Aunt Roe

This past week has been one for the books. My Aunt Roseanne was admitted to the hospital the week before last for complications associated with her diabetes/other health issues. She went home the following Monday (this past Monday) and set up a wellness plan moving forward that included a new diet, occupational therapy and physical therapy, along with her home health care. To provide some background, she had been dealing with heart issues and diabetes for the past decade or so and her health had deteriorated slowly over the course of the past 10 years.

One thing I admittedly struggle with is how hard it was to watch my aunt suffer in the year since we reconnected. I recently reestablished a relationship with my aunt after my immediate family not speaking with our extended family for some time (for reasons none of us can remember anymore). It made me anxious to visit her because it was hard to see her in physical and emotional agony. In the course of the years we hadn't talked, she lost her ability to drive and walk. Also, she lost a major support source in the form of her romantic partner. After not seeing her for over a decade, it also dawned on me upon first gaze that she's aged to look very much like my long-deceased and still-beloved "Nanny." All of this fear and anxiety (notice a common theme on my blog here?) kept me from seeing her more than I would have under normal, "old me" circumstances. But I was still thankful for what we had this past year. It took us too long to get to that point. It should have happened years ago but I'm thankful that it even happened at all.

Roe often confessed that she felt she was following in her mother's footsteps and didn't want to die too soon before her time, but she struggled to find that spark that one needs to go on and fight the good fight. I had the pleasure of visiting her in December before Christmas and again in the Spring before Easter. I emailed and called frequently in between, and she did the same in return. She was legitimately the only person in my circle who understood how it felt to be housebound (her situation due to disability, mine due to my aforementioned breakdown and recovery from anxiety and panic disorders). We talked, laughed and cried a lot. And I tried to say all the things I had in my pep talk arsenal to inspire her and give her a reason for continuing, even stating that I wanted her to be there to meet my future children-kiddos that I'm still not even sure I'll have. I reminded her of her family and friend-based support network and that she was never alone, even if that was often the case physically.

The last time we talked was this past Wednesday night right before the newest episode of SVU. All we did was talk, laugh and smile. She was unusually optimistic and happy. I felt like maybe all of her family's kind words and encouragement/tough love finally seeped through and made a change. It never occurred to me that her optimism could be something ominous or a calm before the storm. Less than 24 hours after my aunt told me how good she felt and how she was looking forward to her physical therapy and baking cookies this Christmas after a long hiatus from her normal annual baking duties, I found out that she died.

On Thursday, she fell down in her house while under the care of her home nurse and physical therapist. She was later pronounced dead at a local hospital, 30 minutes from my apartment and 12ish hours after I talked with her. About how Mike and I had plans to bring her homemade fried rice after moving into our house the end of the month; she adhered to a low-potassium diet and this delicacy was surprisingly in adherence to her food restrictions. And we'd even planned to bring our dog to visit , since animals are the best therapy.

We had plans. She set goals for herself and I set some of my own to hold up my end of the deal. We both worked this year to try and get well again in our own ways. Both of our plans involved one another. I've obsessed over what reason there could be behind why she survived numerous heart attacks and hospital visits, but died at home as she took her first step to finally getting better in both body and spirit. There is no logic, I've come to find. It's not ours to understand and I still don't get it.

To say that she was special and an integral part of my formative years is an understatement. She took me on shopping trips, kept me company during my brother's little league games, took me to get my driver's license when I was 17 and scared to drive my parents' stick-shift cars, and even sat with me when I had kidney stones in my freshman year of college and was stuck in the hospital for eight hours. Little did I know that 12 years later, she'd die in the same hospital system where she sat with me and helped me go through the agony of stones, which pale in comparison to the internal battle she dealt with each day to survive and go on.

This year has been one of the most challenging and vulnerable ones of my life. I have never felt so raw, afraid, excited, sad, aware...you name it. Mt dear aunt helped me survive. She was one of the many reasons I chose to keep going on during times when I didn't know if it was worth the trouble -depression is a tricky bastard like that, but it's getting better. Grief  hurts. I know it gets better with time, but it hurts like hell. And even more so when you're an adult and you have a keener understanding of death and mortality.

