So, Here Comes November

The first of November. I can’t believe we have made it this far in 2019 already. I can’t believe I have made it this far in the year, because there was a time when I wasn’t sure if I even wanted to be here still.

November is my favorite month, but one that also holds a deep pain within my heart. It’s my favorite month because both my fiancé and I celebrate our birthdays this month, but it brings feelings of deep pain because it was the month I first had a serious encounter with depression. I can clearly recall the moment I realized that I was fighting a war within my brain. I was in Grade 6 and the bullying I was experiencing at school had reached a new level of hell. It was a few days before my 11^th birthday and there was a darkness within me that I had never felt before. It was frightening. There was a voice within my head telling me that life wasn’t worth living anymore. I was fixated on suicide. I would read stories of people who dealt with depression in the Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul books and my heart related deeply. It was then I realized that what I was feeling, the deep level of hopelessness and pain was something other’s felt too. I wasn’t alone. And I also realized that my feeling had a name. Depression. I read stories of people who were also fixated on suicide and read about how they dreamed of taking pills or slicing their wrists with a knife. I would copy the poems and stories out of the book into my notebook and would read them over and over each night, dreaming about what it would be like for things to be over. I’d pretend that their stories were my own and that I was actually brave enough to follow through with ending things. But I wasn’t.

It was impossible for me to get out of bed. All I wanted to do was hide away under the covers from the world and not deal with the pain anymore. I remember faking sick so I didn’t have to go to school. Before my mom would come down to wake me for school, I’d put a warm cloth on my forehead to simulate a fever and then hide the cloth under my pillow once she came down. I had mastered the ability to fake sick (in hindsight, I’m sure she knew I was faking).

I’d lay on my parent’s couch during the day, withdrawn from everything. I remember hearing my parents talking in the kitchen but it was like I was inside a bubble and their voices sounded more like Charlie Brown’s parents. Wa-wa-wa-wa. This was a new level of pain I hadn’t experienced before. As frightening as it was, at least I didn’t have to go to school anymore. I was safe from the world, but not from my mind.

Ever since that first encounter with depression, my life hasn’t been the same. It is as though I have a dark cloud that follows me around. Sometimes it totally engulfs me, like a heavy fog where I cannot see, no matter how hard I try. Other times the cloud lifts, and just hovers overhead. Always present in some shape or form, never really gone. I dealt with depression on and off throughout the rest of my schooling, but thankfully I never had another major episode until I was much older. I’m not sure I would have survived another one at such a young age.

The second time I had a major encounter with depression was in my final internship in University. It also fell in the month of November. Things in my internship were tough. My supervising teacher and I were both dealing with what I now know was Mental Illness and my anxiety was out of control. I wasn’t sleeping and I felt sick all of the time from the anxiety. I just shut down. I called in sick to my internship for over two weeks straight. I’d lie about my symptoms and what was making me sick. I did nothing but lay in bed, depressed, dreaming of a way out of all the pain, while binge watching 10 seasons of Grey’s Anatomy. No matter how hard I tried, the heavy fog would not lift. So I just laid there, helpless, held captive by the monster in my brain. Finally, the fog lifted and the cloud rose to a hover and I dragged myself out of bed and back to complete my internship.

Fast forward to my first year of teaching… Also in the month of November. The heavy fog came in so strong that it took all of my energy to get out of bed to use the washroom. I’m embarrassed to say this, but there were times I considered just wetting my bed because it required less energy. I was so far gone, so deep into the depression I couldn’t even process the fact that if I wet the bed, I’d have to change the sheets and clean the mattress, which was more work than stumbling the 7 steps it was to my washroom. I pulled my darkening curtains, let no light in my room and I just laid in bed. I laid there, not eating, not sleeping, barely able to use the washroom, totally consumed by the fog. I called in sick to work repeatedly, causing issues with my administrators. I was reprimanded for missing too many days of work. They didn’t understand Mental Illness and at that time, neither did I.

It wasn’t until that January that my mom came and took me to the doctor to seek help because my will to live was drastically low. Afraid for my safety, she knew I needed medical help, even when I couldn’t see that I needed it. It was then that I was diagnosed with Extreme Generalized Anxiety Disorder and Major Depressive Disorder. While I had known since I was 11 that I dealt depression, it was another story to hear it come from a medical professional. It was another story to have a medical professional make me promise that I wouldn’t do anything to harm myself. It was then that my journey with understanding Mental Illness, breaking the stigma I believed about Mental Illness and my journey with medications began.

Since then, I’ve had many, many low moments, where the fog is so severe there is absolutely no light. The spells vary in length, but eventually the fog does lift to hover just above my head. Always reminding me it’s still there, but at least allowing some light in. I’ve shared about some of these low moments in previous posts. The past year has been one of the hardest years of my life. It was a year ago this November that I went to my first therapy session because the depression was too much. I was skipping work again, barely able to get out of bed, barely able to find the will to use the washroom.

So, here comes November. Another month that I’m unsure of what it will bring. Will it bring debilitating depression or will the clouds just hover, allowing me some warmth? On November 8^th, I see a fancy, super expensive Psychiatrist in Calgary. My benefit company is paying for me to see him because they feel a piece of my treatment is missing. And, I’d have to say I agree. The assessment is 4 hours long and to be honest, I’m completely terrified of what this appointment will bring. While it is needed, I’m terrified for change. I feel that my meds aren’t quite right, which may mean another shift in medications and if I’m honest, that’s the last thing I want to go through this month. I want one November where I’m not depressed on my birthday. I’m terrified that I’ll be diagnosed with yet another Illness and I’m not sure how I’ll feel about that. But mostly, I’m just terrified that this won’t work. That I’ll go and pour out my life story, answer all the questions, go through all the psychological tests and still come out empty. Will I always be this way? Is there hope for me? Or will I always be left waiting for the next anxiety attack, depression attack or C-PTSD trigger?

This month brings so many unanswered questions and fears. It’s started out with the heavy depression fog and I’m afraid that it won’t lift. I want nothing more than to enjoy this month. My fiancé turns 30 this month. Our birthdays are two days apart, mine on the 21^st and his on the 23^rd. We’re hosting a joint Birthday Bash and I so desperately want to enjoy it. But I’m afraid. What if I’m lost in the stooper of a new medication? What if I can’t get myself out of bed? So many questions, so many fears.

So, here comes November. Here comes another month of fighting to survive. In my kitchen, I have this letter board with the message, “Keep going, it’s worth the fight” written on it. I look at it every day and draw strength from the simple message. It is worth the fight. If I had given up last November, I never would have experienced the joy of Disney World or the happiness I felt when I got engaged. There are moments of light in this life, even for those of us who struggle with these Illnesses.

If I leave you with one thing, I want you to know that even though it’s hard, I want you to keep going. Because it is worth the fight. You will experience moments of relief, even if they’re brief. So, dear friend, keep going, it’s worth the fight. Repeat it over and over until you can believe it. And hang on. This ride is wild, but you’re here for a reason. I need you here. Others need you here. Believe it. And keep fighting. This month doesn’t have to be a bad one. Your story isn’t yet written this month. So keep going. You are worth it.

Love,

Becca