A View From the Top...
I don't remember much of the first two years of my daughter's life. I remember the important stuff. Her birth and coming home from the hospital. She was beautiful and looked just like me as a baby. I remember the one night that she so colicky that I woke my mom because I didn't know how to help or make it stop. I was at work the first time she rolled over and my mom called me to tell me she was doing tricks.
When she started crawling, I used my mom's mickey mouse telephone to motivate her. She crawled like a crab, two hands, one knee, one foot. She liked the theme song to The Nanny and would crawl as fast as she could to whatever room was playing it. The weekend she started walking, we were watching my nephew and he refused to leave until she was up on two feet.
But the everyday, day-to-day stuff - that is a lot fuzzier. I have to sift through a lot of pain and sadness to find those memories. It was in this time frame that depression and anxiety first took a deep and noticeable hold on my life. It started when she was approximately 3 months old. Everyone around me at the time thought it was a typical postpartum situation. After all, I was only 20 years old and living with my parents. I had to take the semester off of school after she was born. It was a lot of change for anyone so it seemed plausible.
A family member was a manager at a local fitness club and needed some help at the check in desk. I needed to get out of the house. My family thought that I could help solve her problem and she could help return me to my old self. It was a no brainer. I liked the job. It was helpful to get a way a few days a week. And I was good at it. They actually wanted to promote me within a couple of months, but I was planning to go back to school in the summer so it wasn't going to work out. Juggling mom duties, work and school is a lot to handle for anyone.
But the depression didn't stem from any of those things. Those were actually the things that kept me going most days. My depression stemmed from a toxic situation where I felt trapped. An emotionally abusive and controlling relationship in which I was miserable but still willing to fight for because we had a child together. A child that he used to keep me where he wanted me to be. A child he used to control me.
I vividly remember all of that. The manipulation, control and cheating. Being told that no one would ever love me the way that he did. Being told that my family and friends were against us and encouraging me to turn my back on them unless they served his needs. Being told I was a bad mom because I wanted to finish college or work to provide for her when he wasn't. That job I loved that I had to quit because he refused to take care of our child while I was working. Being told that I was crazy for suspecting he wasn't honest. Being told I was needy for asking him over and over to try as hard as I was. Being told I shouldn't have been looking where I shouldn't when I found evidence of him cheating. Being told that while he never hit a girl, he wouldn't hesitate if he thought she deserved it. Having him punch the wall or slam the phone against the table instead when he was angry. Being told I was the one who was ruining our relationship. Being told no one around me loved me at all. And then walking out on me to be with someone else after making me think that I was the problem.
I remember not knowing what to do or where to turn. I thought for the longest time that I was so unworthy of love and that I had ruined everything. He was the only one who loved me and he left - so what did that say about me? Who would love me now? What would I do?
I was so terribly lost. I ate the bare minimum for about a month and I slept even less. The thought of food made me sick. Often so did eating it. During the day, I went to school and took care of my daughter. I went through the motions of life. Once our bedroom door was closed and she was asleep in her bed on the other side of the room, I fell apart each night. I would toss and turn and cry. I would turn the TV on and watch horrible infomercials. I would listen to the radio on low and hear commercial after commercial for suicide and domestic abuse hotlines.
I wanted to hurt him like he had hurt me, so I started doing the things that always made him angry. Not just going to school, but I started trying to have a life. Specifically, I started hanging out with people who he didn't care for (who were actually very good people - he just didn't like them). I even started dating an old boyfriend he hated. I thought that if I could make him jealous and see that I could live without him, it would make me feel better. I tried very hard to hide the fact that I was unraveling.
Night after night I would lay there awake and think about pointless it all was, how pointless I was. Why couldn't anyone see that I wasn't me? That I hadn't been me for a very, very long time? That I didn't even know who I was anymore.
One night, I went out with some girlfriends and had a drink at the bar. It really was only one drink. I didn't have a job or the money to go out and party all the time. My best friend was with me when I picked up my daughter from her father and we got into an argument about how I was a horrible mom. I tried to act all strong and tough in front of him and the moment I pulled away I fell apart. I ended up pulling over to throw up because I was so upset.
We drove back to my parent's house with me crying the whole way. I was too upset to take my best friend home, so my mom did instead. When she got back, she yelled at me. She thought I was drunk and that was why I was hysterical and had become sick. I broke down on the kitchen floor and told her that I didn't want to live anymore. Every night I would lay there awake and force myself to live. And that kind of emotional existence just wasn't much of a life.
The next day, I was on the phone with our insurance company and making an appointment with a therapist. Back then, the insurance company would preapprove you for so many sessions and at the end of those, you were supposed to be better. I also started antidepressants during this time. It all helped. But it was only a start. I didn't have enough time to have any real psychological breakthroughs in therapy, but I was on the road to returning to my old self.
