A Mental Health Check

Today I woke up depressed.

It happens. Not often anymore, in fact, the last time I felt like this was after Griffin's birth - and that was Depression (PPD, to be exact). So today's depression was little "d" and short lived.

Today's depression was like the head cold version of depression. You're functional, but not loving it. And I like equating mental health with physical health, because in many ways they're the same. None of us is immune to colds, or the flu, or infection. None of us is immune from depression, or anxiety, or other mental illnesses. And just like you can't "just get over" the flu, you can't "just get over" depression (or any other mental illness for that matter).

And just like some people will live with heart disease, or Diabetes, or osteoperosis for the rest of their lives, so will some people live with mental illness.

And just like some people will have a disease like bronchitis, take medication, and then get better and never be bothered by it again, so will some people suffer from depression, go to therapy (or, possibly take medication) and then get better and never be bothered by it again.

Unfortunately there is no reliable or approved OTC medication to alleviate the symptoms of depression like there is for the common cold. I mean, there's wine - but alcohol usually does more harm than good in these instances. Sex works for some. So does chocolate. But I can't go to Wallgreens and pick up a box of DayQuil:Depression (non drowsy, obviously).

I haven't always been so open about my battle with depression, and that's party because of the weird stigma we have about mental illness. Most people will agree that there's no shame in having a long term physical illness, but few will argue that there should be no shame in having a long term mental illness. Some of the most fantastic people are crazy (note: I'm using it as a term of endearment, and I use it about myself, so no hate mail please), and some of the most crazy people need us to help them get or stay functional.

I wouldn't consider my form of depression to be serious. But many people who DO have serious mental health problems need our support - as a society. They need us to say "hey, it's ok that you have XYZ. How can I help?" In the SAME way we'd take care of our coworkers with Diabetes by making the company potluck healthier, or bringing over food for our neighbor with cancer who's going through chemo.

I have, in my life, suffered from depression. I am fortunate that my episodes of depression are usually short lived, have thus far been remedied with talk therapy, have never required medication, and are infrequent. They go like this:

Heart: I cannot possibly move. The weight of the world is pressing my being into my bed and IwillneverbeabletoleavemybedIcannotmoveIamtootiredthisistoohardIcan'tdothis.

Head: how will you take care of your children to make love to your husband?

Heart: good question.... (long pause) well, since I'm lying in bed, I can still snuggle with the kids. And I'm in nearly perfect love-making position.

Head: You do realize you sound ridiculous right now, yes?

Heart: Sigh. Yes. I'll get up.

Head: Good.

Body: I have to pee.

Heart & Head: Shut up body. No one cares about you.

I may sound like I'm being facetious, but that's pretty much how things go... it's exactly how they went today. I spend the rest of the day listless, heavy hearted, moody, and on the verge of tears. I also treat my body horribly by either eating too much horrible food or by not eating anything at all. This happens until either 1. whatever triggered the depression resolves, or 2. I talk it out.

Today it resolved itself after a long nap (sleep deprivation is one of my triggers, which sucks because I have terrible insomnia). But since it's been such a long time since my last depression episode, it's probably a good idea if I find myself a talk therapist.

I'm still not feeling 100%. But I will. And I hope that my kids never have to go through anything worse than what I experienced today. Just like I hope they never have to have gallbladder surgery or deal with bronchitis year after year (because all of those things suck; I've had them all). I hope my kids never get the chicken pox, or pneumonia, or have anxiety attacks. But I know that odds are they'll get sick, physically and mentally. And regardless, I'll be there.

In the meantime, hopefully I can channel some of this into creative things. It did get me to write this post, which is a start. I do have an idea for a new story, but maybe I should finish the old one first.

So I opened my file today...

And wrote.

Well, a paragraph. Does that count? It's been the first time I've written anything since November 25th. I really want to finish, I'm starting to really like my characters... but I don't want to actually put in the work to write.

This is why I enjoy poetry. I can spend anywhere from a few minutes to a few hours writing and I have a completed piece at the end of it.

Maybe I should have tried a short story before I dove into novels.

But I do have a poem for you. I've been reluctant to post it because some people tend to read into my poetry. I suffer from an overactive imagination, so if I write about things that are depressing - it doesn't mean I'm depressed. If I write about relationship problems, it doesn't mean I'm currently experiencing any.

Although, to be completely honest, poems about relationship problems are probably inspired by past relationships. I may set them in the present, if only because the present provides a clearer setting. It's not always easy to remember details of the past even if I can recall the emotions.

So, with that said, here's a poem.

Silence

Silence stretches things

Makes them taut – like a rubber band

Frayed edges cause the band to break if stretched too thin

Silence stretches us

Each stretch stresses the edges,

Little tears that disappear once

a word, or

a touch, or

a kiss – mouth moving softly on lips, neck, collarbone…

Snaps it, snaps us, back to normal

And you can’t see the rip – so small

Tiny, really

Until silence stretches us again

And little tears grow wider

Silence is deadly

-Rodgers, 2012

The Fruits of my Labors

The following quote was taken from a student's paper.

"An analysis of this quote reveals the tone of the poem's theme, because it states a disturbing simile providing imagery for the reader."

Oh yeah. That lesson sunk in.

*headdesk*

A Poem

It's been awhile. Too long.

I actually haven't written anything for the novel yet, but I do have some poems. So here's one.

Enjoy.

Griffin

His pudgy hands always seem to be sticky

even as they clutch his new precious,

a cheap plastic toy,

topper for his watered down lemonade,

a treat that went with his unbuttered popcorn at the

Sunday matinee.

Movie watching,

it takes a lot out of a toddler.

Little legs grown heavy and slow on the walk home.

In my arms now,

his arms wrapped tightly around my neck,

baby curls grown long tickle my nose,

head beginning to nod

as my familiar gait rocks him to sleep.

My arms can’t keep up with each new growth spurt,

so mama’s boy becomes

daddy’s little man

as small bodies grow too big to be soothed at the breast.

Asleep now in daddy’s arms,

curls bounce with each step –

jumbled clouds that catch his dreams…

I can’t bear to cut them,

those baby curls.

He seeks me out after nap time,

allows me to clear away the sleep with a spattering of kisses

and his ever-sticky hands encircle my neck as a

breathy toddler voice whispers

“love oou mama”

and he brings his nose to mine for an Eskimo kiss.

I hope he never gets too big for that.

-JRodgers