Depression is, in one word to sum it up: devastating. While I have had depression for many, many years, it is not something you can ever get used to. My certain brand of depression comes in two forms, the first kind will build-up slowly over a few days’ time, the second one will hit me like a ton of bricks all at once. Personally, I don’t know which is worse. I find that when it builds up, sometimes I can catch it, listen to my sad song playlist, have a quick cry, and let all my emotions release out of me before it gets to the point of my “dark day”. Other times, I ignore the signs of my depression thereby entering the “dark day” after a few days of walking around in a haze. Then there are the times where I wake up and the precipitation cloud has surrounded the house and without any warning, sign or signal it was going to arrive, I am knee deep in the fog of the “dark day.”
Many people who have depression can experience this and experience it differently. I am in no way saying that what I go through is the same thing as others do while battling depression. This is just what happens to me and how I have come to acknowledge it, describe it, and accept it. So, what is a dark day? For me, it starts with the urge to cry, for no reason, and the littlest thing will set me off. Did I forget to take out the recycling and miss the truck by five minutes? Urge to cry. Did I cook my toast for too long and now the crust is more burnt than I wanted it? Cue the urge to cry. Did my husband so graciously make me a chai latte for when I wake up and take my meds but for some reason the mixture is off, and I don’t like the taste of it? Full fledge and overwhelming sensation of tears rushing into my eyes waiting for the sweet release of a cathartic cry.
However, I never release these tears when I feel them build up, I decide I am a big girl, and I must cry in the one place the dogs won’t ever hear me: the shower. I make my way to the shower, strip down, add eucalyptus oils to the tub, put my hair into a shower cap (something I normally refuse to wear but on my dark days, it is a must), and climb into the tub. While the hot water that would make Satan exclaim “Oh, that’s a little toasty” falls on top of my skin, I sit down in the basin of the tub, pull my knees up to my chest, wrap my arms around them, hang my head (the reason the shower cap is necessary) and begin to sob, heavily. I let the steam clear my lungs and drain my sinuses while releasing every emotion I have ever experienced in my life since age seven.
After I can no longer produce any tears and am left with my chest heaving, trying to catch my breath, I know it is time to leave. From there, I go into Bazza’s office and retrieve one of his oversized shirts, grab some fuzzy socks and head to the living room. Dogs in tow who are now worried about their mumma, because they could in fact hear me, they watch as I take the darkest part of my dark day out of its DVD case and place it into the PS5. I sprawl onto the couch and place my 20-pound weighted blanket on me before allowing the dogs to climb up with me. I start the movie, feel numbness wash over me and hear the calming opening line: “I have never given much thought about how I would die.” With this one simple line, my 10-hour Twilight marathon begins.
Why Twilight? That is a great question, one that my therapist has asked many, many times. I have never had an answer for her. She asked if it could be some childhood comfort, but I first read all the books in a hyper fixation episode after I saw the first movie at age 19; so that idea was quickly ruled out. While I have no idea why this franchise is my base line for how I am doing mentally, my psychologist now asks me how I am doing on a scale of 1 to Twilight marathon, I can say that I watched the entire movie series, all 5 movies from start to finish in one sitting, 48 separate times in the year 2020, clearly a great year for all of us. Even Bazza knows if he ever finds me watching Twilight, it is time to call my therapist and psychiatrist and get me in for appointments, driving me himself if need be.
I say this all because I have slowly felt the depression creep in over the last few days, while I am not in my dark day era quite yet, I am currently in the stay in bed past noon, play my sad song playlist and cry uncontrollably era. Due to the generation, I was raised in, I remember expressing feelings of depression to family members or school counselors who would so generously respond with a full chested and confident response of “why are you depressed? You have nothing to be depressed about!” I often have those sound bites on a loop in my brain, while they are true, I don’t have anything to be upset or sad about, depression doesn’t work that way.
Yesterday I found myself driving to barre class and discovered there was traffic so bad that I would be 20 minutes late to class. I called the instructor and told her I was stuck in traffic and on the verge of an emotional breakdown and couldn’t make it, thankfully she understood, and I was able to turn around and go home. As soon as I walked in the door, saw Bazza sitting on the couch, right where I left him, and I began to feel the tears well up in my eyes and started taking shallow breaths trying to calm myself down. He picked me up, carried me into the bedroom and we partook in what we call “upies to downies”. This is where he picks me up in a bear hug and I wrap my legs around his waist, he then sits down and rocks me back and forth. This has helped my anxiety so many times and prevented public panic attacks. I am sure the looks we get when doing this in public must be insane, I never seem to notice as I usually have my head buried in his neck and am trying to take deep breathes inhaling his cologne that I love.
While doing upies to downies yesterday, I began to bawl again, he rocked me and attempted to soothe me while telling me he’s got me, and everything will be alright.
“I don’t know why I am feeling like this, I don’t know why I want to cry so much” I say through strained and shallowed breaths. “Is this something you felt coming on for some time or if it was something that just hit you this morning?” he asked in hushed tones while still rocking me back and forth. “I felt it coming on for a while and I have just been ignoring it. We are going on vacation in a matter of days, I don’t have time to be sad” I sob. “You know very well that is not how this works” he replied sternly. “Have you been eating lunch, you know that your nutrition can affect your mental health, and how about water, have you been drinking enough water?” he asks while rubbing my back.
I begin to suck in air and my crying becomes more severe as I pull away from him to look into his eyes. “NO!” I exclaim “I haven’t” sob “drank water” inhale “today” sob “the Britta wasn’t full” sob “I was too lazy to fill it” inhale “and I am so thirsty but” sob “the water from the sink” sob “isn’t cold enough” I took a deep inhale as my body began to shake as the tears filled my eyes “and I don’t like water that isn’t cold” and that my friends is when I had my full fledge breakdown and experienced the hardest, most cathartic cry I have had in a very long time. I collapse back into him as he continued rubbing my back and comforting me. And then, in the midst of my breakdown, I had a moment of clarity. I pull away from him, look him dead in the eye and through the downpouring of tears and shallow breath I exclaim “That is the dumbest thing I think I have ever said in my entire life” and begin laughing hysterically. Bazza naturally joins in because, it was probably the dumbest thing he ever heard in his life. My crying comes to a stop as we both hold each other in fits of giggles and just hug one another.
He stands up quickly, turns around and throws me down on the bed and climbs on top of me. He gives me a quick kiss and brushes some hair out of my face, “we have got this, we can get through this, no matter what, it’s me and you kid” he says gently. I stare up at the man that I am so grateful to call my partner and conjure up my best Sam Winchester impersonation “You’re damn right we can, because we have no other choice!”
He smiles while climbing off me, opens the door to the bedroom and disappears down the hall. This move allowed the dogs to come barreling into the bedroom demanding to check on me after they heard my heaving sobs and cackling laughter in a matter of minutes. Sometimes I am thankful they cannot figure out how the phone works, because the short one is shady and would have me hauled away in a straight jacket without a second thought. After a few minutes and a few deflected make out sessions from my 70-pound lap dog, Bazza comes back into the bedroom with my pink metal safety water bottle, the ice cube he placed inside it clinking with every step he took.
I know in the bottom of my heart that this man loves me ferociously, either that or he is terrified of me and is attempting to stay in my good graces in case the medication stops working one day. Honestly, I am okay with either option because I know it means I have someone there to make the necessary appointments while holding me as we watch Twilight on my dark days and from now on, the Britta will forever be full.