Dancing with Depression
My mom once told me to never lose my innocence. At the time, I didn’t know what she meant but now I do.
I used to be a dreamer.
I used to read books and daydream about the books I would one day write.
I used to watch television shows and movies and get inspired to one day have my stories on the screen.
I used to go outside and find inspiration in the strangers I passed and the places I saw.
I used to have urges to travel and experience new things and new cultures.
I used to live freely.
I used to dream without boundaries.
My mom helped shape these dreams of mine. When I was young, she encouraged my love of reading and said that one day, my name could be on the cover. When I was writing for the local newspaper, she would grab every copy she could find and hand it out to her friends. When I lost her, I lost that part of my identity too. This is probably why I struggle so much with writing now. As much as I know it heals me, it also is a constant reminder that the person who encouraged these dreams of mine is gone.
What I’ve realized in my life is that I’ve always hid behind my dreams. They defined who I wanted to be when I couldn’t recognize the person looking back at me in the mirror. They kept me going when I felt lost. For the longest time, I felt like I was alive to reach those dreams. In some ways, I still feel like that.
All my life, I’ve danced with depression. I have found ways to hide from it temporarily though control, whether that be restrictive eating, over exercise, alcohol abuse, self sabotage, or even chasing after my dreams. I never stopped long enough to let myself sit in the shadows of my depression. Whenever I felt the sting coming over, I found a way to avoid it.
It wasn’t until my mom died that I stayed perfectly still, long enough for depression to sneak its ugly head into my life. At first I just thought it was grief, which in many ways it was and will always be. But then infertility, Covid, a twin miscarriage, pregnancy after loss, postpartum anxiety, and now a second trimester miscarriage, and I feel stuck in quicksand, unable to muster the energy to do anything but sit still with my depression. I put myself in therapy and started taking a low dose of medication, which is hard for me to admit because the stigma of mental health still surrounds me and tells me I am not good enough.
It’s not a secret that I had really bad anxiety during my pregnancy with C.C.. I mean, how could I not when in the years prior we struggled to get pregnant, my mom died suddenly, and then we miscarried twins? This pregnancy, I was less anxious and more confident in my body that things would work out, but I fell into a depression that was hard to climb out of. I worked with my therapist and I was finally seeing the light when I was told at our baby boy’s 14 week appointment that he no longer had a heartbeat, words that were familiar but stung so much deeper this time.
I’m not actually sure at the moment how I’m going to get through this. I have my baby boy still inside of me until Wednesday when I need to go in for a D&E. This pregnancy has not been easy. I was nauseous throughout the entire day, and threw up on a regular basis. But I was pregnant with a living baby and grateful. Was I too confident? Did I not pray enough? These are the thoughts swirling around my head. I will likely never know the answers as to what happened to our sweet baby boy, and I will always wonder what if.
I know that I don’t have the energy to control my depression anymore, nor do I want to. I want C.C. to grow up knowing that she never has to hide from whatever feelings she is feeling.
People tend to write about their struggles after they’ve overcome them. But right now I need to read about people in the devastation, people that I can reach out to as a lifeline. I can’t find these people so I guess I need to write about it instead.
This is hard. A few people on my recent posts announcing the late miscarriage said that I’ve been through so much trauma and they are right. I am tired. Exhausted really. There is nothing left for me to give at the moment.
So, while I don’t have any inspiring revelations about how I beat depression and am living my best life, I can say that I woke up today and eventually got out of bed.
Dear Mom,
You taught me to be strong but I don’t think even you could have prepared me for this. I always pictured you with your hands full up in heaven with the twins I miscarried in 2020, and now you have a little boy to look after. I hope you can find the space to also hold him because I really need you to look after my angel babies.
This is too hard for me right now. I don’t know how to get through this. Will I ever feel like my dreams are possible again?
Love,
Your sweetheart xoxo