Because of my improving but ongoing social phobias, I am remembering her in my own way in my own home because I know I won't make it through the formal services that have been arranged in her honor. But I know that for this past year, I was there as much as I could be. And she gave as much of herself as she could in return. I will always love her and always miss her.

I will always be jealous of the angels...rest in peace Aunt Roseanne

How to help

With Robin Williams tragically dying from suicide last week, I think depression is on a lot of folks' minds in the aftermath of it all. Mental illness is one of those things that, while widely de-stigmatized over the past decade (I was very secretive as I sought treatment in high school and in college), is still one of those topics that many fail to understand. Of course, there are a number of exceptions. There are psychiatrists, social workers, therapists, counselors and various other care workers who see this kind of thing regularly. There are also folks that deal with some type of diagnosis themselves - this can range from mild Generalized Anxiety Disorder to the level of anguish that Robin Williams was apparently dealing with - the kind of profound sadness and hopelessness that drives a person to take her/his own life. There are also those dedicated and committed partners, family members and friends that strive to learn more and empathize when they learn a loved one is in anguish.

I used to fail to understand suicide and the thought patterns that led depressed and suffering folks down such a final and irreversible path. I personally never took that path because I did not want my partner, family and friends to have to live with the aftermath. No one can really help it when a person dies of natural causes. But if a loved one commits suicide, you're left wondering a lot of things. What did I do to cause this? Could I have prevented it from happening? Even in my darkest hole of a mood, I  kept in mind that it wasn't my destiny to feel soulless forever, It would get better. It had to.

Not everyone is lucid enough to come to that conclusion in the heat of a manic episode, though. I think I finally get that and it took losing one of the best actors of my lifetime to see that. I understand that suicide can be perceived as selfish because of what it does to those around the deceased. Until you've experienced depression on a level that goes beyond "feeling sad," or you have taken care of someone in this condition on a regular basis...you wouldn't understand. Failing to understand fully is acceptable, but it's not OK to judge. As I've come to learn this year, it's rarely ever  "OK" to judge. 

There are a lot of resources out there for folks that want to learn more about depression, anxiety and the like. Folks that suffer can explain it to loved ones in the best way they know how. And what I've learned is that, no matter how much I try to make people in my life "get it," some just don't or refuse to. And that's OK. That's not my burden to carry, nor should they feel guilty for not being able to relate on a firsthand basis. But how does a family member or a close friend help?

Well, there are a number of related Buzzfeed lists and HuffPo articles out there that have been very popular since Robin Williams passed away, so this topic is buzzworthy. These articles tell you what not to do. I can't tell you how many times I've had to bite my tongue when someone says something well-intentioned but unhelpful/offensive to me. You can probably see the teeth marks in my tongue. :) But instead of focusing on what people are doing wrong, I want to provide some perspective regarding ways to potentially help someone dealing with depression or any kind of long-term mental anguish.

Don't pretend like you get it and don't try too hard to. Educate yourself, but don't pretend like what you or your friend Sue is dealing with is the same as what the distressed person in your life is dealing with. Different people have different triggers, thresholds for emotional pain, clinical diagnoses...and the list goes on. Everyone is different. You are not the same as Sue. And Sue is not the same as your friend Harry, so comparing the still-depressed Sue to Harry, who "conquered" his depression using methods A an B...it's doing Sue more harm than good. What you think may serve as motivation can make someone feel as though they're not living up to the world's expectations, or more specifically, yours.

Just listen. Agree that what your loved one is dealing with is hard. Thank them for sharing their story with you. Ask what you can do to help. "I hear you, friend...that really sucks that you're dealing with those feelings. Is there anything I can do for you?" Just knowing that there's a support system available that is willing and flexible means the world. At least it has for me. And if the person is dealing with social anxiety in any form, other forms of communication can  take the place of in-person support if the suffer isn't up to visitors or willing to talk it all out on the phone. Emails, cards, social media...the smallest I-love-yous do a world of good. And if someone isn't in a place to respond, give it time. Maybe they're not up for karaoke night, but a nice Hallmark card goes a long way. Or a reaffirming text. It's easy for others to move on with their lives and forget to include folks stuck in manic episodes because those folks aren't up for big, fun adventures and often push loved ones away unintentionally while suffering on the inside.

