Cautiously Optimistic

I wanted to kill myself this week.

Not like when someone says “Oh my god, this play is so awful, I want to kill myself.” or “If these skinny jeans don’t fit me anymore, I’m gonna kill myself.” No, I wanted to end my life. I shouldn’t even say want. It felt more like that was the only option.

That is how depression fucks with you or at least me. Some people say, with disdain “Oh my, I would never entertain the idea of suicide.” Which first of all, suicide isn’t something I entertain. I don’t give suicide some brie and those Pepperidge Farm butterfly crackers and ask it if it wants to join me in a sing-along. No, suicide is more like the person who comes to the party, that random acquaintance you didn’t even expect to show up, and stays long after everyone else. You start folding up the chairs, putting on your pjs, and they’re still there, flipping around the channels on your TV and trying to make you feel bad about owning all the seasons of Friends on DVD. Suicide is that fucker.
Second of all, take your disdain and shove it. You aren’t better than me because you have never been suicidal. That’s like saying you’re better than someone because you’ve never had eczema. No one ever judges the eczema sufferers.

But anyway, back to this week. I’ve spent days feeling suicidal, it hasn’t been intense all the time, but it’s there, and at night it has felt inevitable, not immediate, but inevitable, a feeling so strong I couldn’t imagine it not there.

Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday night were horrible, and then I woke up Saturday feeling better, and today (Sunday,) I felt fuckin good, a good that I haven’t felt in a long time. So I am enjoying it, embracing it, but I’m not totally buying it yet. I have been here before, and before, and before, and I so want to think “Yeah, this is gonna last a long while.” but I have seen it go the other way.

So I find myself saying my phrase of the past couple years, whenever I get here. “I’m cautiously optimistic.”

“How you doing, Deena?”

“I’m cautiously optimistic.”

“Oh that’s awesome, so glad everything is back to normal.”

“Well, I’m, uh, cautiously optimistic, it could change.”

“Oh stop it, you’re great, I can see it in your eyes.”

“Uh, ok, thanks.”

So that’s where I’m at, “cautiously optimistic.”  What exactly does that mean for me? Well right now it means I hope to wake up at 7 AM feeling this way, but for good measure, at 9 AM, I’ll strap on some electrodes and get some shocks. Ah, the fancy life of the cautiously optimistic.

A day in my brain

I just want to die. I am going to kill myself. I love this boy so much. I want a doughnut.  I am so sick of this. I’m exhausted. It’s got to get better soon. I will make it through today. I hate myself. I fucked up. I am blessed. I’m just done with it all. I wish Kevin Kline acted more. This hug feels so good. My brain isn’t working anymore. I’m so scared. Ha, Jesse Spano. Everyone thinks I’m crazy. I am lucky. Why won’t this get better. Mmm, steak on a stick. I’m so fat. My poor family. I wish I could escape my brain. This sucks. I should make a move in Words with Friends. I hate night time. I feel alone. I am so sick of losing memories. I don’t know if I can do this anymore. I’m gonna jump. I love this boy so much. It’s been better. I just want to die. I made it. Ugh, I hate this.

Feeling Like Shit and Other Joyful Adventures

I have a story I want to tell. A story of a person who struggles and works hard to get better and gets better and feels good for a long time. I want to tell that story so much. I want to feel good and to be able to hold on to that feeling.

The past week has been rough, feeling my lowest in months. Thinking the darkest of dark thoughts. I am so sick of looking for fucking silver linings in all this painful bullshit. I decided I am done with it, not everything can have a silver lining.

And then of course, out of nowhere a silver lining comes right the fuck in anyway: I realized I am able to manage these dark thoughts better now then before because that story I so desperately need now, I have seen it happen in the past. The part of me that struggled before to believe it’s possible to feel well, that part is now able to hang on, because even though right now,I can’t remember what feeling well feels like, I can remember feeling different then this.

So, yes, there is indeed something hopeful in all this, but I gotta tell you, I am sick of this finding-the-hope-in-the-pile-of-shit party game, can”t I just have that regular old run of the mill feeling good-ness? Amen.

Watching someone fall

I often think the ups and downs of my depression are not hardest on me, but on those closest to me.

My life is filled with people rooting for me to be healthy. I am so lucky that way. Being surrounded by people who want the best for you, who want you to be your best. And they are there for me so much. I struggle and they watch me get better, and they feel so much joy. Then all of the sudden I struggle again. And get better. And then struggle more. And it gets harder and harder to watch this up and down that seems to be filled with so much struggling. It gets harder to believe there will ever be success.

I know this feeling. It is the essence of being a Cleveland sports fan.

But as much as marketing campaigns will try and tell you different, sports are just sports. This suicidal depression stuff, it might be tougher to deal with than a Browns season.

I am a people pleaser so I want to give those closest to me what they are wanting so much, a healthy me. I smile, and someone will say, “So, you’re doing well?” They say it in the kindest way, really just wanting that for me so much, so I say “Yes” or “I’m trying.” My inner monologue is saying “Well this moment here feels good but tonight might feel like the loneliest, most painful of pains. I really don’t know, but I do appreciate your concern.”

I don’t say that though, and not because the other person wouldn’t be supportive, but because the person who says that stuff, it’s a drag to be that person. I want to say “fuck yeah, I feel so awesome right now.” or “Stuff is going really great.” I want to feel good, like the 95 Cleveland Indians good (racist mascot not included.)

Talking to people who aren’t as close to me is easier sometimes, because you know they are not feeling the ups and downs as hard as those you’re closest to. The people who have to see the disease effect you differently week by week, or day by day, or sometimes even moment to moment, the family and friends who are holding their breath, like a parent, watching their child walk for the first time by themselves, wanting to hold their hands, and protect them from falling, from hurting.

But anyone who has been a parent ,or a child (that’s everyone) knows that is not possible. We fall, we hurt, and as long as we sustain, we grow. So to those who watch the ups and downs so closely, to you I say:
Thank you. I promise you, I will get better. I so appreciate your love, and I wish I could take away your worry. 

Up, Down

Ugh, up, down, up, down. It’s like I am on an elliptical without any weight loss benefits. Maybe it is the new ECT treatment I got or the insomnia. I believe it will be okay though.

I Don’t Remember Shit.

This losing memories stuff is hard.

It’s not tragic, it’s worth it, but it makes me sad.

The thing that has been most helpful is that I am sometimes able to remember my feelings associated with an experience, even if I have very little recollection of the experience itself.

For instance, I just directed a sketch show. I have very little memories of really any of the process but I did not lose the overwhelming sense of joy I had in being a part of the project. So, yeah that’s pretty frickin’ cool.

But looking around a room and not knowing where things came from or hearing about events big and small of the past months and not remembering them, it makes me sad.

I will say this, Facebook and my phone have saved me in many ways. I know I post A LOT and I am fine with that because I know after a treatment I can log on and read what I did, felt, conversations I had, and relive what I’ve already forgotten.

One of the hardest things is not knowing what I don’t know, thinking “Okay, I am pretty caught up on everything.” And then being told a something big that I have no memory of and getting a bit bummed.

My next treatment is Wednesday. I am grateful for it and also a bit hesitant. I have had a great couple weeks and I’d like to remember them, but I have comfort in being pretty sure if nothing else, I will remember they were great.

That, and no matter how many times I get zapped my knowledge of Golden Girls, Friends, and 90210 is all still completely intact.