“Journal #1” (November 20, 2008)
The music is around me, in my head, in my eyes, in my hands. I’m writing it now, flowing so gently on the paper with the words falling from my heart, to my head, to my lead.
Don’t bother me. I’m thinking.
My heart says write this, write that.
I love this; it makes me whole.
Symphonies of my own flow in my head. You will hear them one day, this I promise. Don’t think. Don’t worry. Just write, I tell myself. Just write.
I rush to my stereo, turn up the volume. The speakers move like they are dancing to the rhythm. They are. They love all types of music. Turn up the volume. Watch them dance.
The music is all around me; in my heart, in my hand.
Don’t ever take it away.
I previously wrote a blog as a guest for one of my friends about mental health. For those that have read my last writings, I would like to explain a little about a part of one of three diagnoses. I’m going to try a little something new and personal. I am going to tell you about a few things that triggered my depression. Let’s jump right in.
I was twelve years old when I was unofficially diagnosed with depression. The reason it’s unofficial is because it was done by my junior high school counselor. See, I was made to attend grief counseling once to twice a week due to the death of a family member. The pain I faced due to this passing isn’t something any child should have to go through.
My loss was not one of a grandparent, aunt, or uncle. My loss was that of my mother. Now don’t get me wrong… I’m not belittling the death of anyone, especially any of the ones I listed. Please just keep reading.
I lost my mother in the early months of 2004. It was an accident but not one of the usual manner. I won’t get into details, but just know that I thank God every day my siblings and I weren’t there to witness what happened. I found out when I came home from school.
I don’t remember much about that day. I actually don’t remember much about any of the days from her death until her funeral. The grief that I faced that day was like none I had ever dealt with before and still haven’t to this day.
Several months after her death is when I received my unofficial diagnosis, and I was treated with what I think of as a joke. The school board’s idea idea of grief counseling was laughable, to say the least, but I did as requested anyway.
For those of you trying to do the math, she has now been gone for 15 years. As I have gotten older, I have realized how much my mother truly meant to me. She was my rock, my support, my hero. She loved my siblings and I with every breath she had and then some. She was so much more talented than I think I could ever be. She always worked so hard to support us no matter what.
I haven’t had her in my life to witness the most important moments of my life, and that can hit me extremely hard some days. When I think about all of the things she’s missed, all of my heart breaks; my husband, my wedding, but mostly her grandchildren. It tears me up inside.
Every day is a new day; a day for me to live for her, to do all of the things she wanted me to do. I told myself I would do everything in my power to do the things I would have done to make her proud, and I think I do that every day.
Unfortunately in my case, my mother isn’t the only contributing factor to my depression. It wasn’t until late last year that I discovered this. Late last year, I received my first real therapy session, which is where I received my diagnosis of extreme recurring depression. Going into therapy, I thought most to all of my depression was because of the passing of my mother. But I learned something completely unexpected.
My past medical conditions (two types of cancer) and my father were a huge factors in my depression as well. Before my mother passed, before my mother and father divorced, I was afraid of my father. He was physically and mentally abusing. He has, and I believe will always, deny this until the day he dies. Where my memories of certain things are foggy, these memories certainly are not. I discovered I didn’t just fear my father, but I resented him, hated him, and was down right angry at him for mistreating his family, for not being the father he needed to be, not being being there for me, and now most of all, not being a grandfather to his grandchildren, the very grandchildren my mother would have loved with every fiber of her being like she loved her children. For not being the father I know in my heart he could have been and chose not to be. Not being the man my mother believed in and loved at one time in her life so deeply, it hurt.
I’ve come so very far since I’ve started therapy, but I know there are other people in this world that are where I have been and let me tell you first hand, it can and will get better.
The first step is to stop putting yourself down and believe, even if you don’t see it, that someone is there for you. The second step is to always remember and love the person even if they are gone. The third step is to take every day one step at a time and live like that person is still with you cheering you on. The person you lost wouldn’t want to see you down, depressed, and sad. If you have a person trying to hold you down, forgive them then let them go. Lastly, live. Live every day because you never know what you might find in yourself one day. The person you may want to be is just beneath the surface waiting to be set free, and you’re the only person that can make that happen. You’re the only person that can make that choice for you.
If you find it difficult to find that person, remember there is someone that already loves you for you, and will be there to encourage you along the way.
These shoes have taken me to the place where I would get the diagnoses that would change my life. They have taken me to the place where I have met people that didn’t want the best for me; they wanted to take advantage of me, to see me fail.
These shoes have taken me to places I never want to go again. They have taken me to places where I’ve felt pain, where I’ve felt anxiety, where I’ve felt stuck.
These shoes have taken me to places where I would have to share my feelings with complete strangers and hope that they didn’t judge me. They have taken me to places where I’ve waited and waited to feel whole again, to feel something, anything at all.
These shoes have taken me to places that I recover and try my best to feel significant. They have taken me to the place where I can speak my soul and help it to heal. They have taken me to the place where I can feel free, where I can feel whole, where I can feel human.
People can judge us. They can slander our name. They can look down on us because we’re different than them… but they can’t take our soul. They can’t take our voice. They don’t know our lives or how we live, why we do the things we do. What we have fought for up until this very moment.
These shoes are dirty, beat down, worn out… but nobody can take away what they’ve been through. What I have been through.
Keep fighting for you and I’ll keep fighting for me.
I’m sitting in front of a campfire with my two dogs next to me, I’m looking up at the night sky and I see the stars, I hear the crickets, I see the fireflies… and nothing could ever beat this feeling.
I haven’t felt this happy and content, stress free, no depression, no anxiety, since 2016 when I sat on the beach literally by myself in Okinawa, Japan. It’s a feeling I didn’t think I’d ever feel again. It’s a feeling I thought was just a once in a lifetime type of thing.
I say all of this because I’ve been depressed lately. It started right around my birthday, which is right on time, because I always start getting those holiday blues around my birthday, which is in early October. I didn’t think I’d get out of it. I kept up with my homework, but that’s about it. I was able to have enough energy to hike just once since it’s cooled off. I’m behind on my chores, like cleaning the house. I’ve just been depressed.
I sat at my desk last night and stared at the sand from the beach in Japan I went to (I collect sand from all the beaches I visit), and I thought to myself, “What if I never feel that feeling again? What if I’m stuck forever in this endless cycle of depression?” I can have great days, but it never fails that the bad days happen a day or two after. I have felt stuck in that endless cycle for a long time now. But that day at the beach in Japan proved to me that I can feel like I’m floating and feel like I have no stress or worries, even if only for an hour. But I always thought I’d never feel it again.
Tonight, while I sit around this campfire, I am feeling it again. There’s no better feeling in the world. Tomorrow, maybe it goes back to normal. Or maybe I can live my life like I’m on that beach or I’m sitting in front of a campfire.
It’s time to start living, man. I have to or I’ll feel stuck in this endless cycle forever. It’s time to start traveling, hiking more, camping more, writing more! I’m feeling so inspired to just… write. Everything. No matter how real or honest it gets. I just want to write. I want to live. I want to breathe and not feel trapped. Things are changing, my friends. Keep up with me or get left behind, because I’m not slowing down.