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Mental Health FAQ

When you go to a psychiatrist appointment, a general practitioner appointment, or a therapist appointment to address your mental health issues it can be scary, especially if it’s your first time. I was terrified the first time I decided to see a therapist when I was 20 years old. I was alone, I had no support, I didn’t know anyone who had seen a therapist, and I had stress diarrhea for weeks. The first time I brought up my depression with my general practitioner was scary also because I was terrified that he wouldn’t take me seriously. The first psychiatrist appointment ever was daunting because I didn’t want to believe that I needed a psychiatrist.

I imagine I’m not alone in my fears because living with mental illness is scary. We are up against a stigma that spreads through almost all parts of our lives. Even when we ask for help, things can go wrong. But when things go like they’re supposed to, there is progress. I have been to many therapists, may psychiatrists, many GP’s for mental health, and I’ve seen good ones and bad ones, and ones that have just not worked for me. Here are a few things that I wish I could have known when I started treatment. If you are considering getting help for your mental health, I applaud you and hope this helps.

Q: What will a therapist do on my first visit?
A: They will introduce themselves, and they will ask you why you came in. This is not a judgement, they want you there, and they want to know how to help you. Even if you aren’t able to be articulate why you’re there, do the best you can. They will ask you questions and lead the conversation when you’re not able to.

Q: What if I’m embarrassed by something I need to talk about with my therapist.
A: Your therapist will never judge you. The truth is that they’ve probably seen it all. I tend to seek out older therapists who have been practicing for a long time because there is literally nothing you can say that will surprise them. Being honest is the only way to make true changes in your life. You’ll get out what you put into therapy.

Q: What if I don’t like my therapist?
A: The best thing you can do is be honest with your therapist and yourself. It’s okay to discuss this with the therapist. If you can’t work it out, find another therapist you can work with. It takes some trial and error sometimes, and there is absolutely nothing wrong with leaving a therapist you’re not comfortable with. This applies to all doctors and psychiatrists as well. Trust is a big part of mental health treatment.

Q: What could a general practitioner possibly know about mental health?
A: Enough to help point you in the right direction when you need help. Sometimes a GP is all we have available to us, and there’s nothing wrong with that either. They can prescribe medications and refer you to a psychiatrist or therapist if they think you need it. Go to who you trust as your first step.

Q: Is it as interesting to sit in a psychiatrist’s waiting room as you’d imagine?
A: Waiting rooms are always professionally discreet. No one is even paying attention to you much less trying to guess why you’re there. I’ve never felt unsafe in a psychiatrist waiting room.

Q: What is the difference between seeing a psychiatrist and a general practitioner?
A: A psychiatrist specializes in only mental illnesses and mental illness medications. They will be more up to date on specific medications and specific diagnoses and can provide a more in depth mental illness treatment. Generally, the philosophy is that if it works, keep doing it. I mean that if your GP prescribes you some medications that make you feel better, then keep taking them. If your GP has tried everything they know to try (like in my case) they may say go to a psychiatrist to try something different.

Q: What is the difference between a psychologist and a psychiatrist?
A: A psychologist will be your therapist and cannot prescribe medications. A psychiatrist will prescribe your medications. Most psychiatrists don’t do therapy, but there are some who do. I’ve never been to one who does, but it sounds like it could be a nice simple “one stop shop.”

Q: What’s the deal with medications? Are they pills that make you happy? Are they just a crutch?
A: Mental illness is much more complex than happy/sad. The hardest part of getting mental health treatment is that there is still so much that even the experts don’t know about it. They don’t know exactly why some medications work and some don’t, or why it’s different from person to person. While mental illness is a real, diagnosable medical condition, just like diabetes, or a broken arm, the treatment is different for each person. A doctor will pretty much treat a broken arm the same way for each person, because if they do, it will heal. Unfortunately depression and other mental illnesses are not so linear. We use medications as a way to stimulate our brain chemistry to do what it should be doing anyway. Just like a diabetic gives insulin because it’s what their pancreas is supposed to be doing anyway. Medications are not happy pills. They are not a crutch. They help clean up your thought processes and clear pathways so that you can function as yourself, just like when you clean out the hallways of a house so you can get around the house with less stress. I was prescribed medications for the first time at age 20, and I carried the bottle around, unopened, until I was 22. I was afraid of the stigma. I was afraid that they would give me a false perception of the world. I wish I had been more open minded sooner though, because it was the depression that was giving me the false perception. The meds helped me see more truth.

