I worried that I would appear weak and selfish, etc. I kept a lot of my feelings guarded and hidden for so long because of this.

One of the things that helped me feel more comfortable with my bishop was the fact that I had tried to help him understand what another member of our ward, who was also struggling with depression, might be going through by sharing some of my personal experiences with depression.  This really helped me start to tear down the wall I had built. You may find it helpful to write a letter to your own bishop about what is going on before you meet with him in his office.  I found it was too much pressure to go in 'cold turkey.' Where would I even start?

Because bishops are entitled to revelation about the members of their ward, a sensitive bishop, inspired by the Lord, can be invaluable. I felt worthless and hopeless inside, but when my bishop would reassure me of Heavenly Father's love for me and could tell me with conviction that I was a good and worthy person, I knew he actually believed that.  Even more importantly, I knew that Heavenly Father believed that too. My Bishop had a way of mixing his keen sense of humor with inspiring examples and even his own personal experiences, which made him easy to talk to. When my bishop counseled me, often he would tell me the exact things that I needed to hear.  Things that I felt only my Father in Heaven could have known I was struggling with. My ability to feel the presence of the Holy Ghost was so impaired that I hung on my bishop's every word.  One time in particular, my bishop looked at me and said in all sincerity, "You know, Shirley, it's not your fault you are feeling this way."  When he said this it was like the most healing balm was finally penetrating the open wound of my soul.  I could hardly believe him at first.  Of course the way I felt was my fault, wasn't it? (Since depression is an illness of the brain, all too often, myself included, we think we just need to think more positively, etc... While positive thinking is very important,  it cannot heal clinical depression on it's own. Personally, I couldn't work towards progression until the chemicals in my brain were starting to function properly by taking an antidepressant.

In the middle of March 2009 I was beside myself.  I hated the person I was and the fact that I couldn't just recognize my many blessings and choose to be happy.  I had a constant negative battle going on in my mind and I felt trapped in the most hellish place. In the year previous to that time I had told myself over and over that life was worth living and to just hold on. I would tell myself that with God all things are possible and there was nothing I couldn't do with His help.  But as I continued to be unsuccessful with finding a new anti-depressant to replace the Effexor that I had been on for 10 plus years, I continued to spiral downward and I couldn't do it anymore.  I had felt little to no joy for almost a year at that time and I felt like a waste of a human being.  Satan seemed to be at my throat constantly and I had no strength, no desire and no will to fight any longer. I felt so much guilt and hopelessness as I thought there was no way I could ever be good enough, kind enough, selfless enough or strong enough...so why continue to try? In my distorted thinking, I would always fall endlessly short of who I expected, and thought my Father in Heaven expected me to be.

That night in 2009, shaking with anxiety and despair, I was convinced that it would be better for my children if I just left and never came back. Around 9-10pm I kissed each of them goodbye and left my house.  My then 8 year old son started crying hysterically, begging me not to go and then my 6 year old son, who has Aspergers and who rarely shows emotion, came after me, in distress.  I walked faster as tears streamed down my cheeks. I hadn't gone very far before I noticed my husband following me.  I was angry at him at first because I just wanted to be alone but as we walked I started pouring out my anguish and heartache to him.  We walked and talked for over an hour and he tried to talk me into going to the hospital but I saw no point in that.  Finally he convinced me to at least come home, take an anxiety pill, and call my doctor in the morning.  I agreed but by morning I was still despondent and without hope.  My bishop called me that morning after being alerted by one of my friends about what was going on but I didn't want to talk to anyone.  He then sent me an email that addressed so much of what was weighing on my mind.
  
In the email my bishop talked about so many encouraging things that I desperately needed to hear. I'm not going to mention everything but he reminded me of the ways Jesus Christ had suffered unimaginable pain and did our Father in Heaven let Him suffer because He had sinned? No. My bishop talked about how well our Father in Heaven knows each of us and that is why we are all given different challenges and trials.  Heavenly Father does not delight in our suffering but rather knows we are capable of great things. My bishop explained that when we hurt, when we have pain, guilt, anguish or suffer in any way it grieves our Father in Heaven. Just as we grieve for our own children when they are hurting or suffering. He wants us to be happy even more than we want happiness for ourselves.  He understands our abilities and knows that "all these things shall give us experience" and not only help us in this life but in the eternities.

