Acknowledging the Disease in Your Gut

I am always trying to prove to myself that I am okay or to validate that I am a flawed person because I have Depression/Anxiety disease.  It’s hard to say which, but in the end, both of these stories boil down to the same thing: denial.

I hate it that my life is at all constricted because of this disease.  So I proceed with a self-denial schedule of events.  My “go to” way of doing this is to over-schedule my life with fun and interesting activities.  Of the ten things I have scheduled, each one is fabulous and filled with “do not want to miss” moments.  However, about 2/3 of the way through the drill, I start to fade, and towards the end, I go into a depressive tailspin.  That has been my summer.  I am now in the tailspin.

Yesterday, I had brunch with my son and his wife.  She is six months pregnant with my first grandchild.  I have been gone most of the summer doing my ten fabulous things, and I have not seen them in awhile.  I am sitting in their living room, talking about my summer and about how I was overdoing it when the words “I feel like killing myself” popped out.  I think my daughter-in-law thought I was just being dramatic.  However, this outburst made me realize that I was truly overwhelmed, and that I had almost exposed the dirty secret that depressives and anxiety-stricken people have: suicide is an option.  It is one thing to tell people you have the disease of Depression/Anxiety and quite another that you think about suicide every once in a while.  I generally reserve any knowledge about that for my doctor and my husband so they can talk me out of it.

Now it is Sunday, and my husband and I usually go to this very cool farmer’s market near our home.  This morning, when my husband asked if I wanted to go, I said no.  Then I thought what my alternate plan might be: to sit in the house and read a gruesome murder mystery.  So I decided that the healthy thing to do was to go to the very jolly farmer’s market.  When I got there, I felt like I was in a bubble of depression.  But the scene at the market was so pleasing that the bubble opened a little bit, and gradually, as I practiced being present, the bubble sort-of burst.  My depression had not gone away, but that Sunday morning bubble of depression was gone.

I started to think that my problem was that my brain chemistry was not in balance.  Now that is a big one.  I had finally integrated into my gut the understanding that I have a chemical imbalance that causes me to have depressive thoughts and to get over-anxious.  I have said this to myself and to others many, many times.  My brain got it years ago, but not until today did I feel it in my gut.

Yes, I am afraid it is true that I have a disease that I cannot control.  Management is the only tool I have at my disposal.  Just writing this makes me sad.  I so wanted it to be my fault, because if it were my fault, I would have control over it.

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The Dog Has to Wait

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Between Two Worlds