Q: Is it possible that medications won’t work?
A: Unfortunately there’s always that possibility. Sometimes it takes trying a few medications that don’t work before finding ones that do. It can be a frustrating system because often you have to take the medications for several weeks before you know if they’re helping. It can be so time consuming. It’s an imperfect system, but it’s the best one we have right now. There’s so much research being done about treating mental illness, learning why it happens, and learning what the symptoms mean that there are new options available all the time.

Q: Can insurance be a pain in the ass when it comes to mental health?
A: Sometimes. Mental healthcare is still a completely separate section of insurance from healthcare (guess what, it’s all healthcare!) and it can have its own rules. The issues I’ve run into over the years are that insurance can sometimes dictate how many therapy sessions you get per year, and they can limit the options for doctors you can see. The staff at therapist and doctors’ offices are pros at dealing with insurance, and will work the system if they need to to get you what you need.

Q: Is it okay to be scared?
A: Absolutely. Getting help is supposed to be the greatest thing you can ever do, and there are supposed to be circles of cheerleaders following you around wherever you go, and everything is supposed to be perfect and amazing and rainbows and smiles. Well, getting help is a great thing, but more than that it’s a brave thing. We’re still in a world where it’s often an uphill battle to get help for mental illness. I wish to god it wasn’t. I wish that mental health was treated like the rest of healthcare, and that people didn’t have to be afraid and anxious to seek help or even avoid seeking help because they’re afraid they won’t get it. I’m going to be real with you – getting help can be hard work. I will cheer for you and assure you that you’re not alone, I will share everything I’ve been through in hopes that it helps, but I can’t tell you that it will be smooth sailing. I do think you’re worth the fight. I also believe that you can be strong and brave and terrified all at the same time. And I think it’s worth asking for help, even if it looks like just showing up in a doctor’s office, not making eye contact, and saying the word “Help.”

These questions and answers are based on my own experiences, and my own fears before I got into treatment. I have not had a smooth ride with mental illness or its treatments, but I have met some really good people along the way who have helped me a lot. I’ve met some good people who haven’t helped me too. And I’ve met some idiots. But so far I haven’t given up on myself, and I don’t think you should either. I hope that at least some of this is helpful.

If you have any other questions, or if you have any other insights from your own experience that you think might be helpful to someone else, leave them in the comments or you can e-mail me. I don’t claim to be an expert, but between all of us I bet there’s a lot of really good information out there.

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Plan B

How many people are really living out their Plan A in life? How many people are doing what they always planned to do, living life the way they want to, haven’t had to rebuild themselves, maybe a few times, in their life? If those people are out there, just give them time. Their Plan B is coming. Personally, I ran out of letters for the amount of backup plans I’ve had to scramble together in my life. Even if I prepare for something, it often proves to be a wasted effort.

I recently got back from a vacation that involved a two day road trip. On the way back I stayed in a hotel after about 13 hours of driving, and around 3am my insulin pump alarm woke me up saying that the pump was dead and needed a new battery. If I don’t have insulin within a couple hours, my organs will start shutting down. So I guess it was important that I change the battery, or whatever.

I had packed batteries for just such an emergency, but it turned out I had AAA when I needed AA. I was going to have to come up with Plan B. I drove through the Virginia/Tennessee border in the middle of the night by myself without a bra. To my intense relief there was a gas station down the street from the hotel and I went in.

“I’m sorry, I can’t take any customers right now, I’m doing my nightly close,” said the gas station attendant. But what if I might literally die? Sorry, won’t have registers for another 20 minutes. Oh, I am sooo going to write a blog post about this, I thought as I grudgingly started forming Plan C.

There was a Wal Mart down the street from the gas station, and while driving there I chickened out and didn’t go in. I had nothing to defend myself with, and I felt there was a distinct possibility I would need to. To keep the anxiety at bay, I did, however, speculate about what kind of people would be in a Virginia Walmart at 3am. 400lb men in motorized carts and long, unwashed hair. Shift workers buying bulk Cup O Soup, being neither terribly happy or terribly unhappy with their lives. Groups of twenty year olds with neck tattoos glistening in the methamphetamine sweat, wearing wife beaters and dirty black jeans. I get really specific with my speculations.