My bishop explained how Heavenly Father just wants us to do our best.  He pointed out, for instance, in the blessing on the bread during the sacrament, it states: "....that they "are willing" to take upon them the name of thy Son, and always remember him and keep his commandments which he has given them..."  So as long as we are willing and try to do our best, the Lord will be happy with our efforts. We will be perfected only through Jesus Christ. (D&C 76:69). My bishop went on to say that in the scripture found in 3 Nephi 12:48 that Christ was speaking from an eternal perspective when He said, "Therefore, be ye perfect even as I or your Father who is in Heaven is perfect."  So, our ultimate goal is to become as Christ and our Father in heaven are, perfect.  But it won't happen in this lifetime, not to anyone save Jesus Christ.

I had no idea Christ was speaking from an eternal perspective in the above mentioned scripture.  I had heard that perfection was not obtainable in this life but I never really understood what people were getting at. To know that perfection was not expected of me made a huge difference in how I perceived things. I felt as if a huge weight was lifted off of me.  Even though I still continued to struggle with depression, it went such a long way in helping me understand that as long as I continued to do my best, to get up each time I fell, so to speak, I could and would make it!  I was not a hopeless cause. I just needed a lot of reassurance and encouragement (okay, a ton of reassurance) while my doctor and I tried to find the right medication.

My bishop's love and counsel literally sustained me through the times I thought all hope was lost.  To this day, he and his wife are very dear friends of mine.  

One day we will be free from all the negative effects of living in a mortal world.  I know that Heavenly Father is with us especially when it may feel like He isn't. Because of my overwhelming feelings of worthlessness, I actually felt that I was not worthy to pray at times.  So often, all I could do is pray. No one is ever unworthy to pray! I read a great saying recently about the fact that Satan tries to limit our prayers because our prayers limit him.

Heavenly Father has always placed very dear and wonderful people on my path.  People whose words and acts of kindness sustained and continue to sustain me in profound ways.  I owe my life to them and to my dear bishop and of course to all the unseen angels in my life.

Never underestimate the power of a small act of kindness, an encouraging word or even a gentle and caring touch.

We can and will make it!  "With God, all things are possible!"

Shirley 

Is it possible to accurately describe clinical depression? How would you describe it and how could anyone feel or think that life is so bad that death is the only answer?

Everyone experiences depression in their lives at some point which is entirely understandable because life is hard!  But how do you describe what clinical depression feels like to someone who has not experienced it?  Can you describe it or is it something you have to feel/experience in order to fully understand?  And what causes a person to get to the point where they are convinced that death is the only and best answer or way out?  I'm going to attempt to answer these questions but I would love to get feedback from you also!

In the book, "Feeling Good" by Dr. David D. Burns, he explains the following:

"Depression is one of the worst forms of suffering....it can seem worse than terminal cancer because most cancer patients feel loved and they have hope and self-esteem.  Many depressed patients have told me, in fact, that they yearned for death and prayed every night that they would get cancer, so they could die in dignity without having to commit suicide." 

If I could only use one word to describe depression it would be "torture" 

 In the years before my husband and I had children,  I didn't have the words to accurately describe what I was feeling.  All I knew was I was miserable, without hope, I felt worthless and nothing seemed to matter anymore.  I watched the world and people around me, in awe of what they seemed to accomplish day in and day out.  I felt so weighed down mentally and physically that even the smallest tasks like taking a shower and brushing my teeth, felt overwhelming.  I would wake up feeling exhausted and go through the motions of my day, without being moved by anything. I wasn't curious about things, nor did anything interest me, with the exception of holding and spending time with my baby brother who is 20 years younger than me.  Sleep became one of my only respites...to escape the way I felt.
Hiding my dark feelings of shame, guilt  and worthlessness became my life.  I couldn't let anyone know how I felt because I was completely convinced that the main reason I was so depressed was because of my own personal weaknesses.  I thought if I could overcome my selfish behavior and push myself harder to overcome my complete lack of motivation, I could rid myself of the relentless negative thoughts and feelings I had.  I thought I just needed more faith and more will power.  I figured if I became more devoted in my scripture study, attended the temple more often, and could prove myself worthy of good things by trying to serve others, then the darkness and emptiness that consumed me would lift and I would be happy.  While daily devotion to my Father in Heaven and faithfully serving in church callings helped, those things could not overcome the depression I felt on their own.  Just as those things can't heal any illness or disease.  Unfortunately I didn't understand or recognize that at the time.  I felt like Heavenly Father had abandoned me.

