“The days aren’t discarded or collected, they are bees
that burned with sweetness or maddened
the sting: the struggle continues,
the journeys go and come between honey and pain.
No, the net of years doesn’t unweave: there is no net.
They don’t fall drop by drop from a river: there is no river.
Sleep doesn’t divide life into halves,
or action, or silence, or honor:
life is like a stone, a single motion,
a lonesome bonfire reflected on the leaves,
an arrow, only one, slow or swift, a metal
that climbs or descends burning in your bones.”
― Pablo Neruda, Still Another Day

I have an impeccable memory when it comes to people, dates, events, and I usually remember these things with how they relate to time. Sometimes this is a blessing and very useful and other times it’s a curse. I am often telling Leah what we were doing a year ago or that 3 years ago today xyz happened. It’s probably normal to start reflecting on the past year during the month of December and I’ve been thinking a lot about all that has happened. It’s hard to believe that a year ago during this time I was making the decision to spend Christmas and New Years in the hospital (and ended up staying there for 3 weeks). It feels like longer than that and also like it was just a few months ago at the same time.

I keep having these eerie dejavu feelings about how this week last year I was completely anxious about going to the hospital and was not sleeping very well at all. In order to quell my anxiety of the unknown, I was obsessed about what I would take with me and finding shoes without laces and clothes that did not require a belt or have any strings. Memories pop up now from my stay when I put on some of the clothes I bought specifically to wear at the hospital and I find myself transported back to that time. Sometimes I wish that I was going back when the tasks of everyday life feel so overwhelming. It was so nice not to worry about anything other than working through my shit. I didn’t have to think about what I was going to cook for dinner or try to figure out how to get everything done (working out, cooking, laundry, grocery shopping, picking up the house, getting up for work when it felt impossible to get out of bed ect.) between work and appointments. It feels like I’ve been taking care of myself for such a long time that I long for being completely taken care of and letting my guard down.

I know now that depression is a liar, at least I know this to be true when I am having good days. On good days when that negative voice sneaks to my head I am able to brush it off and on exceptional days I am able to reason with it. On bad days depression is a fortune teller, the voice of reason, and the decider of all things. I can’t tell the difference between the critical voice in my head and depression, but maybe they are one in the same…or they egg each other on when they are both present. There are days when my critic tells me I am to blame when Leah and I are having marital issues, that I screw up every relationship given the chance, that I’m a failure and lazy. It tells me that things are not going to get better and that my good days never last. That no matter how hard I try it is never enough. There some days where everyday tasks seem to be insurmountable and that scares the shit out of me. I don’t want to go back to that place I was a year ago, I don’t want to have to make a difficult and life saving decision like checking myself back into the hospital. My wise mind tells me that just because I am having a rough patch, does not mean that I will be crushed by the bowling ball of depression. My emotional mind is telling me that it’s only a matter of time before I will need to go back to the hospital.

On bad days depression tells me that I am a burden and an inconvenience. That people don’t want to be around me, that I am a drain. I go from being very excited about making and having plans with my friends to wishing that I hadn’t made those plans. That I won’t know what to talk about or that I won’t have fun anyways. When I listen to depression and cancel, then I’m lonely and sad that I am by myself. I’ve recently had back pain and been unable to do a lot of things for myself. I knew that I was bad at asking for and receiving help, but I didn’t know the extent of it. I thought my difficulty with help had to do more with getting emotional support from others, but it extends to even asking for help with my job duties or tasks around the house that I have deemed as mine.

I still am having difficulty with my body image and managing impulsive behavior, although it is much better. Depression tells me to eat crap. That chocolate or baked goods will make me feel better. And it does, momentarily. It does until I catch my reflection in the mirror and see this fat person staring back at me. I tell myself that I don’t have any discipline, that I’m disgusting, and that I have to go on a diet. I can’t remember a time when I felt good about my weight (I started my first diet in second grade). When my pants are getting tighter around my waist as I try to button them I berate myself for making bad decisions, for not taking care of myself. I know in my wise mind that I would feel better if I ate healthier and went to the gym more often, but it’s a vicious cycle where I am so tired I can’t fathom adding one more thing to my day. I get mad at myself for succumbing to my exhaustion and then bully myself into eating healthy for a day or two until I give in again. And it starts all over.

Depression tells me to buy things. It tells me that a little treat will make me feel better, I get a rush from looking around stores and feel better about my appearance if i can make myself more presentable with something new. It does not have to be something big, I can be something as simple as a t-shirt, but that stuff adds up. I then get mad at myself for spending unnecessary money, especially on myself. I like picking up treats for Leah and have an easier time justifying spending money on her. There is something about spending money on myself that gives me a lot of guilt or maybe it’s shame.

Depression or is it my critic? (sometimes I can’t tell the difference) tells me that I am a failure and that I will never be financially (career wise) successful. It tells me that I buckle under pressure and that I am destined to stay in jobs where I don’t make a lot of money because they are low in stress and pressure. My mind recalls all of my memories in which I feel like I have failed when I am lying in bed trying to fall asleep. It ridicules me for having to drop chemistry and convinces me that I am not cut out for grad school. I feel like I have not pulled my financial weight in my marriage for years now. We used to trade on and off organically as to who is the breadwinner, but Leah has been left holding the bag for awhile. I look at how much money I have cost us since July in doctor’s appointments and the therapy that is out of network with our insurance and I feel guilty and like a drain. My body hurts all the time, but I cannot justify acupuncture visits and massages because we have more important items and appointments that we need to pay for.

I know that a lot has changed this year and that I will be ending 2017 in a better place than it began. It’s hard to remember how much has changed when I am am in the thick of a flashback, a body memory, or letting myself feel emotions that are foreign and difficult. I have to remind myself that a year ago it was rare for me to go through a day without some kind of suicidal thought and that I had come extremely close to giving in. I think about all that I put my wife through and how we are in a much better place today (thanks to a lot of hard work on both our parts). I know that I am better equipped to handle a rough day and that I have started reaching out and talking more when I need extra support. There is a part of me though that thinks that none of this is enough and is impatiently waiting to move past this, to be able to get off my meds completely, to be able to be present in my body without wanting to disappear, to not have depression ever present and looming in the background and to not feel like we are spending so much money on maintaining my mental health.