Just Between Us

Though I have struggled with depression throughout my life, suicide has never been an option that I considered. The thought of living overruled the possibility of death as if it were a decision not made by me, but by a higher court. I’m quite sure that the thought was there, only buried and subdued. It probably danced across my brain as a fleeting option that I dismissed as I would junk mail. I faintly remember hearing conversations of people who have taken their own lives and agreed on the selfishness of that person. I passed down judgement so flippantly; that is until my most recent cycle of depression.

Such a sneaky, quiet beast depression can be. It attaches to me so gradually that I do not even notice the parasite that I am hosting. I cannot point to a day on the calendar that it began, nor can I recall an event that pushed me over the proverbial ledge. It is a creeping impedance of doom and empty space; completely void of reason and logic. Really, what right do I have to be unhappy? I can rattle off my blessings without effort as they are indeed abundant. This adds to the guilt that I feel when I hit that brick wall. My mind converts to autopilot and I perform the necessary things that keep me on the north side of insanity.

In writing this, I am admitting to my trade secrets; the things that I realize that I am doing when I am cycling. That is not to say that I understand my patterns or have the energy to change them as they are occurring. I am definitely not asking for intervention. I have certainly surpassed amateur status by now. But, I am a realist and I see the signs.

I have always enjoyed time to myself; the relief of not having to converse with anyone or give explanations for my words and actions. The exhaustion of communication is often what will validate my absence and helps me to feel justified in pulling away from the world. I isolate myself physically as well as emotionally, becoming conveniently unavailable. I choose to den up in my bedroom with the curtains drawn and the doors closed. I watch episodes of The Office that I have seen hundreds of times before; soaking in the deadpan humor that I prefer and letting the comforting predictability numb my brain.

I stop eating. For me and my food history, this is a big one. My appetite does not disappear, but I feel unworthy of nourishment. I once went nine days without even a taste of anything but water and wine. Nobody noticed, possibly no one cared. I mean, it’s not as if I appear malnourished with my soft belly and thick thighs. It has nothing to do with weight loss. It is refusing myself the most basic of needs. Self-loathing so intense that I do not deserve to eat. This is a really hard one to admit as I know that it will draw more attention to my habits than I am comfortable with. It is what it is and I continually remind myself that I only have control over myself, not others. While this is awkward and unpleasant, it is therapeutic for me to throw it all out there.

And really, for the first time, came the thoughts of ending it all. It was subtle. Calculations of how much my life is monetarily worth. I weighed my value according to what could be gained in the event of my death. I thought of Andy and how he could remarry and have what I felt he deserved; a normal wife who would be honest with him. I wished for him a more beautiful soul with a conventional brain. In my typical fashion, I was deciding what was best for someone else.

My children have, without knowing it, saved my life many times. It is looking at them that I see pure love. It is the kind of love that is completely unmerited and yet the most powerful force that I’ve known. They make me feel like a pivotal piece of life’s puzzle. Without me, they do not have a mother, a home base. They would be robbed of me; the advice that I can hand out, the stories that I tell, the food that I cook, the hugs that I give, the unconditional love that comes from someone who has been there every step. And though my worth cannot be completely measured in my kids, it has sustained me when I see only black. If I know nothing else, I know that the three souls that I brought into this world are heroes in disguise who, until now, have not known their weight in my world.

In this moment I am brave. I am strong. I can tell my story in a small town. I can gather my people and say that I am enough. There are those who will read this and not recognize the depth, but rather see a topic for gossip. That’s okay. I tell my story for not only myself but in hopes of shining a light in the direction of a kindred soul, because right now I can do this. Tomorrow might be different.

A Cure For What Ails You

I am in constant search of myself; as if I am lost and my picture should be on the local news. FYI: if I ever go missing, use the weight on my driver’s license for the poster. And a flattering picture. These are my wishes… Anyway. I want to grow and to learn; to improve and to be a light to others. In my quest for discovery and enlightenment I found that the simple things in my life are really the big things for me.

My family has often kidded that I am a bloodhound. My olfaction is extremely keen, sometimes much to my annoyance. In my defense, I did once sniff out a gas leak that no one else noticed. I may have saved lives, yes, I am an everyday hero. I tend to attach memories to smells which causes me to live in the past much more than what is healthy, I’m sure. I cannot walk by an Estee Lauder counter without opening a bottle of Youth Dew and breathing in Phyllis. I can’t help myself. And instead of leaving happy, I walk away sad and alone longing for what I once had.

Last week I had a moment when the noise in my head quieted itself. I was riding my horse and enjoying the aloneness found on dirt roads and in the sound of horseshoes on the hard ground. My brain meandered over to the joys in my life; the things that truly ease my depressive nature and that silence the revolving loop of negative self-talk continually playing in my head. As quirky as it may sound, the things that I find the deepest comfort in are smells. Not the manufactured kind, but rather scents that place me in the moment instead of the past.

Horse sweat: Yes, you read that correctly. I love the smell of horses. I would probably like humans more if they could just smell like horses. It is such a sweet, warm, comforting redolence that activates the happy corners of my mind; reminding me that they are still there, only dormant, waiting for a whiff of horse. The scent reminds me that life is best when it is uncertain and unpredictable. It prompts me to live in the moment and to absorb the spontaneity of a 1200 pound animal.

Baby heads: Oh, how I love to inhale the smell of baby head. I am not sure if this scent affects me because I am a mother or if it is actually an elusive potion concocted by evolution to assure the survival of the human race. I am a word nerd, not a scientist. Anyway, it is amazing. I can be winning the marathon for “World’s Shittiest Day” and a good nose full of baby head will put it all in perspective.

Puppy Breath: That skunky smell of a tiny puppy’s breath accompanied by an actual puppy. What’s not to love? I have shared with Andy my brilliant idea of a Puppy Therapy Farm where you just fall on the ground and are “attacked” by a passel of puppies. I thought that I was being very innovative. Andy reminded me that puppies grow up and lose the puppy breath and that I was encouraging mass euthanasia of dogs (I would never intentionally do that, by the way.)

So this is my crazy formula for non-pharmaceutical anti-depressants. I’m not throwing out my prescriptions just yet. I know my limitations. But, the above listed things really do help me stay in a good place; a rational place. If my favorite scents were somehow mass produced and sold for medicinal purposes, I am most certain that the marketization would render the once powerful potion useless. Because it is not only the horse sweat, but also the horse, it’s not only the baby head, but also the baby nor is it only the puppy breath but most definitely the puppy. For some things there is no shortcut or facsimile. Only the real thing will do.