Depressed

Note: This story was written 9 months ago. Today I am totally healed, pain-free, active and very much living an overall happy life. However, in lieu of the fact that we lost Robin Williams, our beloved comedian, humanitarian and bike enthusiast, I felt I would go ahead and publish this timely article.

Here is my story.

I am not depressed today but I have had times in my life where I have been.

The initial time I remember being seriously depressed was after I had quit my synchronized swim team months earlier. At first I enjoyed doing "normal" teenaged activities like going out with friends, sleeping in on Saturday morning, and more. I had been swimming 5:00-8:00pm, Monday-Thursday and 9:00-12:00 on Saturdays for nearly ten years. We had extra practices before school during the peak season and double or triple workouts before Nationals each year. I worked out hard and was extremely thin throughout most of my swimming career, even when my delayed puberty hit me with a vengeance.

Eventually my retirement from swimming caused a weight gain of twenty-five pounds at my peak and three dress sizes. I grew sad over how I looked and felt. The lack of exercise affected my hormones and I remember getting menstrual cramps for the first time.

My depression peaked one day and I walked over to the high school behind my parents house and I remember thinking to myself, "If I had a gun would I use it?" I did not honestly know the answer and that scared me.

Somehow I managed to tell my mom and at that point talking about it seemed to help. Instinctively I also knew I needed to start exercising  regularly again. I enrolled in a local junior college and took PE courses every day; swimming, volleyball or  ballet, conditioning or tennis. I certainly was not great at all of these classes but moving again kickstarted my metabolism and I began to pay closer attention to what I ate. For me, the endorphins from exercise helped my mood too.

My depression at that point passed without the need to use medication.

The next major bout of depression came postpartum. I had given birth to my firstborn child and I had the baby blues. Yes, I was tired. Yes, I needed sleep. Yes, I felt like a human milk cow and yes having a newborn daughter with severe colic was enough to challenge any young mommy. But this was more than that. I had trouble controlling the tears.

Lucky for me, I mentioned it to my doctor. I've since learned that is not usually the case with people who are suffering from depression unless someone else encourages them to seek help. My doctor treated me with the utmost respect and kindness and gave me great advice. He had me chart my moods. He was very clear that eventually I should  see the bad days begin to dissipate over time. But if I did not, he said to come in or let him know and that I could receive help. That help might be in the form of medication, but that it would be okay. Just knowing that made me feel better.

Years later  I was teaching and had to pull a table toward me to set up my kindergarten classroom. The pain ripped through me, I had torn my rotator cuff. I had to go to an urgent care facility and the doctor gave me a cortisone shot to relieve the pain. Frustratingly he gave it to me in the wrong place and a few days later the pain was excruciating. In fact, on a scale from 1 to 10 I told them it was an 11. I had to get a strong shot to alleviate the pain right then and see a specialist in the morning.  He had to give me another shot in the correct area which was now torn and inflamed. I had to go to physical therapy. It took a long time to heal. I continued to exercise but could no longer swim. In addition to my physical pain, I was going through a very rough time relationally at that time. I was not sleeping and began to lose weight rapidly.

I knew I had to get help when I appeared at the door of my job share's home. I was sobbing as I was telling her I didn't know what was wrong with me. Her six year old daughter walked up staring her brown, now wide-eyes at me. My crying was scaring her. I was scaring a small child.
I remember deciding I would call my new general practitioner. I explained that I thought I was depressed and started to cry. They had me come in later that same day so they could meet with me.

For the first time I went on medication, an anti-anxiety medication. They also gave me a very limited number of sleeping pills, two weeks' worth. My biggest problem at that point was my lack of sleep. The idea of the sleeping pills was to get me to fall into a normal sleep pattern. They worked. That was around 13 years ago and I've never needed them since then. I stayed on the anti-anxiety pills for a little longer than I had planned. I was about to go off of them because I was beginning to feel that the side affects of weight gain, lack of energy and "flat" affect were worse than the depression I no longer felt. About that time though, one of my children was diagnosed with Juvenile Diabetes and later my husband and I had decided to separate and divorce so I continued on the medication. Slowly though, I began to feel normal, despite my life's circumstances.  I was sleeping regularly and I had been going to counseling, or "talk therapy." It was only then that I felt ready to go off the medication and "feel" whatever emotions I needed to feel.