By the time I got through my 8-10 sessions, I wasn't "better" - but I was "good enough" to be released. My daughter was about to turn 2 and I was about to walk at my college graduation. Two months later, I had my first "grown up" job and my daughter started daycare. I was on my way to recovering from two years of abuse, two years of self hatred and six months of a very severe depressive state of existence.
For awhile I just pretended that none of it ever happened. Blocked it all out. But somewhere along the way, I had to acknowledge certain events from my past because they were having an impact on the way I would react and behave in certain situations. If I wanted to have a healthy future, I must have an understanding of my unhealthy past. Once I did, the healing truly began.
I likely had depression long before those two years of my life. I definitely had anxiety, though I didn't know that was the word for what I was experiencing at the time. I still have both long after. Sometimes it tries to creep back. The anxiety is usually a precursor to the depression and is a much bigger problem for me now. Depression and anxiety never goes away completely. Even with the best therapy, the best medications, the best coping methods - they will always linger in the background of your brain. You learn to live with it. Figure out your causes and triggers. Figure out how you cope best in a positive manner.
Most importantly, you have to figure out how not to give them the power to take over your life. I wish I could wave a magic wand and make it easy for others to see how you do that. I do know that it starts with you fighting for yourself and recognizing that it is less exhausting to live a positive life than it is to wallow in your pain. You have to push forward, one foot in front of the other, one day at a time. You will never get there if you don't. And I know that it took me a long time to get from there to here.
A very smart woman once told me that she thought everyone should be issued a therapist at birth to help them through life. Of course, this woman was also a therapist. But she really was onto something. Wouldn't life be so much easier if we all had someone whose main purpose was keeping us all from falling apart? Think of the impact that might have on the world? How much more well adjusted the world would be if everyone understood why they feel the way they do and how to deal with those feelings so that they can project their best selves on the world?
I try not to dwell too much on the unhappiness in those two years. It just doesn't serve me very much to do so. I can't change the past, nor do I want to. It's part of who I grew to be today - this person before you who is totally awesome.
This isn't an easy story to share and it's not something I talk about with a lot of people. I only share it with those who I think can be helped by knowing that I was once so low that I could only see the bottom and thought that the top wasn't real. By sharing this story with you, I am holding out my hand to you, asking you to take it so that I may help you put one foot in front of the other and show you a glimpse of the top. It's a nice view.
When she started crawling, I used my mom's mickey mouse telephone to motivate her. She crawled like a crab, two hands, one knee, one foot. She liked the theme song to The Nanny and would crawl as fast as she could to whatever room was playing it. The weekend she started walking, we were watching my nephew and he refused to leave until she was up on two feet.
But the everyday, day-to-day stuff - that is a lot fuzzier. I have to sift through a lot of pain and sadness to find those memories. It was in this time frame that depression and anxiety first took a deep and noticeable hold on my life. It started when she was approximately 3 months old. Everyone around me at the time thought it was a typical postpartum situation. After all, I was only 20 years old and living with my parents. I had to take the semester off of school after she was born. It was a lot of change for anyone so it seemed plausible.
A family member was a manager at a local fitness club and needed some help at the check in desk. I needed to get out of the house. My family thought that I could help solve her problem and she could help return me to my old self. It was a no brainer. I liked the job. It was helpful to get a way a few days a week. And I was good at it. They actually wanted to promote me within a couple of months, but I was planning to go back to school in the summer so it wasn't going to work out. Juggling mom duties, work and school is a lot to handle for anyone.
But the depression didn't stem from any of those things. Those were actually the things that kept me going most days. My depression stemmed from a toxic situation where I felt trapped. An emotionally abusive and controlling relationship in which I was miserable but still willing to fight for because we had a child together. A child that he used to keep me where he wanted me to be. A child he used to control me.
I vividly remember all of that. The manipulation, control and cheating. Being told that no one would ever love me the way that he did. Being told that my family and friends were against us and encouraging me to turn my back on them unless they served his needs. Being told I was a bad mom because I wanted to finish college or work to provide for her when he wasn't. That job I loved that I had to quit because he refused to take care of our child while I was working. Being told that I was crazy for suspecting he wasn't honest. Being told I was needy for asking him over and over to try as hard as I was. Being told I shouldn't have been looking where I shouldn't when I found evidence of him cheating. Being told that while he never hit a girl, he wouldn't hesitate if he thought she deserved it. Having him punch the wall or slam the phone against the table instead when he was angry. Being told I was the one who was ruining our relationship. Being told no one around me loved me at all. And then walking out on me to be with someone else after making me think that I was the problem.
