Some Of You Tell Me This Helps, So Here Goes

Content Warning: Depression, self-harm. This is a doozy, y'all.

I'm really struggling with my mental health right now, and my natural tendency is to hide that. I figured I just wouldn't post for a little while, 'til I get my head right.

But yesterday in my latest batch of snail mail I got some Valentines saying what so many of you have told me over the years: That what helps the most out of all my pictures and stories and projects is my being real about the hard times. I've even had people say, "If Jen from Epbot struggles with self-hate and panic and depression, then I guess it's OK that I do, too." That is both humbling and mind-blowing to me, but I want to honor that, and honor you.

So now when I hit an especially low point, I try to take it as a sign that some of you are struggling, too. That you need someone to see you and drag this shared pain out into the light, where we can look at it and just acknowledge it together.

Deep breaths, love. Here goes.

You know I've hated my face for years, but these past weeks I've started hating myself. Me, the one inside. I feel pathetic, unworthy, unlovable, and hopelessly self-absorbed with problems I have no right to complain about. I can't control my sleep schedule, I eat too many sweets, I waste so much time thinking about all the time I waste. I ignore my friends, drift from my family, and create a burden for John. In my heart all I want is to help others, to be of use, but in practice I feel I'm a shattered, useless mess. 

Our Project:Epbot jobs are on hold, because more people we know caught Covid. Fortunately John & I tested negative after a close call, and our friends have since recovered, but that's been another reminder of the virtual wolf outside the door, and left us looking for a project to keep us - or at least me - going.

A week or two ago I foolishly stopped taking the thing that helps my depression, because I didn't feel depressed. (I swear that made sense at the time.) Then I started skipping meals and bingeing junk food, which made my gut feel awful. Then I stopped sleeping... or I slept way too much. I bounced from 13 hours to 3 and back again. Combined with my lack of projects and overall feeling of restless uselessness, it all just snowballed.

Last night I was so angry at myself, so filled with grief and disgust, that I snapped. I started hurting myself, and quickly reached a point so violent that - mercifully - it scared me out of the spiral. I sat there looking down that dark familiar road, the one that gave me bleeding scratches and scars back in my late teens, and I practiced my breathing and eventually managed to still my hands. But it was hard, y'all, because the pain felt right. Like control. Like justice.

If you're concerned reading this, you should be. My brain and emotions are lying to me, and after another 15 hours in bed today, I can see that. I've started taking my meds again, I'm backing off the sweets and trying to eat real food, and I'm letting myself just be while I watch funny shows with John. I'm seeing my therapist tomorrow. In the meantime I'm reminding myself this will get better, and I'm looking at all these sweet Valentines y'all have sent, which I've hung in my office. I'm giving myself permission to believe the things you wrote, even when they don't feel true:

That's my game plan. That's my road out of here.

What's yours?

There's no quick fix for this battle, but I can tell you I already feel much better, more clear-headed. It took every tool I've learned so far, though: identifying the lies, talking back to the accuser, breathing exercises, basic things like food and sleep, and trusting John to nudge me in the next right direction when I didn't trust myself.

This past year we've all been tossed into a raging sea, and even the strongest swimmers are getting tired. That's ok. Heck, that's to be expected. Isolation, fear, uncertainty, grief, we're all swimming in it. Some of us are drowning in it. And just like waves, we're going to have highs and lows. So hold on. If you're down here in the depths with me, trust that another wave is coming to lift us up again. It will get better. 'Til then let's gather up our tool kits, keep our support people close, make a plan, maybe say a prayer, and just keep fighting.

I will if you will. 

 

In fact, can we make that a pact? Leave me a comment, here or on FB, and say "I'm here, too" if you're in this battle with me. Let's show the ones feeling the most alone just how many of us are out here, still here, still hanging on, still fighting.

Also remember I love you, because I do. If I have to be this broken and raw in front of 10,000 strangers to convince even one of you that you are loved beyond your own imagining - by me and by so many others - then it will have been worth it.