Blog: Falling into Depression by Jessie Close

Oh my God, it’s here again!  If you’re like me, you dread cutting back the light with the time change and the change in the axis of our earth.  Less light means that those of us who suffer from seasonal depression must take extra care.  The medication I take to keep depression away works, most of the time but I am still susceptible to depression as the seasons change. 

Here are some signs that, from my experience, alert me to oncoming depression:
I don’t deal with my mail/ don’t pay bills
I sit and stare at nothing
I don’t answer the phone
I isolate
I go back to bed if I can
I stop writing/working
I stop going outside
Getting into the car is a major feat
Getting into the supermarket is an act of bravery

I don’t know if you can relate to any of these warning signs but I can.  I have not allowed mania or depression go for very long without calling a doctor.  I’m terrified of depression because if I let it go too far I begin having suicidal thoughts.  This is no joke.  I would even go to an emergency room, if I had to, for help.

The fact that Thanksgiving and Christmas take place in less light makes them dreaded holidays for me.

I gave my stove away to a friend who needed it.  In its place my son, Calen, built me a cabinet to fill the hole next to the fridge.  My reasoning was, if I don’t have an oven bigger than a toaster oven, no one will ask me to host Thanksgiving or Christmas.  My family got the point.

I try to avoid hosting anything, not because I don’t like having people in my home, but because my confusion grows incrementally with every minute I have to plan, shop and clean.  I hate that confusion.  If I’m teetering on the brink of depression, or actually drowning in it, I simply cannot be a host.

Giving my stove away underlines my fear of this season.  If I could I’d move at least Thanksgiving to the summer months when a holiday mood is easy to get in to.  Having both these enormous holidays only a month apart is ridiculous!  And Christmas or Hanukkah and all the presents and decorating and ALL OF IT makes me feel as though I have hands around my throat.  Perhaps I’ll just order enough copies of Mark Vonnegut’s new book to go around.  I can’t purchase presents early because I inevitably give them as soon as I get them.  I’m lousy with secrets.  No wonder there’s so much depression surrounding these holidays!

One good thing about having my children grown and gone is that I don’t have to attend school holiday events.  Being around all those people was daunting.  Watching my children perform was always wonderful but squeezing into a cold, metal chair with hundreds of other parents was not.  They will know one of these days, I hope.  And yes, that means I would have a grandchild or more.

For me, and others who live with mental illness, being a good parent was sometimes incredibly difficult.  I have apologized many times for my erratic behavior and still feel like a heel.  There just isn’t a good excuse for not being there when your children are young.  The parts I found so difficult were when I was feeling the physical horrors of depression.  I’m sure you can relate.  Depression isn’t just about walking around in a black cloud; it’s the physical heaviness, nausea and exhaustion that become a black cloud within you.  You are the black cloud.

So, shall I conclude this kind of depressing blog with telling you all will be alright?  No, you know better than that.  I’ll tell you that giving my stove away was a good move.  I’ll tell you that trying to pretend you feel well only uses up the energy you need to get feeling better.  I’m talking about taking your illness on, seeing a doctor, trying to get some exercise, and asking your children for hugs.  Read to them so they’ll be close and do what you have to do to make their lives tolerable.  Yes, I mean going to all the school plays and concerts.  It’s difficult but can be done and it will mean the world to your children.  They will grow up and they will remember whether you gave up or whether you persevered in the face of adversity.  I’m glad I did and I’m no hero.