Silent Struggle

Ok, I am just going to put it out there. I have been in a very strange place. Somewhere I have never been before. Somewhere extremely frightening. Surprisingly, I have been really good at concealing my location, for a very long time now. Well, up until about 6 weeks ago. That's when I struggled to peel myself from my bed. When anyone had trouble seeing me because I kept the curtains from uncovering the windows. When I stopped calling people, or coming around. When I could care less about pedicures, shopping, and wine. When I stopped running. When I stopped arguing about anything that I was passionate about. When Isabela drew a family portrait of us and asked me "Mami, how do you draw an upside down smile, on your face."

To be honest, I am not sure who is out there reading this. But, I decided that I needed to publicly write this for one big reason, the reason that almost stopped me from seeking help- shame. I am sharing this because I know it's something that can happen, and I know now that it's not my fault. Of course, you might have figured it out already. Yes, I am depressed. Like seriously, out of my control, depressed. Apparently, my body is chemically imbalanced.

When I was told a year ago by two different doctors that I should consider seeing a psychiatrist based on some symptoms I was having, I told them "absolutely not". I figured that I was only feeling the fatigue, anxiety, stress, sadness, etc., because Isabela was having heart surgery. I just knew that I would be "cured" once I would see her fine. Well, the surgery came and went. So, then I blamed my body's persistent calls for help on "cabin fever", from the quarantine of recovering from surgery. Well, that excuse expired once Isabela was in school, leading a normal life, a life I should have been celebrating. But, after that, you would think I would smarten up. But, instead, this past September I decided to revisit my endocrinologist to run some labs to find out what my hormones were doing. I had the most extensive 3 hour lab done. To my relief, I did have one elevated hormone I could treat, but he suggested again, " I think you should be seeing another kind of specialist." Again, I told him I was not sad and that I wanted a hormone medication, not an antidepressant. I tried it, but it made me feel no different for 3 months. So, I returned and told him it must be my thyroid. "Yes, my thyroid, that's it." But, the poor doctor again, looked at me, I knew what he was going to say, so I saved him the trouble and said," I can't be sad. Can I? Everything in my life is perfect. I wouldn't change a thing about it. It's finally the way I have always wanted it to be. It's not possible." The older, wiser man looked at me with that look like he really wanted to reach over his desk to place his hand on my shoulder and said, "External factors have nothing to do with creating your happiness. This is not your fault." If I would have forgotten at that moment that he is only an Endocrinologist and not a shrink, I probably would have broken down in front of him. At that point, I knew he was right. Thinking back, the fact that I said, "I feel so depleted", a dozen times over, should have been my signal.

I wasn't denying the poosibilty of my new-found illness because I refused to be wrong. The reality is that, as a Latina, there is very little education about this illness. I thought people who were depressed were "weak" and just felt sorry for themselves. Culturally, it's not that we think it doesn't exist, because based on my research, middle-aged Hispanic women have more symptoms than any other group, but we just normally deal with these immense, troubling feelings with drinking alcohol and/or eating our pain away. Maybe that and also coupled with the fact that treatment can also be costly, without insurance. Realizing that and so many other cultural ignorances related to depression, has explained my mother a lot! Additionally, if I wouldn't have talked to my good friends who are "gringas" and in the medical profession to explain how "ok" this all was, I don't know that I would have known to comfortably seek treatment. Treatment that is now peeling the pain away.

After 3 weeks of therapy, my shrink asked me today to rate how I was feeling the first day I saw him, with 1 being the happiest and 10 being the worst. I told him I was a "9". He asked me why not a "10". I replied that I knew I didn't want to cause harm to myself, I was just numb. So when he asked me how I felt today, I told him a strong "4.5".....or 48% myself. Wow. To think that 3 weeks ago, I felt like someone had hardened my shell and I couldn't seep through.

The good thing is that I have realized that I have been depressed in many degrees over the past years, since my childhood. I have a list of trauma to discuss on the couch. But, this past year has been my pitfall. I lost it. Yes, even though it has been the first year, in many, many, many years to not contend with an upsetting issue. The funny thing is, when I think of what my biggest, really my only, problem right now is, it's that I have no freaking idea how to lead a "normal", worry-free, everything is ok, kind of life. For the past 5 years, I have had doctors tell me how to lead my life, they offered a hand-book on what to-do or not-to-do with Isabela. But, since her latest heart surgery, since she has been finally given the pass to participate in the world, with absolutely no guide-book, I am at a loss, I guess. But, as of three weeks ago, with all of the support from family and friends, I have been learning how to write my new handbook. Thank you, God.

I am now getting ready to participate in this beautiful life I have..

(thank you, Christina..)