I remember not knowing what to do or where to turn. I thought for the longest time that I was so unworthy of love and that I had ruined everything. He was the only one who loved me and he left - so what did that say about me? Who would love me now? What would I do?
I was so terribly lost. I ate the bare minimum for about a month and I slept even less. The thought of food made me sick. Often so did eating it. During the day, I went to school and took care of my daughter. I went through the motions of life. Once our bedroom door was closed and she was asleep in her bed on the other side of the room, I fell apart each night. I would toss and turn and cry. I would turn the TV on and watch horrible infomercials. I would listen to the radio on low and hear commercial after commercial for suicide and domestic abuse hotlines.
I wanted to hurt him like he had hurt me, so I started doing the things that always made him angry. Not just going to school, but I started trying to have a life. Specifically, I started hanging out with people who he didn't care for (who were actually very good people - he just didn't like them). I even started dating an old boyfriend he hated. I thought that if I could make him jealous and see that I could live without him, it would make me feel better. I tried very hard to hide the fact that I was unraveling.
Night after night I would lay there awake and think about pointless it all was, how pointless I was. Why couldn't anyone see that I wasn't me? That I hadn't been me for a very, very long time? That I didn't even know who I was anymore.
One night, I went out with some girlfriends and had a drink at the bar. It really was only one drink. I didn't have a job or the money to go out and party all the time. My best friend was with me when I picked up my daughter from her father and we got into an argument about how I was a horrible mom. I tried to act all strong and tough in front of him and the moment I pulled away I fell apart. I ended up pulling over to throw up because I was so upset.
We drove back to my parent's house with me crying the whole way. I was too upset to take my best friend home, so my mom did instead. When she got back, she yelled at me. She thought I was drunk and that was why I was hysterical and had become sick. I broke down on the kitchen floor and told her that I didn't want to live anymore. Every night I would lay there awake and force myself to live. And that kind of emotional existence just wasn't much of a life.
The next day, I was on the phone with our insurance company and making an appointment with a therapist. Back then, the insurance company would preapprove you for so many sessions and at the end of those, you were supposed to be better. I also started antidepressants during this time. It all helped. But it was only a start. I didn't have enough time to have any real psychological breakthroughs in therapy, but I was on the road to returning to my old self.
By the time I got through my 8-10 sessions, I wasn't "better" - but I was "good enough" to be released. My daughter was about to turn 2 and I was about to walk at my college graduation. Two months later, I had my first "grown up" job and my daughter started daycare. I was on my way to recovering from two years of abuse, two years of self hatred and six months of a very severe depressive state of existence.
For awhile I just pretended that none of it ever happened. Blocked it all out. But somewhere along the way, I had to acknowledge certain events from my past because they were having an impact on the way I would react and behave in certain situations. If I wanted to have a healthy future, I must have an understanding of my unhealthy past. Once I did, the healing truly began.
I likely had depression long before those two years of my life. I definitely had anxiety, though I didn't know that was the word for what I was experiencing at the time. I still have both long after. Sometimes it tries to creep back. The anxiety is usually a precursor to the depression and is a much bigger problem for me now. Depression and anxiety never goes away completely. Even with the best therapy, the best medications, the best coping methods - they will always linger in the background of your brain. You learn to live with it. Figure out your causes and triggers. Figure out how you cope best in a positive manner.
Most importantly, you have to figure out how not to give them the power to take over your life. I wish I could wave a magic wand and make it easy for others to see how you do that. I do know that it starts with you fighting for yourself and recognizing that it is less exhausting to live a positive life than it is to wallow in your pain. You have to push forward, one foot in front of the other, one day at a time. You will never get there if you don't. And I know that it took me a long time to get from there to here.
A very smart woman once told me that she thought everyone should be issued a therapist at birth to help them through life. Of course, this woman was also a therapist. But she really was onto something. Wouldn't life be so much easier if we all had someone whose main purpose was keeping us all from falling apart? Think of the impact that might have on the world? How much more well adjusted the world would be if everyone understood why they feel the way they do and how to deal with those feelings so that they can project their best selves on the world?
I try not to dwell too much on the unhappiness in those two years. It just doesn't serve me very much to do so. I can't change the past, nor do I want to. It's part of who I grew to be today - this person before you who is totally awesome.
This isn't an easy story to share and it's not something I talk about with a lot of people. I only share it with those who I think can be helped by knowing that I was once so low that I could only see the bottom and thought that the top wasn't real. By sharing this story with you, I am holding out my hand to you, asking you to take it so that I may help you put one foot in front of the other and show you a glimpse of the top. It's a nice view.
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