Severe Depression Advisory

Identifying the early signs of a depressive spell helps me prepare for what’s to come. Much like a storm warning, the telltale changes in my behavior alert me to the tempest closing in. It’s time to batten down the hatches, metaphorically, when the laundry starts piling up and I’m unmotivated to cook. Reading holds little-to-no appeal, unless it’s to usher me to sleep. The basics go to the wayside when depression rears its head. 

That’s when I know I need to let some things go. I give myself permission to take shortcuts and hold myself to a lower standard. We eat more takeout, the kids have more screen time, and laundry gets cleaned eventually. (Although it might stay in the dryer a little longer – or sit in folded piles for another day or two – before finding its way back into drawers). I cancel plans more frequently and reach out to loved ones less so. 

Coping Mechanisms

Instead of making the depression harder to manage, the extra breathing room helps my day-to-day life immensely. Any guilt and shame I used to feel about being depressed takes a backseat to grace and self-care. When a tornado rolls into town, no one questions the idea of taking cover and lying low until it passes. We allow nature to take its course and try to stay out of its way, dealing with the aftermath when safety isn’t at risk. 

I’ve also learned to set up guardrails to protect myself from letting the gales of depression sweep me away. Taking Zoloft and exercising daily is nonnegotiable, with Lorazepam and meditation thrown in as needed. Also, letting my loved ones know I’m in the eye of the storm helps for two reasons: 

1. They know why I’m more reserved or absent and don’t take my retreat as personally (I hope), and
2. It serves as a verbal affirmation to myself of the state I’m in. 

Things aren’t completely resolved, but these tools give me more ownership over the chemical imbalance taking over my brain without consent.

Side Effects

When I’m in it, I’m scared it will last forever. Much like when I’m physically sick, I eventually forget what it was like to feel well. Life will never return to “normal,” and I’ll be a husk of a human til the end of my days. My family deserves someone with a healthier brain who can take care of them properly and not be so consumed with this mental plague. 

Depression lies, and on its darkest days tells me I may as well cease to exist. People will miss me, sure, but the hole I’ll leave behind will soon be replaced with people who are mentally stronger than I am. Arthur can put the kids in aftercare or hire a nanny. He can have groceries delivered (which I already do when depression is in town).  It will solve more problems than it will cause if I just let myself disappear. 

Thankfully, my guardrails keep me from steering over that slippery slope. I know this mindset is temporary, and powering through to the other side is always worth it. I’ve survived all my other stints with depression. And I learn something new to strengthen my defenses for the next time it darkens my door. 

Relief

My latest bout taught me it’s just as important to recognize the positive signs when I’m nearing the end of a depressive squall. Reading holds more appeal, and the laundry feels less daunting. I find myself in the kitchen more often, cooking healthy-er meals to feed my family. Reaching out to friends and family is less of an obligation and more of a pleasure. Instead of finding negative things to reinforce the depression, silver linings pop up to shine light where there was none before. 

The newest sign I found is perhaps my favorite, though. I’m singing along to upbeat music and dancing around the kitchen while cooking dinner. My singing voice is not good, to put it mildly. And my dance moves are uncoordinated at best. But I’m 100% confident my family is happier to hear it ring out than to not hear it at all.