The fog is difficult to navigate. The fear is always just behind me, at the ready. I let it know that I know it’s there, and then, I try to go about my business.
I’ve become the one who writes things down, posts slips of paper ripped from magazines on her bathroom cabinet, scrawls important words on her left hand so as not to forget them. I sheepishly buy magnets with “inspirational” quotes. I take glue sticks to the backs of images that make me pause, paste them in an old journal. I am looking for images that make me remember there is beauty in this world, if you go looking for it.
I see the beauty in my daughters. They are proof of it. But they are not always with me. And I don’t want their purpose in life to be my beauty. They have lives to live, and I want them to live wide and strong and bold, without looking over their shoulders, always worried to see how I will react.
I still can’t go to the supermarket. Maybe at night, when the bread aisle really clears out. The tiny organic co-op, a little better, although I hid in the juice aisle while a kind woman I know checked out and took her daughter with her.
It’s a small town.
I was not ready. Simple as that. But I needed some food.
I don’t wish to be tedious. There is always this wish of mine, to not bore you with the tales. I am savvy enough to know that the specific tales themselves are anything but boring, but I am not sure how they will unfold here.
There is change at work, in this heart and mind and soul.
Balance is hard to come by.
I did as much as I could today, and then, all at once, it was clear I had done too much. So I crawled under three layers of blankets, and passed out asleep.
When I awoke, I saw that the sun had gone down. The blankets were weighty. I felt safe, for a moment. Maybe two moments.
Then the “real” world began to creep in, began to tug at me. We need you we need you we need you, get up get up get up so much to do, so much you are not doing, lazy shit.
I stayed put, under my covers. I breathed deeply. I let the fear have its moment, and then I let it go, scurrying off to some other corner of the old house.
It will take time. I don’t know what will happen. I am not well. This is a true statement, all melodrama stripped away.
It is an illness as genuine as diabetes, as chronic as heart disease. There’s just no escaping this one.
I have struggled since 2005: the constant adjusting of medicines, the gory side effects, the difficulty of explaining to the girls just what it is that sent their beloved mama to a place where they could not follow.
I don’t mean to be tedious, I don’t. But the mind is something most of us take for granted, and that is worth stating.
“There are fixes,” we are told. But this is not always the case. There are things that can help, but it is a perpetual carousel for some. Garish. Sometimes, it’s a funhouse, but it’s not fun, not fun at all. It can be grotesque, frightening. The funhouse mirrors do not tell the story.
I want to feel better. Some days, that seems a viable goal. Some days, it does not.
Take a minute to think about someone confounding in your life, a friend who does not answer the phone when you call, a friend who does not respond. Chances are good it’s nothing about you—it’s simply about physics. There is a finite amount of energy, and your friend may be hoarding it, so she can offer what she can to the people who need her the most: her children.
Always know: It is never about you. Don’t feel slighted.
Always know: Your kindness does not go unrecognized. You may make all the difference to someone, with a kind gesture. They simply may not be able to respond to you in the way you would like. For now, at least. But they think of you gratefully as they sit hunched on their couch, eating a bowl of soup or pasta you have left on their porch.
Be good. Don’t judge, if you can help it. If happiness comes easily to you, if you sleep reasonably well, if an invitation from a friend brings you joy and not anxiety, count your blessings. It’s a gift beyond measure, a gift beyond what you know.
{ 84 comments… read them below or add one }
You are smart, beautiful, complicated and capable. Keep writing and reaching out. You are not alone in this world. Your daughters and family need you and there are others out here that you are reaching. You are making a difference. Really and truly.
I understand. This was beautifully written. The light will come back. You will wake with energy and a smile, eventually. Keep on, dear. It will lighten up. Just keep swimming.
I read every post that you write. And my heart aches for you, I wish that I could somehow help, or give you what it is that would make everything better. Please keep moving forward, I understand that it must be the most difficult thing that you have ever done, but you must.
Know also, that what you write, resonates so deeply, that many times I am in tears. Your talent is amazing, and I really hope that you find some solace in writing, I know that I do in reading what you write.
Thank you.
It is time, when we hide under the covers, feel the weight of blanketly protectors, to observe without judgment. To know that the love of those we love is worth climbing out and moving around – even wehen we miss the warm weight of darkness.
Gentle, warm, kind thoughts and prayers are coming your way from here.
Thanks for that, Jenn. I’m so impressed that through all of this, you are still offering this amazing gift to people like me, who read your words and feel a little less alone, a little more human.
