I have somewhat of a love/hate relationship with the month of October. Fall is, without a doubt, my favorite season. I love the kaleidoscope of colored leaves; I love the sun lighting up the cool afternoons; I love the gray clouded skies and the chill air; I love wearing scarves, sweaters, and boots; I love cuddling under blankets, in front of fires, next to my babies, watching movies and drinking hot cocoa. I love listening to spooky music; I love going to the Pumpkin Patch and preparing for Halloween. It's the most wonderful time of the year.
Five years ago, in October, I lay on the cold, hard earth with the leaves whistling around me and breathed foolish prayers to God. I prayed because I had just found out that I was pregnant; I had filed for divorce and now I had a little life growing inside of me. I prayed because, like the natural world around me, I was transitioning to a new season of life, and before I had my spring, I'd need to go through the isolating winter. I was terrified. Those spectacular leaves were tinged with grief in a terribly bittersweet panorama.
I believe that depression has a memory. Back then, every day was cold, lonely, and bitter. Back then, it took enormous effort just to hold back my tears and live my life day to day. Back then, I thought my life was over. As the years have passed, my depression still drifts around in the shadows of my mind, but most days, it's only a whisper, like a memory of a memory of a past life. Most days, I carry this little extra weight, but I carry it fairly easily, with little dips here and there. Most days, I'm a fairly balanced individual and it only takes a little perspective or some mindfulness to draw me out of the sadness and shake off the cobwebs that still cling. However, when October rolls around, the weight becomes heavier. The whisper becomes louder. I begin to tip and fall, spiraling down into the place where I become mired and lost. Those emotions, that state of being that I had 5 years ago re-emerges, as though I never healed, as if to remind me that my past is permanent and I must never forget it. Very few people have seen me when I've spiraled, because I hide it carefully, out of a sense of self-preservation. When someone does see it, I become afraid of what they'll think and how it will affect their view of me going forward.
I spiraled last weekend and I wasn't able to fully hide it from my kids; they got a few glimpses before I was able to get my head back on - and I didn't come out of it, I was simply able to mask it until they were in bed. Then I cried like I hadn't cried since this time last year. And I fought with myself. And I tore at my hair and rubbed my face and shook my head to try to get the internal dialogue to stop. "You are a failure". "Other people can handle this. Other people have the same issues you do, but they don't fall apart like a lunatic. They're stronger. You're just weak." "Look at your house. Look at your life. You can't even keep it together." "You're not tired. You're lazy. You're wasting your life." "You are worthless. You can't do anything right." "You don't deserve to live." "Your kids would be better off without you." They weren't whispers now, they were shouts, announced with clanging bells and gleeful malice. The shadowed monster had fleshed itself out and was growing by the minute.
Luckily, I had a visitor that night who helped pull me out. That episode had started two nights previous, and it isn't the longest one I've had. One person who regularly saw me spiral used to say, "Wow, you go dark, fast." And I stay there until something or someone eases me out.
I will power through. I'll try to find my sunshine where I can and remind myself that I'm not in the dark alone. I'll savor the fleeting, lovely moments of the season and try to let the memories, painful and difficult as they can be to manage, serve as a reminder of the path I had to take to be the person I've turned out to be. And I'll try to remember that the person I am is loved and loveable, even if I need some outside help once in awhile to accept it.
So here's to a world with Octobers; Lord, help me to remember with care that these days of letting go are the key to receiving what is good.
Happy October.
Five years ago, in October, I lay on the cold, hard earth with the leaves whistling around me and breathed foolish prayers to God. I prayed because I had just found out that I was pregnant; I had filed for divorce and now I had a little life growing inside of me. I prayed because, like the natural world around me, I was transitioning to a new season of life, and before I had my spring, I'd need to go through the isolating winter. I was terrified. Those spectacular leaves were tinged with grief in a terribly bittersweet panorama.
I believe that depression has a memory. Back then, every day was cold, lonely, and bitter. Back then, it took enormous effort just to hold back my tears and live my life day to day. Back then, I thought my life was over. As the years have passed, my depression still drifts around in the shadows of my mind, but most days, it's only a whisper, like a memory of a memory of a past life. Most days, I carry this little extra weight, but I carry it fairly easily, with little dips here and there. Most days, I'm a fairly balanced individual and it only takes a little perspective or some mindfulness to draw me out of the sadness and shake off the cobwebs that still cling. However, when October rolls around, the weight becomes heavier. The whisper becomes louder. I begin to tip and fall, spiraling down into the place where I become mired and lost. Those emotions, that state of being that I had 5 years ago re-emerges, as though I never healed, as if to remind me that my past is permanent and I must never forget it. Very few people have seen me when I've spiraled, because I hide it carefully, out of a sense of self-preservation. When someone does see it, I become afraid of what they'll think and how it will affect their view of me going forward.
I spiraled last weekend and I wasn't able to fully hide it from my kids; they got a few glimpses before I was able to get my head back on - and I didn't come out of it, I was simply able to mask it until they were in bed. Then I cried like I hadn't cried since this time last year. And I fought with myself. And I tore at my hair and rubbed my face and shook my head to try to get the internal dialogue to stop. "You are a failure". "Other people can handle this. Other people have the same issues you do, but they don't fall apart like a lunatic. They're stronger. You're just weak." "Look at your house. Look at your life. You can't even keep it together." "You're not tired. You're lazy. You're wasting your life." "You are worthless. You can't do anything right." "You don't deserve to live." "Your kids would be better off without you." They weren't whispers now, they were shouts, announced with clanging bells and gleeful malice. The shadowed monster had fleshed itself out and was growing by the minute.
Luckily, I had a visitor that night who helped pull me out. That episode had started two nights previous, and it isn't the longest one I've had. One person who regularly saw me spiral used to say, "Wow, you go dark, fast." And I stay there until something or someone eases me out.
I will power through. I'll try to find my sunshine where I can and remind myself that I'm not in the dark alone. I'll savor the fleeting, lovely moments of the season and try to let the memories, painful and difficult as they can be to manage, serve as a reminder of the path I had to take to be the person I've turned out to be. And I'll try to remember that the person I am is loved and loveable, even if I need some outside help once in awhile to accept it.
So here's to a world with Octobers; Lord, help me to remember with care that these days of letting go are the key to receiving what is good.
Happy October.
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