I asked my GPS where the next gas station was, and it said Sure I will save you! Let’s go four miles! But after 12 miles of driving through unlit woods with sketchy looking streets, I ended up on a highway and recognized my exit for the hotel. In other words, back to exactly where I started. There was the gas station I just left.

I figured I might as well go back in and see if she could unconstipate her customer service. Fortunately she could take my money that I gave her in exchange for saving my life. She went from Plan A to Plan D in a matter of 30 minutes. I went back to the hotel and changed my pump battery and got a shaky 45 minutes of sleep before I had to get up and hit the road again to come home.

The thing about losing your Plan A is that while it’s a surprise and it’s jarring, life doesn’t stop there. I don’t know how long I started at that gas station attendant with my mouth open when she told me she couldn’t help me, but also there was that thing about how I would die without making a new plan. I considered shoplifting, but I’m not that graceful and didn’t want to get arrested while not wearing a bra. So Plan B makes itself. Same with Plan C and etc.

I was anxious but didn’t panic because batteries existed somewhere, I’d find them one way or another. Another thing I have learned is that I will be okay, no matter what happens.*  I’m not dead yet, and until I am I will be okay. I’ve faced my greatest fears, more than once, and I am still here. Being out of batteries in the middle of nowhere can’t scare me anymore.

*Unless it’s the zombie apocalypse, in which case I’m screwed.

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The Greys and Army Greens

Why does reading about someone who has bipolar give me a start? Why does hearing about someone who committed suicide make me feel just a little bit jealous? It doesn’t mean I’m a bad person and it doesn’t mean I’m crazy, that’s just the nature of triggers I guess. I’m reading a book that mentions someone’s family member who had bipolar (by the way I’m careful to say “has” bipolar as opposed to the more commonly used “is” bipolar because our conditions do not define us) and refused to take medications because they didn’t want to be “dulled.”

The person ultimately killed themselves, and it sounds like they had a lot of struggles in life. I can relate very much to not wanting to be dulled. Taking the relatively large number of medications, in addition to making me fat, turn my brain into fog. My feelings are dull and I don’t get as much enjoyment out of things I normally enjoy, but when I feel sad I feel it too strongly. The thought of getting off my medications just so I can feel something again is very appealing. But the consequence of doing that is that I will probably end up either hurting everyone I love, putting myself on the streets, or dead. At least I would feel life again, though!

I’m not going to go off my meds, but it will never stop sounding appealing. I think of the days when I wasn’t on medications or wasn’t taking my meds like I was supposed to, and though I had huge mood swings on a daily basis, I felt love like fire, I felt joy doing the things I loved, even the lows that I felt so strongly made me feel alive. I was connected to life. Sure, I wasn’t sleeping or eating much, and I would have days at a time where I would cry in bed barely getting up to pee much less function like a human. But that’s part of what made me feel alive.

Now I’m taking all the handfuls of meds like I’m supposed to, but I feel a muted sense of being alive. There are many things that make me happy: my boyfriend, my dog, my friends whom I cherish. The love for those things runs deep. But everything feels muted. I still have the mood swings, but they’re not as extreme. The “even keel,” the “baseline” doctors want me to stay on feels Okay. I am Okay. Life doesn’t have the reds and blues and purples and lively yellows anymore, just greys and army greens. My memory is shot, focus is a challenge, I often feel like my personality has gone into hiding, my hands shake, my energy is in short supply and I’m often too tired to function, but I am Okay.

Not fantastic let’s-get-up-and-go-I-don’t-care-where. Not terrible, hopeless, I’d be better off dead. Just okay. I am so lucky to have people who care about me and are always there to help me through the days, even the days when the high/low extremes come back and I’m not Okay anymore. In the meantime I’m living in the fog and reminiscing about the times when I felt like I was living in brighter colors.

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When Anxiety Attacks

Anxiety and panic attacks are no joke. No matter how many times they happen, they are terrifying every time, and it’s easy to feel like you might die if you’re not able to talk yourself through it. I have them every week if I’m in a sustained hypo-manic state, and about once a month if I’m in a bad depressive episode. Still, even without the emotional extremes, they can happen seemingly out of nowhere, triggered by things I often don’t understand until after they’re over. A big thing in therapy is learning to recognize triggers, which is helpful for perspective, and sometimes helps in the moment. But still it’s only part of the anxiety picture.