Understand that a depressed person probably doesn't want to be that way. I would gladly give up a limb (literally) to go back to the week before my breakdown and do it all over again knowing what I know now. Or to be reborn without the predisposition to being depressed and anxious. To be the kind of person that takes it all in stride. Also understand that depression does mean that a person may not have the capacity to be the most social, humorous, optimistic or romantic at this point in time. This may be finite, it may be permanent. It depends on the person. Recovery takes as long as it needs to take and there is no timetable for when a person "needs" to start feeling better so that others around them feel less awkward. 

I got told by a former supervisor once that I didn't "look" anxious etc. and this person was shocked that I'd been suffering. It's often said that when a person breaks like I did, it's from trying to be strong for too long. I'm learning in therapy how to give myself grace and permission to not be the best at everything this year. Do the same for friends and family that may be suffering.  

And take care of yourself. It can be hard to be around a person who is as her/his lowest levels of depression and fear. Learn how to care for yourself and how to be a good supporter through reading, therapy, co-therapy with the sufferer...whatever it takes. Lastly, throw away the practice of being judgmental. There's just no room for it. Unless you've walked a mile in someone's shoes...

L

I'm getting older, too...

So the good news is I am still thankful, above all else. Thankful for having a support system in Mike, my immediate family, my aunt, my animals and friends both in person and through the wonder of technology. Also thankful for good physical health and an effective change in medicine over the past couple of weeks. I feel like I'm timidly coming out of another "low" in this journey that's lasted all year so far.

It's weird. I would cut off a limb to not be prone to anxiety and depression. To not have to make a conscious effort to think positively and redirect the way I think naturally. To not be so intentional and so emotional and to feel so depleted at the end of each day. My counseling background drives me to support others and hold them up even when I can't hold myself up. While I will never stop being that kind of person - I am PROUD to be that way - it makes for one tired little woman in this apartment at the end of the day. Antidepressant-induced slumber is always welcomed at the end of each night, along with some good animal snuggles.

And yet, while I'd give anything to be a carefree spirit, I'm wondering how I will live my life without my old pals, depression and anxiety. As I start to feel better (thank you again to my therapist, some good literature and my pills for guiding me through that process) I feel a new kind of anxiety. Because I am so used to living with sadness, crying every morning (because it's so intense to face the day and all the unknowns)...it will be an adventure to live life again without constant fight-or-flight. Freud has a term for this feeling of fearing what will happen when the depression eventually lifts, but it's slipping my mind (thanking the pills yet again, his time for the lovely side effect of memory fogginess)...what if friends and family will care about me and be less interested in me once I appear to be "better"? What if their lives now include traditions and customs that I can't be a part of yet? Or what if they're used to me not being around?

Truth is, folks with anxiety and depression are never cured in my opinion. It's always a cross to bear, it just is heavier during certain seasons of life. So when it's a lighter cross, it doesn't consume you, but you learn how to cope effectively and healthily. But the outside world is still a little scary on this end. Making good progress though due to the aforementioned and to Him.

I heard the Smashing Pumpkins' rendition of this song today, "Landslide." Always loved this song, especially the Fleetwood Mac live version. But hearing it from a depressive's perspective was very real and emotional. For those that are experiencing even a smidge of what I am this year, this is for you.

And I saw my reflection in the snow-covered hills/Till the landslide brought me down
Oh, mirror in the sky, what is love?/Can the child within my heart rise above?/Can I sail through the changing ocean tides?/Can I handle the seasons of my life?
Well, I've been afraid of changing 'Cause I've built my life around you/But time makes you bolder
Children get older/And I'm getting older too...

