So, a lot has gone on in the days since I posted last. Commenting on a friend's blog sorta reminded me I have one of my own. Usually I try to make them somewhat lighthearted but this one won't be.

Over the summer, I worked my ass off and lost almost 40 pounds. It was amazing. I eliminated all simple carbs from my diet, worked out at least an hour a day, and within a couple of months I had already dropped 20 pounds. It was amazing. It gave me motivation to keep going. Once July hit, I was at my smallest I have ever been, even before having Rowan, at 129 pounds.

Then everything came crashing down.

The depression that had been lurking in the dark corners of my conscious mind suddenly made it's appearance. I won't elaborate as to what, since I only want my closest friends to know, but there was a situation that I engaged myself in that, I believe, was partially caused by my depression and the thoughts that were circulating around in my head. I don't blame my mental illness completely, but it certainly made things worse than they would have been, had I been in a normal, healthy state of mind. I look back at myself and who I was then and I don't even recognize that person. Pictures from that time period show a happy, thin person, but all I see is that darkness lurking there behind my eyes. It all came to a head in November, after I moved out of my house and left my family. I had started cutting again in September, right after I moved out. I had so many intense emotions, and so much internal guilt for what I was going through, and I had nowhere to put any of it. I was punishing myself. I finally cut myself so bad, I should have gotten stitches but didn't go to the hospital. I told a friend of mine, Mo picked me up and took me to the ER and I landed myself in the psych ward. From there, the nurses recommended I admit myself into an intensive outpatient therapy program at Providence, and I started going to group therapy every day, six hours a day, 5 days a week. I did that for 8 weeks.

The first few weeks were rough. I was numb, I felt no joy in anything. I was constantly berating and punishing myself for my feelings. I was conflicted about moving back home, I couldn't trust my own feelings anymore because they had betrayed me so bad for so long. I cried nearly every day, at the drop of a hat. Any feelings of happiness or joy were completely squashed, because I felt I did not deserve them. I  had several crisis meltdowns, in which people tell me they had whole conversations with me that I do not remember. The things I said to them didn't make sense. It was a struggle to get up every day and go to therapy, but somehow I managed it. Maybe because I felt like I had nothing else. I had ruminative thoughts swimming through my head: "You're a terrible person. You're a failure as a mother and as a wife. You're selfish, lazy, stupid, and fat. Not to mention ugly. All you do is cause pain and suffering to those around you. You fuck up everything good that happens to you and it would be best for the world if you took yourself out of it. Rowan is going to grow up fucked up as well, just like you, if you stick around. It's better if you were not here because everyone you know would be much happier without you." I felt heavy, just walking around and holding my head up was an effort. I wanted to lay down and die. Just curl up and let myself go. I cried because I didn't do it.

Slowly, slowly, I started pulling out of it. A combination of many skills and tools I learned from therapy helped me keep the meltdowns at bay. I still felt joyless, but I didn't feel hopeless. I moved back home in December. I got a car. I got a job. Things started looking up. Mo and I started attending couple's counseling together to try to work out issues we had suppressed for far too long. Life is not any easier than before, but I have learned perspective and context, and now it seems more manageable.

My depression is back in its corner, lurking. It is still waiting to come back out, and sometimes I let it. Sometimes I get so tired of keeping it at bay, I just give up and let it consume me. Those days, I sob, I cry, I punish myself (not physically anymore) and I berate myself. I still struggle to find joy in my every day life. I am envious of people who naturally find it without effort. I have to work really fucking hard not to explain away the little things that are supposed to give me joy, like my family. I will literally find a reason to convince myself not to have happiness in those things. It's more of an effort to remember why those things bring me happiness than to explain why they don't. And it's all about me, not them. If I find happiness snuggling with Rowan, the thought "you are fucking him up right this SECOND by being near him" is always there. It's a fight to push that away and enjoy the moment.

Maybe someday it will get easier. Maybe someday I will finally be free of the need to physically injure myself to place my emotions somewhere. Maybe someday I will be able to feel joy and happiness freely, without convincing myself I don't deserve them. I really hope so.

There is a lot of heavy stuff in this post, which I almost didn't write because of the personal nature of it. But I firmly believe we need to be more open about mental illness and the effects of it, and I want people to read it and come away with more understanding of what goes on inside a depressed person's head. The world needs to know more about mental illness, it NEEDS to be talked about, not shushed away like it's the 1950's and something to be ashamed about. Depression happens in about 25% of Americans. That means 1 out of 4 people you see on the street are struggling with the same thing I just wrote about. Half of Americans are currently in counseling for one reason or another. Depression, mental illness, etc, are all part of our daily lives. It's not something to be ashamed of, or something to hide away and pretend it isn't there. It's something that needs to be openly discussed, as if it were normal, because it is. If less people were ashamed of their illness, there would be less people suppressing their feelings and more people seeking help.

There are SO MANY good resources out there to get help for depression, anxiety, PTSD, etc, that nobody should be going without if they need it. Hell, there were homeless people in my outpatient therapy, so it can be done regardless of income. NAMI (National Alliance for Mental Illness) is free, and there is a group therapy for any mental issue you can think of.

Life will get better for me. I know that now, in my rational mind. I have a hard time remembering it during a crisis, but I am positive I will get there. I just need to be patient with myself and lean on my loved ones to help me get there.