And on a slightly more crass note, you really should be getting the big bucks for your writing. If this doesn’t deserve it, what does? You are a gem.
Your last four paragraphs hit me with the tidal strength of memory. Beautifully said. Just gorgeous. I’ve been trying to explain to my friends why I dropped out over the last couple years, and I always face the same struggle you describe… And so the story is never fully told, but only referred to obliquely. You are amazing. You’re in my warmest thoughts and wishes. Be well.
Happiness does come easily to me. However I once had a serious reaction to an antibiotic that thrust me into a deep depression and gave me anxiety attacks. I lived liked that for 4 days before they realized what the problem was. I now consider that experience to have been a blessing in my life because when I read something like this I do understand.
Take care of yourself.
I regret that I have nothing more to offer than prayers for peace and comfort. Why does it so often seem that the most beautiful souls are the most tortured? What is the cause and effect there?
When my four year old would watch me intently for long moments and then ask me, “Mommy, are you happy?” and everytime the only answer I could find was “No. No. I’m not”, If I actually vocalised this, she would ask what she could do to make me feel better. I realised I couldn’t put that burden on those little shoulders. I sat my girls down and told them that they are not responsible for my happiness. And that discussion is what I hold as my starting point for the journey that I am now on. I accept that no-one else is going to make me happy. No drug is going to ‘cure’ me. I am sick too. Nothing can take it away, nothing can incise it from me. But maybe, somehow, I can learn to live with it. Live around it. And for their sake, I want to be present. I must be present. I must. I don’t know how, but I can’t let them down.
I’m so troubled to read this. I’m sorry that you have to go through your days so weighted. I hope this particular version of the cloud will lift, soon.
Cyndi, I think it’s the torment that beautifies. Introspection, brick walls, they build people.
Jenn, please remember that your treatment is what is best for you. Please be kind to yourself. And reach out to me, to your readers if we can help. People surprisingly underestimate the willingness of others to help.
Thinking of you, hoping you are snug under your covers, and sending lots of love. I am glad you are surrounded by love both here (BEAW) and there IRL.
You did great this weekend, you know. Super mom. Seriously.
Sometimes, while we wait for the wisdom of hindsight, hiding is essential. Bravo to you for measuring “enough” and “too much” on your own internal scale. Warmth will soothe your soul so hang on to those covers while it’s cold.But Jen, always know that your sharing is a beacon of light.The tenderness and fragility of our human spirits, is a lesson meant to be learned by those who suffer, but most especially by those who don’t. I thank you, once again, May the sun shine on you in your journey today.
Sweetheart.
Oh, Jenn…sending good wishes and non-judgey care your way.
I understand. I know that place all too well.
Love and peace coming your way from a stranger who identifies with so much of what you write.
What Dawn said. And — this is so beautifully written. It’s a manifesto for those suffering from severe depression; perfect! Thank you.
As another tormented soul out there in the cold darkness of cyber space, with a husband who tries to understand but doesn’t get why, when the medication runs out and I’m trying to get a refill, or worse, when I THINK I can handle everything without the meds, the world is spinning too fast, like a thousand screens in a movie theatre on fastforward…I have trouble coping.
I can only offer you this: the words of Phillys Diller in a recent interview (yes, she is still alive) about Carol Burnet: “Let me explain it this way, it takes an irritation for an oyster to create a pearl. It’s like that with brilliantly creative people, they need an irritation, and turn that into their own pearl.” (that was a paraphrase, I don’t recall her precise words, but you get the gist of it.)
{{{hugs}}}
For someone I only know via my computer screen, you have touched my life so much with your words. Wishing you better days ahead.
I have been there. It isn’t pretty or comfortable. I’m here pulling for you. And when the world calls you from the protection of your bed, tell it to F–K OFF! It’s a scary thing to face down demons and to tell the truth. You are a brave warrior. Even from beneath the blankets. {{HUGS}}
I’m constantly amazed at how brave you are — to share your experiences so honestly with all of us, but even more so, to keep on going, trying to find the beauty, trying to be the best parent you can, whatever that is at the time. I hope your daughters will be able to see that bravery and spirit when they are older. And I’m sending you my love and healing thoughts.
I know it’s cliche but one day at a time. Do what you can and don’t beat yourself up. I’ve been there and it is such struggle. Wishing you peace.
You know, when I was in grade school, my brother and I used to leave nuts outside the chipmunk holes to try to lure the chipmunks out.
Not that that’s what is going on here, of course.
Still, keep an eye out for people lurking in the bushes with cameras when you come out to get the food. Could be fortune seekers trying to prove you exist… you know, like Bigfoot.
