Among her most vicious accusations were those involving a lack of love for my husband and children and blaming me and my "moods" on a lack of appreciation. "It's about appreciation," was a phrase she uttered frequently during this verbal altercation.
A couple years passed and despite the joy of having had another child, those so-called moods have abated very little if at all. While taking inventory of my depression, I came to realize that while this relative's chosen words were of a rather vile nature, the sentiment expressed mirrors that of even the most well-meaning of my actual loved ones who I know are genuinely concerned about my mental, emotional and physical well-being.
Most of the time, while I often seem moody, irritable, unhappy or any of the other terms that have been used to describe me, I hide the worst of my downs. Many times I postpone them. I find the strength to wait for a moment of peace or the chance to get away from the chaos of my life and find a private place and time to break down. Being a stay at home mother with a toddler as my only other companion during most mornings, those mornings often are my times reserved for crying. After I drop my older kids off at school and I hear my mother and husband leave for work, I let it out. This happens more often than the other occupants of the house realize.
There are, however, moments when I cannot save my tears or I cannot escape the regular inquiries of, "Are you okay?" or "What's wrong?" When the strength escapes me and I know I cannot shrug the question off with a lame excuse, I do what I'm told I often should do and talk about how I'm feeling. While the responses are given with love and concern and, truthfully, at least a little bit of irritation, the words used miss the mark and are evident of people who do not truly understand what I'm going through, what I've been going through for many years, now, as much as I know they want to. I'm told that things will get better, that life could be worse, that I need to do things that make me happy.
Such comments come back to the notion of appreciation as though there was a very simple, very obvious solution to my depression hiding in plain sight.
They don't understand that, mentally, I know things will get better, even if by a few seemingly inconsequential degrees. I know life could be worse. I have many things that a lot of people don't have. I have people who love me. I made myself an amazing little family. I have incredible friends who often insist that I call them whenever I'm upset and show surprise to find out how hard life has been for me. There are a great many things I have to be grateful for. And I am. I truly, truly am appreciative of the things I have. The list is endless.
It's just not enough. Not when something is physically wrong with the chemicals in my body that create these moods that my closest loved ones cannot understand. Not when I find myself unable to enjoy all the things I used to for reasons I cannot explain. Not when I look into my future and see only darkness and hopelessness and no solution to whatever it is my body is going through.
Such is the nature of depression. It's a mood. It's treated as a choice. If all the memes on social media that talk about choice and positivity and hope are evident of anything it's that many people think our outlook in life always comes down to simply choosing a better one. If it were always that easy, wouldn't I have chosen that a long time ago? Does anyone truly believe I like the way I feel? Does anyone actually choose to live like this?
I've looked at lists of the signs of chronic depression, all of which come with a disclaimer that says that they are not able to diagnose anything and to seek medical attention if most of the symptoms ring true.
For me, all of the symptoms are true. I am tired all the time. I have pains I cannot explain. I have a difficult time concentrating. It takes great effort to get up, get ready, do any of the things I need to do just to function on a daily basis and make my life work. I often only eat when my body is screaming at me that it is starving or when others remind me. If I could, I'd spend all day on the couch. I used to be an avid reader, finishing off whole books in a day or two. I can't even remember the last time I read a book. Writing has always been my escape. Now, it takes effort to find the words I need. And if there's one thing I love so much more than anything, it's spending time with my little family. But whenever we do go out together, the smallest inconvenience sets me off and I start wishing we never left the house.
That has been the hardest part of dealing with my depression: Wondering how it affects my family. I make the effort to do things with them, whether inside or outside of the house. I find ways to enjoy free fun considering our financial situation. Often, I finish activities that they find exciting at first but get tired of when we've hit the half-hour mark. I certainly make the effort and I know they see it. The fact that we often run out of time to do all the things we want to do is a testament to how much I try to do with them. When I start to slip, my husband gently and enthusiastically encourages me to spend some time with them.
I often ask my husband how I'm doing on the outside while I desperately try to hide how badly I feel around my kids. I recently told him that I fear that if you were to ask my children if mommy was happy, they'd say that I wasn't. I asked him if I laugh enough. Now we're both more conscious of when I laugh. (And I'm pleased to report that I do, in fact, laugh often.)
I still understand that as I try to get better and look at the things I do to at least appear better, that I have a long way to go. I wish seeing a professional was as easy as all those websites and other advice makes it seem. But until mental health is taken seriously among those who decide how to give medical coverage to those of us with limited financial resources, who are arguably among the most vulnerable to mental health issues, there's not much I can do in that arena. I have to find a way to cope with what resources I do have. That is until I can once again start the years-long adventure of talking about my misadventures with a stranger that I will never be totally comfortable with; trying different prescriptions for several weeks at a time, praying that something will work; dealing with the sometimes worse mood swings that tend to accompany my own personal drug trials; and wondering if I'm better off without therapy and mood-stabilizers. Yes, I've been to this rodeo before. That's where the "chronic illness" comes in.
Appreciation, however, is not the simple cure to my chronic depression. Looking for the good and ignoring the bad does not make it go away. Hope can destroy me more than lift me especially after the innumerable times we got some good news only to have it taken away the moment we feel like we can breathe again. I cannot see the great things around the corner that other people insist are waiting for me.
I want to be better. Those who love me need me to be better. And I truly am hanging on as best as I can. I know a time will come when it won't be like this, I'll get there somehow. I just can't see it. That's the point. My mind will not visualize it even if it is aware that some kind of peace is out there. There has to be. There will be a purpose and direction.
For now, as appreciative as I am, I am also sick. Physically sick. And no amount of gratitude and appreciation is going to make that go away on its own.