I have not needed medication for anxiety or depression since then and that was over ten years ago.

Recently  I had a big change in my lifestyle. I was training for an Ironman and felt physically and mentally in good shape. I then broke my ankle two weeks before the competition. A trip to Ireland was cancelled, work was  on hold. More than that, I could not stand on my leg, I was couch-ridden for three weeks and dependent on others to come to my home each day and help me with simple tasks.

My biggest fear was not the recovery of my bone. As an athlete I have learned to listen to my body. I followed the doctor's orders, my physical therapist's or coach's, and even more importantly, I would let my ankle guide me. If I were to become swollen I would know I'd pushed my body too hard; icing and elevating were the answer!

My biggest fear was depression. It was my biggest fear for a couple of reasons: one was that I would have a training endorphin crash as I was recovering. I was training 15 or more hours a week and now I was down to zero. I had not even gotten to expel all that energy. I think in the beginning the endorphins I had created while training were the main reason I was in such a good mental state. But a concern I expressed with my doctor was that the future lack of exercise would hurt me mentally as I moved forward.  I discussed my previous bout with anxiety and depression in my life. He really listened to that piece, knowing my history and prescribed a boot for me to wear while my ankle healed.

My ankle protested. It swelled up, it got red and it was angry. I had to return to the emergency room, and later my own doctor, in severe pain, lacking sleep and in tears. I went through a combination of five different boots, casts and splints.

I did hit a low one day about three weeks into my injury. It was at the pivotal point of pain and lack of sleep. I literally could hardly get off the couch without piercing pain. I was alone most of the day and going a little stir-crazy. My mom called and I finally told her I was beginning to feel depressed and about some things that were upsetting me. She ended up coming over to be with me and we talked about my concerns. She continued to come by each day for a few weeks to do a few tasks that I could not do for myself: empty the garbage cans, fill up my ice machine for my ankle, water my plants outside and get my mail.

I got through that rough patch, began to take pain pills at night so I could get some sleep and I have had small victories in my healing. It's been nine weeks since I was injured. I started physical therapy this week. I began working full-time.  I swam 2000 yards a week ago with a pull buoy between my legs so my ankle had no movement. I am no longer walking with the aid of a walker or scooter. When I'm sore I use crutches with my boot. Soon I will be walking with only an ankle brace.

It hurts, I'm slow but I'm okay all of it.

A week ago the school where I teach had a staff development day. It was one of the best ones I've ever been to because there were things I could apply to my teaching practice immediately.

For a large portion of the day we discussed mental health issues and we specifically discussed anxiety, suicide and depression. It was relevant to our entire staff as some of the kids we see at our school suffer from one of these issues. As our presenter gave us facts, discussed the topics and suggestions of how we might handle situations or conversations with students I thought of myself, my students, friends and family who have had to get help for one of these conditions or diagnoses. I learned that 25% of us experience anxiety. That is a large portion of our population. I learned that it is okay to ask students or family or friends if they have thought about suicide or how they are feeling, not just their physical symptoms. I learned that medication is sometimes an aid to the brain's receptors which are not functioning properly. Sometimes, as in my case, it is temporary. In other cases, it's a lifelong necessity.

The thing is, I think it's important to talk about it.

I've known friends and family who have lost parents, siblings and children to depression's sometimes fatal grip. If 25% of us experience depression or anxiety, doesn't it make sense to try and remove some of the stigma associated from it? Or at least admit that sometimes life is hard with one another? Or we're sad?

I think so.

I am not depressed today but I have had times in my life where I have been. If you are sad, depressed or anxious please ask for help.

National Center for Depression Centers: http://www.nndc.org/
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/