I am at a loss for words but not for a loss of emotion. I’m sending you love, Jenn. I hope you knew that already though.
I have only been reading you for a short time and while I can’t relate to what you are going through, I feel compelled to respond. You are so brave for writing this, writing through this. And you are right, I will count my blessings for my happiness and good night’s rest. I think you have given me some insight into what my plague my husband though and for that I thank you.
Prayers and hugs to you from me.
Jenn Mattern, I love you. I do. I love you for your honesty and your sweetness and your fear and anxiety. You are good.
I am stressed out by phone calls, even from friends I really miss. I don’t like to be this way. I don’t understand it. I like email and I like blogging.
I have struggled with anxiety and depression (which is such a vanilla word for what it really is) for years and years too, and I’m working on being aware of what makes me feel better. Things that make me feel better: light — LOTS of light, Christmas lights (I feel a flood of endorphins or something when I walk into the Christmas display areas at stores), imagining happy hand-drawn daisies blooping to the top of my mind’s eye like helium-filled balloons, bright colors… And really that’s it so far, I think. But sometimes it’s enough. Oh! Also, painting pottery in those paint-yer-own pottery places.
Anyway, I am sending a super-hero blast of happy daisies in a ray of sunlight, to you. Oh, and also the top picture of Saint Nicholas on this page, which made me weep when I saw it because I felt like it was God looking at me as though He was about to smile at me: http://www.stnicholascenter.org/Brix?pageID=23
Sorry. So sorry. I hope you find hope again.
One of the things that irritated me most about therapy was how many cliches turned out to be completely true. I’d find myself saying these impossibly trite things and bursting into tears over them, simultaneously overwhelmed by their truth and totally embarassed by how obvious and banal they were if you said them out loud — the Just Hang In Theres and the One Day At A Times and the First Day Of The Rest Of Your Lifeses and even that godawful Courage and the Serenity and the Wisdom To Know The Etcetera.
Which is to say: I hear you. You’re in my thoughts.
I’ve been there, and it is so hard. I know it is something lurking that I work my tail off to keep at bay, but it’s almost never within my control. Please know that I’m thinking of you and saying prayers in my daily reflection, and sending all positive thoughts and energy your way.
Thank you for writing so beautifully, honestly and eloquently about this. It helps.
I feel like the terrible old friend who means to call, means to write and never gets around to it. And when I finally do, I see so much has happened and wish I had stopped to send a kind word, a positive vibe, a hug. Please know that there are people out here who think highly of you and wish you nothing but brighter days ahead.
Let me tell you how brave Jenn was this past weekend. She welcomed her daughters home to two brightly decorated and clean bedrooms, full of hope and little-girl dreams. She took on this task gladly. By Friday evening, the rooms were ready. The girls hugged their momma and ran upstairs, squealing in delight.
Then, on Sunday, at H’s birthday party, she gathered all the children for an improvised fairy tale (which had them enthralled) and then danced with the girls to celebrate Hannah’s special day.
Smiling through the tears. I wish I could lift your pain, Jenn, but I am so, so proud of the woman you’ve become. One day at a time; sometimes one minute.
Love, Mom
I understand what you mean when all of a sudden you realized it was all too much. That happens to me, too. I tend to just shut down and fall into a pit of dispair on the drop of a dime. I’ll be coping along just fine and then something will happen and I just spiral down into sadness. I wish I didn’t.
I really respect you, Jenn. I am so sorry you are dealing with this. If there were something I could do to help, I would certainly do it! I also want to commend you on what a good mom you’re being to your girls. They will have great compassion and understanding in their lives because of the way you are handling things with them. You are putting them first and it shows. Just remember to take care of yourself, too.
Jenn, thank you for sharing this…all I have to offer today is more internet hugs. I wish you could feel them.
I can’t tell you how this resonates with me. I’m going to link to it; I hope that’s OK.
I hope you find your light soon.
Aw, the Mater is so great! I agree that you are being a great mom.
I’ve been there, too. Therapy and anti-anxiety medication have helped me considerably, but I still crawl under my bedspread as soon as I get home from work some days.
I wish we all could help you come out of this, but I think the above commenter is correct that it is a self-inspired and self-directed process. I believe you can do it.
I understand, so well. And I hope that this little drop of community, hearts and experiences reaching out across the internet, can help buoy you. I know that reading your beautiful words does that for me.