L

...and one step back

The hallmark of having generalized anxiety disorder and panic disorder with agoraphobia (in my experience anyway) is that I take two steps forward in my recovery progress, and when I experience a perceived setback in my recovery. it hits hard. Even though I know I'm not back at Square One (i.e. January and being afraid to leave the house and speak to anyone), setback rattle my core in a way I can't articulate and perhaps it's something that only an anxiety sufferer will fully understand. Note: experiencing moderate levels of stress, even for an extended time period, is not the same thing as having a chronic anxiety and panic disorder. It doesn't define me as a person, but it's always been there in the background in one way or another since high school. For those that never read before..long story short is that I experienced a nervous breakdown shortly after Christmas. No one factor that led to it - just a lot of stress and change over the course of a three-year period. Heavy stuff. So for a while, I couldn't handle any stimuli, good or bad. Lost the butterfly feeling for things I once loved (good food, double dates with friends, family visits, etc). Still struggling with that to this day. But I found a job that is flexible enough to complement my recovery and I have an amazing support system and some very effective medicine that I do believe saved me. So functioning again, just experiencing the highs and lows that come with perceived victories and setbacks.

So last week, I had a great therapy appointment. I also spent 20 minutes on the phone setting up a life insurance policy for myself (ah, the joys of self-employment). Being that I was petrified of the phone and most human contact in January, huge victories. But I have a nasty habit of pushing myself just too far when I am on an upswing. So after getting off the phone with Metlife, I took a trip to Target (a store I finally felt comfortable in again with Mike) to buy some shopping list items, none of which were super essential. I knew going into the store that I was overwhelmed, but I couldn't just listen to my body and mind. I pushed myself. And set myself up to fail. And the past few days have been wracked with guilt over that. And guilt over not seeing my family or friends as much because I am just not ready. I went out this weekend and even set foot in the very Target store where my near-attack occurred. Victorious to the outside world. But I can't shake the fear that the breakdown I had and the setbacks that happen have ultimately changed me as a person.

No external factor is to blame for these feelings of self-loathing and guilt; I need to learn how to have self-compassion. But how does one do that? How do I give myself the grace I talked about in my last post? I am really all ears and open to suggestions, because this level of vulnerability is something I m very unaccustomed to. I firmly believe there's beauty in the breakdown (yep, a song lyric from Frou Frou's "Let Go," featured in the movie "Garden State") but the breakdown in itself and the subsequent recovery...well it's very hard. I find incredible difficulty in getting motivated to exercise, meditate and do the things that I know may help along with the medicine and therapy. And it's lonely. I miss my loved ones. I'm just not ready to be all "out there" yet like the Myers-Briggs ESTJ I used to be.

And I wish I knew how to love myself. Hopefully, all in good time.

-L

Grace...

In therapy this week (an event that still elicits the usual pre-appointment anxiety, but I greatly benefit from it), we talked a lot about grace. How it's important to grant myself grace in an effort to end the cycle of guilt that so many anxiety suffers get trapped in. Guilt for how my anxiety impacts those around me and over the mistakes I've made in my life.

For example, I feel guilt when relationships in my life lose the level of closeness or the prevalence they once had in another season of my life. So I am giving myself and the people I've grown a little distant with the grace to be able to be there for one another no matter how our lives ebb and flow. Most distancing, I've come to learn, happens without intention-life just kind of happens. I've felt very lonely ever since I stopped being a full time student. It's hard to go from being a full time student since the age of five (built in socializing and big fish/small pond) to entering the professional world with a mountain of student debt. But I am giving myself permission to work through the loneliness and come out on the other side a less anxious person. And I am making efforts to slowly reconnect in spite of my recently developed social phobias. I am light years ahead of where I was at the start of the year, so that in itself is a victory.

I am also giving myself the grace to let go of the baggage that comes with being a divorcee. It's a part of my history, but it's not who I am and it doesn't define me. It is OK to work through the baggage, but I can't be weighed down any longer. I need help carrying it all. And thankfully I have a strong and able partner.

Which brings me to my next point. I am giving others grace and have become a great deal more humble since my breakdown. Rather than reacting to others with emotion, I am putting forth  effort towards demonstrating empathy and living in their shoes when possible. Seeing a situation from another's perspective can do wonders. I deserve grace. And so do the people in my life. 

It's like that episode of HIMYM where Ted deals with the baggage of being left at the altar. I think I'm finally ready to let someone help me carry my suitcases and to unpack some things to make the load a little lighter. 

You can blame the rambling nature of this post on my meds-they sure do work, but I can be a bit loopy. ;)