I had an anxiety attack as recently as the other night when I was grocery shopping with my family. I had gone off on my own to look at a few different items and soon realized that I no longer had my phone on me. I rushed back to the cart and asked the family if the phone was in the cart. They glanced in the cart and said no, so I rushed back to each place I had been to look for it, not finding it anywhere. My pulse and breathing quickened, I couldn’t think about anything but my phone, focusing, oddly, on the panic of losing my shopping list. Then I lost my family and started crying. My vision blurred and I’m sure I caused other shoppers some concern. I made eye contact with a few of them (a mistake).

Finally I found the family and breathlessly started throwing things out of the cart until I finally saw my phone at the bottom. I grabbed it and left them gaping to try to walk off the physical symptoms. When my mind started clearing I found that I was in the freezer section staring at Eggo waffles with the freezer door open. I felt better eventually, I still had my shopping list, and my access to my supportive texting friends and family, and more importantly, my shopping list. I can’t go into a grocery store without a list or I become too anxious. Ah, yes, there was the trigger.

There’s no way I could have prepared for that, though I did try to talk myself through it as best I could. Mostly it sounded like, “Breathe slower you’re not going to die. Breathe slower. Breathe slower.” It didn’t work though because my panic brain replied, “MY LIST MY LIST MY LIST!” Afterward I was able to talk myself down better. “It’s going to be okay. I am okay. Everything will be okay. Let’s go get some waffles,” apparently.

The most severe panic attack I ever had lasted three days. I know therapists and doctors say that a panic attack can really only last 25 minutes because after that your body chemistry is depleted of panic chemicals. So sure, I had breaks from the actual panicking, usually when the Xanax allowed me to calm down. But as soon as it started wearing off I panicked again. Sobbing, blurred vision, hyperventilating, shaking uncontrollably.

It reminded me of when I was working in the veterinary field and we’d see severe epilepsy cases where we put them on the strongest medications to get them to stop seizing and as soon as it wore off the poor animal was in another seizure again.

I was in a situation where there were about 20 unexpected triggers hitting me all at once. None of which I saw coming. I almost missed the wedding of one of my favorite people in the whole world because I was trapped in a prison of my own panicking head. Anxiety does not care where you are, what you were planning on doing other than panicking, or who you are with. It’s coming in anyway.

I feel like I learn my triggers just in time to find out that I have a whole new set waiting for me. The work is never done with mental illness. Nothing is ever fixed, it just morphs into new challenges. That’s what makes people living with mental illness such badasses. They are constantly fighting invisible battles that threaten to take over their whole lives, but they still manage to wake up every single day to fight again. How much more badass can you get? And sometimes they get dressed, have jobs and relationships and friends, all while doing battle.

Fight on, you motherfucking badasses. I’m fighting right next to you. Let’s have a waffle together sometime.

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A Note on Being Socially Awkward

“Oh, excuse me,” I say to the person I’ve accidentally cut off in the hall leading to the ladies’ room.

“Haha, no problem. The squash at the mall is rough!” I think I hear.

Not wanting to make this crazy talker feel bad, I say, “Well, they can’t all be gems, can they? Haha!” and push past her and her disappeared smile and confused, slightly concerned eyes, and let myself into the bathroom ahead of her.

While I’m in the stall, I realize that she must have said, “Well, this hall is small enough!” and not whatever I thought she said about squash. My response made less sense to her than the squash mall made to me. Another missed connection.

I don’t hear very well, so add that to my momentary panic whenever someone tries to make small talk with me, my mind reeling, trying to force words out so I don’t completely mangle the transaction, and it’s a disaster. I’m starting to accept that I’m going to mangle it anyway, so I try to keep my tone light and hope for the best. I used OKCupid to date people after my divorce, and under What I’m Best At in my profile I said “Making it weird.” And I meant it with all my heart.

I have a lot of wonderful friends who love me very much, but even with them I’m socially awkward enough to make it weird on a daily basis. And it’s not just my hearing loss or loathing of small talk either. At first I didn’t think mental illness played into it at all, but now I’m not so sure. When I’m doing everything I can just to stay alive with the minimum amount of functioning, not to mention summon the courage to be around other humans when I feel like that, polite conversation is the last of my energy priorities.

I might be at a store in the checkout line and the friendly cashier will say something like, “Any big plans for the weekend?”

Dear god, that question. I hate that question.

My first instinct is to lie, desiring to be someone who does things on a weekend like normal people. It sounds something like this: “Oh yeah! We’re going paddle boarding at the lake. Standing paddle boarding. With Martha Stewart. She’s buying us beer. Then we’re all going off roading in her Jeep. In the mud. I’m very excited.”