You have sufficiently beat my ass in Scrable three games in a row. I am now imagining you in the quiet of your home, buried under the pup-tent of your covers, with the glow of your laptop illuminating your face, as you crush me with a 52 point three letter word that I didn’t know even existed.
You are a force to be reckoned with on so many levels…don’t ever forget it.
You know, we think we are strong people, in control of our lives. But that is so not true. We are all, ALL, a hairsbreath away from going under. I’ve waffled, I haven’t lost it all, but I’ve seen enough to be scared. Terrified, really. It could be me instead of you. I see that.
-JJ
your posts are plenty for all of us ( i would guess) and if you couldn’t write, that would be fine too. your girls are far more deserving of whatever you can muster.
don’t forget. you ARE a BADASS! you have already conquered more than many of us.
i know very few people that show themselves as honestly and openly as you do…and to perfect strangers as well as friends.
i hope someday the BADASS in you can kick the fear in balls when it comes for you and tell it to f off. you are stronger than it is.
i count my blessings every day.
I believe you can do it, too.
XOXOXO
Wow, Mater, that made me cry. Jenn, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
I think of you often, i understand, i wish you moments.
Jenn, after your post and the others’ comments, I have no words that seem remotely adequate.
So, I’ll just say “Hi, I was here” and “I am grateful that Jenn is here, too”.
xoxoxoxox and (((((Jenn)))))) from me to you.
Two years later, I still remember a column that Dooce linked to from a columnist in New Orleans:
http://www.nola.com/news/t-p/frontpage/index2.ssf?/base/living-0/116149796856910.xml&coll=1
I found it to be very powerful. Among the most powerful sections, to me, was his use of some of William Styron’s work to obliterate the absolutely wretched and insufficient term *depression*:
In his book “Darkness Visible: A Memoir of Madness” — the best literary guide to the disease that I have found — the writer William Styron recounted his own descent into and recovery from depression, and one of the biggest obstacles, he said, was the term itself, what he calls “a true wimp of a word.”
He traces the medical use of the word “depression” to a Swiss psychiatrist named Adolf Meyer, who, Styron said, “had a tin ear for the finer rhythms of English and therefore was unaware of the damage he had inflicted by offering ‘depression’ as a descriptive noun for such a dreadful and raging disease.
“Nonetheless, for over 75 years the word has slithered innocuously through the language like a slug, leaving little trace of its intrinsic malevolence and preventing, by its very insipidity, a general awareness of the horrible intensity of the disease when out of control.”
He continued: “As one who has suffered from the malady in extremis yet returned to tell the tale, I would lobby for a truly arresting designation. ‘Brainstorm,’ for instance, has unfortunately been preempted to describe, somewhat jocularly, intellectual inspiration. But something along these lines is needed.
“Told that someone’s mood disorder has evolved into a storm — a veritable howling tempest in the brain, which is indeed what a clinical depression resembles like nothing else — even the uninformed layman might display sympathy rather than the standard reaction that ‘depression’ evokes, something akin to ‘So what?’ or ‘You’ll pull out of it’ or ‘We all have bad days.’
Hang in there, Jenn. You’re not alone.
I have a friend who is going through something similar right now, and I can’t tell you how much your posts mean to me – when I forget and think she’s avoiding me personally, it helps to be reminded that it’s something that SHE”s going through and that I need to be there for her, to let her know that I love her and I understand and will still love her even if she can’t contact me right now. Thank you, Jenn.
Jenn, I have this, too.Thank you for writing about it. Right now, I’m sitting in a darkened room, leaning back and taking a deep breath. You have given me courage. I will go forth to face it again.
Keep writing about this, I beg you!!!! It’s selfish, I know, but I am deeply tired of people not believing that my daughter is mentally ill, thinking it’s laziness or bad parenting or simply a behavioral problem. Nope. It’s real.
End of selfishness.
I understand. No platitudes. Just hugs and good wishes.
It. . .I. . .we. . .life. . .
so much to say- but I will leave you with this:
Barnes & Noble at 9am on a Monday morning is deadly quiet and empty, and if you go to the restaurant near it at 10:30 it will also be nearly empty and quiet and peaceful.
I know this because I had to know this- and knowing this made me feel like I was actually baby stepping my way out of the house.
listen to all of these people loving you, jenn. we love you, having never met you, but hearing you, and knowing you. i hear you, jenn, and i’m thinking of you.
Deep peace of the running water to you,
Deep peace of the flowing air to you,
Deep peace of the quiet earth to you,
Deep peace of the shining stars to you,
Deep peace of the Son of Peace to you.
(Celtic blessing, source unknown)