One of the hardest things for me was the fact that I couldn't feel the peace and comfort or guidance of the Holy Ghost.  When I prayed I felt nothing, as if my prayers never even left my mind, so they often became mechanical.  It was like I had been abandoned in the most dense and dark place imaginable with no hope of escape. The attempts I had made to try to escape seemed to make me fall deeper into darkness every time I was unsuccessful, causing me to want to just give up even more. I was in a  place so dense that no joy could be felt.  So dense, in fact, that all I could hear were my own relentless, negative thoughts which repeatedly reminded me that I was worthless and hopeless.  From someone standing from the outside, looking in, it made no sense.  I had a wonderful family with great siblings and parents who loved each other.  I had the most wonderful husband, (I still do!) who treated me with love and respect.  But when you are blinded by depression and the ensuing darkness for long enough it's as though you are incapable of feeling anything positive or even seeing positives, period. I felt I was no good to anyone or anything.  I felt so completely isolated and alone and I was certain that no living soul could possibly understand the agony and despair that was nearly my constant companion. There was no use in seeking help....there was no help in my mind.

 I started to feel like I was deserving of this darkness.  It was, in my mind, a punishment that I deserved for all the wrongs I had committed, even though I had never committed any serious sin.  Again, not being able to feel the peace and reassurance that only the Spirit of God can bring, only confirmed my deep feelings of worthlessness.  I tried to convince my husband over and over to leave me and find a happy and capable woman who could give him children.  When it became obvious that he would never do that, I knew the only solution would be for me to die. I was already dead on the inside and I felt I was a hopeless cause.  I didn't see any point in forcing those who loved me to suffer as well.  (That was how badly my thinking was distorted and almost fatally flawed.)  By the time I started to receive help, it was almost too late.  I had tried to take my own life several times. It is only through the grace of our Savior, Jesus Christ, and the watchful care of my loving Father in Heaven that I was able to get help and why I am alive and well today.

In one of my favorite books called, "Reaching For Hope: An LDS Perspective on Suffering from Depression."  By Meghan Decker and Betsy Chatlin, LCSW.  They explain the difference between intense states of sadness and clinical depression:

 "The despair of depression is often unfathomable to those who have not experienced it.  When we feel depressed we feel overwhelmed by feelings of sadness, as well as feelings of hopelessness, worthlessness, and despair.  Depression causes us to doubt our abilities and capabilities and consumes us with shame, guilt, and unfathomable feelings of unworthiness.  These feelings render us unable to conceive of ever being happy.  In contrast, when we are sad, we do not feel hopeless, worthless, or guilty without cause.  We feel appropriately sorrowful, despondent, grieving, melancholy, or blue.  While our world might not seem rosy, we do not see everything through the unrelenting gray lens of negativity that is a hallmark of clinical depression.  Sadness is a normal reaction to life's disappointments or losses; it is not an illness.  Depression is a brain illness."

There is most definitely help and hope!  I can confidently tell you that because I have felt true happiness.  It is what keeps me going when I have a set back from trying to lower my medication.  (Like right now!)

Please share experiences you've had.  I would love to hear what has helped you or what you have learned through your struggles and triumphs. 



~Shirley

Confession time.

Okay, confession time!  I tend to be a little bit impulsive sometimes! Just as my thyroid levels felt like they were coming back into reasonable limits, I was gung ho about cutting the dose of one of my anti-depressants in half, which brings me to another confession.....I am extremely hard-headed. 

On Monday, the 30th of December, I wrote on my calendar:  "Decreased Lexapro to half a pill."  (Yes, I've learned I have to keep track of everything.)  The crazy thing was, I was already borderline 'crazy' because of my thyroid recently functioning too high but I figured that had everything to do with my thyroid and maybe with my thyroid straightening out, I could lower one of my anti-depressants.

It seems I have this internal critic that is constantly telling me, "Shirley, to prove you are strong you need to be on the least amount of medication as possible, especially if the medications are anti-depressants!" 

Last week I had to fill out a medical form and list all of the medications I am taking.  Honestly, I'd rather just tuck that info into the back of my mind and throw away the key!  I have NO problem listing the fact that I take 1500 mg. a day of Metformin for my PCOS or that I take 65 mg. of Nature Throid for my thyroid and a 'natural' progesterone pill to help with my hormonal imbalance So, why is it so hard to list the fact that I take a sleeping pill, 2 different anti-depressants, and an anti-anxiety pill? 
Does needing those things make me weak?  Besides, if I am getting my thyroid and hormone issues straightened out should I even need anti-depressants still?

There shouldn't be any shame in acknowledging that I have a problem with my mind but for some reason I still feel it.  As if I'm an inferior human being because my brain chemistry is lacking.  After all I've been through and all I've seen, why do I hang on to these thoughts?