My next instinct is the honest one. Let’s not waste time being polite, let’s just tell it like it is. It sounds like this: “Yeah. Big plans to not put pants on or shower or brush my teeth for two days. Just kidding it’s already been a month. I’ll probably lie in my bed sideways and watch The Office reruns for thirty hours while eating these four bags of dill pickle chips and wiping my hands on the dog. What will you be up to?”

There’s the third response and it’s one I call The Best I Can Do. It goes like this: “Is it the weekend? What day is it? Can you just… I’ve got to get home. Because…I have to.” and then I start to cry as I avoid eye contact while o wait for the cashier to finish scanning my items, imagining them judging me for buying dill pickle chips in bulk along with tampons and one single celery stalk.

No matter which choice I go with, I make it weird. The cashier, or whomever I’m talking to will give me a blank, confused, or pitying look. And that’s just the way it is. At one point in my life while working customer service, I learned to have a separate customer service personality. I was charming, helpful, funny, cheerful, and I could do it as long as I was getting paid for it. Afterward I didn’t want to talk at all. To anyone. About anything.

This feeling is the inspiration for my “today is a no talking day” sticker. I feel like that so many times when I am too busy fighting my own brain to have energy for conversation or even responses to simple questions. It costs me a lot of myself to survive depression, anxiety, bipolar, and type 1 diabetes. It would be nice to be able to enjoy being social instead of feeling like it’s an obstacle or a puzzle that’s too difficult for me to figure out most of the time. At least I also don’t have enough energy to care what these strangers think of me and my awkwardness. That’s an asset, especially when I know I’m doing the best I can. It’s an asset too when I’m writing a blog that talks about things that no one wants to talk about. I don’t care what you think of me because I know that there’s someone out there who will read this and not feel so alone anymore.

Weirdos, unite.

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Sticker Sale!

Get shameless for a dollar! All stickers are $1 for a limited time! Tell your friends!

There is a new sticker available too for the days when talking takes too much energy. It is also good for days when your state of brain ensures that talking can only do harm. I have these days most frequently when I’m hypomanic.

Here is a preview of the new sticker! And if you make any purchase you get the black and white website sticker for free! Let’s go shopping!

Screenshot 2018-06-30 10.19.03

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Speak Louder Than the Stigma

The stigma surrounding mental illness is no joke. People struggling with mental illness feel isolated, ashamed, invalidated, and hopeless in a world where their condition isn’t taken seriously. There have been huge strides over the past few decades toward treating mental illness with the care it deserves, but there is still a long way to go. We who suffer from various mental illnesses often feel different from everyone, and we learn to feel shame for having an invisible illness, and the results of this can be deadly.

As long as we let ourselves give in to shame and stay silent about our experiences, the stigma isn’t going anywhere. I understand  that there are social and professional boundaries in place, and even though they are based in stigma we can’t always call our boss and say, “I can’t come in today because my depression is making me feel like I need to cut myself so I’m going to see the psychiatrist.” Things just aren’t that open yet. But someone could go up to their boss and say, “The migraine medication I’m on is making me throw up so I can’t come in today,” and no one would bat an eye. What is the difference between these two statements? They are both medical conditions.

Why is there so much shame enveloping the mental health statement especially when there are so many of us suffering from similar symptoms. How many people are not seeking help at all because they are afraid they won’t be taken seriously? I was one of those people. I’ve been invalidated and not taken seriously. I’ve had to make up the stomach viruses, fevers, and severe illnesses that would explain my missed days at work because of severe depression. I might as well have had those viruses with as bad as I felt, but I didn’t feel like I could tell the truth. And I felt every ounce of the shame that came with it.

I propose that we start speaking up. Not in a way that will make us lose our jobs – sometimes you just have to play the game to survive in this world. But when we feel shame, I propose we push through and talk about depression, anxiety, borderline personality disorder, whatever issues we are dealing with. Talk about the feelings we feel because we have to live with an invisible illness, about how we often feel alone. Talk about the positives (yes, there can be some) and the negatives. Basically, talk louder than the shame. Louder than the stigma. That’s the only way to fight it and break it down.

We are enough in and of ourselves, and that means that no matter who makes us feel less than or who tries to invalidate our experiences no longer has the power to change who we are. We are strong. We are not alone.

And one day, if we work hard, we can be completely shameless.

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TW – Depression Can’t Be Fixed

*TW means Trigger Warning, meaning what I’m about to say has the potential to trigger someone’s past trauma, past painful experience, or something they are struggling with. If someone is “triggered,” they can feel that pain all over again and put them in a challenging emotional or mental position. I will not censor my experiences because I can’t account for all possible triggers. However, I respect the things that people have had to go through, and I can indicate that I am about to talk about suicide; you can choose whether to keep reading or not. Please take care of yourself first.

If you need help now, call or online chat with the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline now.

We need to talk about suicide because it has taken too many people from us. I have lost friends to it, and it’s hard to miss the celebrities who died from suicide: Robin Williams, Chester Bennington, Amy Buell, Kate Spade, Anthony Bourdain. Ugh, just making this list gives me a heavy heart. But as difficult as it is to think about, I think the prevalence of mental illness in our lives is all the reason I need to talk about it. It seems like we don’t talk about suicide until it happens to someone we know. This is more than enough for us to take it seriously!

It is important to remember that depression can’t be fixed. Mental illness can’t be fixed. I love my friends deeply, and when one of them is hurting it makes me sad. It makes me want to do something, anything, to fix it. To take my friend’s pain away. Unfortunately depression doesn’t work like that. We have to consciously love the person over the disease.

My friend called me last night and said they wanted to end it all. I’ve been in that place before myself, but it didn’t make it any easier to know how much pain my friend was feeling. They told me how much I had meant to them over the years, and that they love me. This is a friend I “met” in an online support group more than 15 years ago, so we’ve never met in person. My friend told me, “I always wish we had met in person,” and the wording stabbed at my heart. Through many many tears I said,”We still can. I love you. Please don’t kill yourself tonight.”

…And that’s all I could do.

I wanted to drive to their house, knock the bottle of booze from their hand, and just hug them until they felt better, and I might have if they didn’t live a two day drive from me. (I love dramatically knocking things out of people’s hands, too.) Personally, I have attempted suicide three times in my life, which I will get into more later, but having been there myself does not make it easier to see others go through it. However, it does give me some perspective on what can help in these moments, and what my role is as a friend. The biggest two things that help me are honesty and humor. Don’t try to protect my feelings, and don’t let me take myself too seriously.

I resisted the urge to list all the things my friend had to live for because that would be assuming I know what they find meaningful. It’s easy to project our own experiences onto people in these situations, and I wanted very much not to do that. Instead, I was honest about my feelings and my selfishness.

I said, “I know this is selfish, but I don’t want to lose you. Not today. I mean one day, yeah when you’re being a real pain in the ass we’ll talk again, but not today.” They laughed, which made me feel relieved at that moment of time I bought for them. Humor can save a life. That’s what I tell myself when I’m unable to stop making “that’s what she said” jokes, when that fad ended like four years ago, but it’s true. Depression lies to us and tricks us into taking ourselves too seriously. It robs us of perspective and keeps us locked in a dark metaphorical room, isolated from people who love us. Eventually it can make us believe that we don’t matter.

I got to talk to my friend from their dark room last night. I am scared. I’m scared that they won’t answer my text this morning. I’m disappointed that I didn’t fix them – even when I know that’s not how it works. I’m heartbroken that I even have to entertain the thought that I might lose my friend. But I told them and showed them that I love them, and that is what I could do. I hope it helped, but I don’t know if it did. I may never know, but I did try.

I perhaps have a unique perspective, and am not suggesting this as a template for anyone else’s situation. If someone is talking about wanting to kill themselves and you are uncomfortable, which, let’s be honest, you should be, you do not have to deal with it alone. Call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline (I put this number in my phone and have used it) and they will help you help the person you love. Then make sure to take care of yourself, getting help dealing with the feelings that come with being in this difficult situation. Depression lies and we tend to believe the lies before we can fight it. We can’t fix it, but we can fight it.

I don’t know if my friend will answer my call today or not. I sure hope they do. My stomach is knotted with the thought that they might not. But I’m glad they reached out to me last night, I’m glad I got to say I love you, and I had the personal boundaries and wisdom to know that I didn’t have to fix them. We can’t fix something that isn’t fixable, all we can do is love it, call it a pain in the ass, and laugh at it, making the time we have on this earth a little more bearable.

Continue reading TW – Depression Can’t Be Fixed