Well, needless to say, I'm back on my regular dose of Lexapro.  If there is one thing I've learned it's the fact that if I go 5 days straight of not wanting to get out of bed in spite of my best efforts to exercise and eat right and if my thoughts turn so negative that I'm even starting to believe them, etc...  I should NOT  "WAIT IT OUT" until next week!  I need the anti-depressant!  Dang it! I'm only human after all.  But you know what?   Trying to find the right balance won't stop here.  It will just keep me from trying to lower my dose again for a while. 


I will keep learning and figuring things out as I go.

Shirley

Something is off!

While driving in the car a few weeks ago with my 3 kids, one comment from my daughter set me off and I started crying uncontrollably. Something is definitely off.

Three weeks ago I woke up feeling jittery and anxious, just like in the previous few weeks, only worse. I knew that we needed to get out of the house and do something....anything.  It was the first day of "Christmas break" for my kids and after talking about different things we could do I suggested going to "The Quilted Bear"  I had been wanting to go there to just look around at all the unique crafts so I bribed my kids into going by telling them I would buy them a big cookie (they are the size of a plate) if they would come with me.  To my surprise they agreed. 

As we drove to the Quilted Bear we listened to the Christmas music on the radio.  Half way there we were approaching a D.I. and I asked the kids if we could make a quick stop.  My 15 year old daughter got upset and told me, "No mom! There is no such thing as a quick stop to the D.I."  She is mostly right and I mumbled under my breath, "Sometimes it seems like you're the mom and I am the daughter."  My daughter responded by saying, "Well, I did have to be the mom sometimes while you were sleeping."  This seemingly harmless comment reduced me to tears, followed by uncontrollable sobbing.  All the anxiety, exhaustion from insomnia and my over-emotional and depressed state due to my thyroid levels, seemed to explode.  To me, my daughters comment is a definite sign that I have failed my children.  I asked my daughter to explain, hoping she didn't really mean it.  She told me of a few times when she had to help take care of her brothers and how she even made them food.  My 12 year old son shouted from the backseat, "No you didn't!" Then my daughter yelled back at him, "Yes I did!"  It doesn't matter now, I can't go back and change anything.  I feel like I have ruined my kids for life.  My emotions are so out of control that my thinking is flawed but at the same time, I know that I can never repay my kids for the damage that has been done to them while I was so depressed.

As we got closer to "The Quilted Bear" I couldn't stop crying.  I told my kids through my sobs and swollen, mascara smeared eyes that we were NOT going to "The Quilted Bear"  My 12 year old shot his sister a dirty look and my daughter shot him one back.  My 11 year old son continued to sit silently next to his brother.  I asked my daughter to call my sister Esther.  I got on the phone with Esther to confirm she was home and told her that I needed to bring over the kids and get away for awhile to gain my composure.  Still sobbing, my daughter tried to console me by saying, "I didn't mean it mom."  Probably out of desperation my 12 year old son then told me that his sister looked up to me so much that she wanted to be just like me. Their words brought more guilt as I thought about what I was putting them through once again.  Tears kept streaming down my cheeks and I started to heave in small quick breaths of air as memories of the last 5 years came flooding back.

I was a complete mess and upon arriving at my sister's house I just wanted to let the kids out and leave quickly.  I hate for anyone to see me cry and I had no idea how to explain what was wrong with me.  My sister ran outside as I pulled into her drive way and I told her in between sobs that,"I don't feel right"....something is off and I pleaded with her to just let me leave for awhile. I had no idea where I would go or what I would do....I just wanted to be alone.  My sister quickly got into my car and sat in the passenger seat as I cried and tried to explain all the unreasonable things I was feeling. This wasn't the first time she had seen me like this and most likely not the last but she has a way of calming me down and talking some sense into me. Not to mention she is such a great listener!

Something was off as my doctor would confirm in the few days that followed, with my latest thyroid tests. My thyroid was functioning too high, triggering all kinds of havoc in my mind and body.  It will never cease to amaze me how such a small little gland can create so much chaos in your mind and body when it is slightly off. The good news was I was most likely feeling so awful because of my thyroid which meant I would start feeling better within a few weeks of lowering my thyroid dose.  Things are looking up with each passing day.

Wanting to get away or leaving the house when I am upset is nothing new.  While I was struggling with severe depression I would always think to myself that I just needed to go away for awhile until I could come to my senses.  The problem was, my senses, my thoughts and my feelings were so impaired and distorted.  I'm so thankful I can recognize what is happening now, for the most part, and understand the down times won't last!

We can do hard things!
Shirley