Drowning in the deep

I have this overwhelming and unmistakable feeling of suffocation.  I have been so devastatingly  incapacitated by depression that I cannot function on even the most basic level.  I feel as if I am being held down by a heavy ball and chain, drowning in the darkest of waters.  The sea is rushing around me, and it is dark and I feel utterly cold and alone. 

This ocean of depression is touching every area of my persona.  Being stuck here is causing a tidal wave of debilitating anxiety because I feel completely out of control of my feelings, emotions, thoughts, and mood.  It is affecting me as a mother, a wife, a student, a friend, and a person.  Doing normal little things like bathing myself, getting dressed, and even brushing my hair seem all too overwhelming which means the bigger things like homework, cleaning, and parenting are just not even possible.  I spend most of my time curled up in a ball in my bed not doing anything.  I am crippled by the incredibly strong current of hopelessness and it just beats me down more and more. 

This darkness is so scary and treacherous, I am in a losing battle that sometimes I feel like just giving up.  No matter how much I try to swim towards the surface, the surface seems to get farther and father out of reach.  I have been sinking little by little for years, but sometimes now it feels like I have reached the point of no return.  I am beginning to become afraid that there is no way out, that I really am stuck here, that nobody will ever even figure out that I am down here. 

How does one swim with a weight around them?  How does one breathe under water? How do I even try anymore?  I have lost the passion I once felt for living.  I have lost the purpose that once pushed me onward.  The boat of safety has long since forgotten I existed.  The life vest I once had has slipped off of my chest.  Water fills my lungs and they burn with resignation.  A voice in my head reminds me that I am a failure.  I take a glance at my life and it reinforces that voice.  I am failing in every area.  I am not who I once was.  I am completely incapable of doing anything at all, let alone doing anything right. 

Today I pushed against the voice.  I tried to pull myself out of the water.  I went somewhere out of my current comfort zone.  I went to Bible study.  I was around safe people in what is supposed to be a safe place. Even then,  I began to have a panic attack.  I foolishly tried to talk and my words were not what I had planned to say, everything came out wrong.  I fully panicked internally and I have been shaking for a couple hours now.  I am still shaking.  I literally have the feeling of suffocation, my lungs are burning, my chest is tight.  I am incredibly nauseous and have cried ever since I left.  See? You can’t be a normal person.  You are a failure. You’re worthless. Why did you even try?  The voice is so much louder now.  I am totally and completely out of control of how I feel.  There is no way to fix this.  I am what’s broken.  I am the problem. 

I am so far beneath the surface that there is no hope for me, people cannot even see my struggle.  Though the current under here is strong and unbearable, the surface appears calm and smooth.  I am dying under here and nobody even knows.  I look and appear normal, nobody knows I am drowning within.  I am held captive by grief, by my past, by my wounds, by my failures, by truths, and by lies.  I am not sure that anything can be redeemed anymore.  I have lost all value, I have lost all hope, I am empty, I am nothing.  

embracing truths? or believing lies?

Have you ever felt so completely out of control of your surroundings, your life, your circumstances, and your loved ones that it makes you feel anxiety to your core?  I try so hard to stay organized, to keep on top of tasks, to keep bills paid on time, to keep things clean, and to make people happy.  These things give me a false sense of security, of comfort; they make me feel like everything is okay.  There are some topics I avoid because they are scary, they make me feel like I may lose control of myself, of my emotions. 

I stay composed.  I try not to cry.  I smile and pretend like I am not dying on the inside.  Sometimes the worthlessness I feel creeps in and shatters the false confidence that I have.  Something happens that reminds me that I really am not lovable.  It reminds me that I am nothing but a failure. 

I recently had a loved one come to me and open up about similar insecurities that they were having, that they were also struggling with feeling worthless.  I failed at my response.  Instead of being there for this person, for listening, for encouraging, I got scared.  I was suddenly fearful of losing said person and I got loud and passionate.  For some strange reason it made me feel so completely out of control and scared and I reacted out of that. Because of my reaction not only does this person not feel any better, but the relationship was harmed in the process.  I am supposed to be a safe place, and I usually am. 

My life’s goal is to eventually become a counselor, psychology is my major, and I already have a group of people that come to me for advice on many different topics including marriage, parenting, mental health, jobs, relationships, and so much more.  I don’t think that I have ever left one of my many conversations feeling quite like I do today.  I am on the verge of tears feeling like I have no business pursuing the career that I desire.  Clearly I am a failure even at what I supposedly am good at. 

My brain tells me that, see?  I really am a failure.  I truly am worthless.  I can’t even help someone close to me, how could I ever help a stranger?  I can’t even be trusted by someone who is supposed to care about me, how can anyone else ever trust me?  

But more than anything, I am on the verge of tears and am feeling very heavy because I truly did blow it.  I am saddened because I was not a trustworthy person to come to.  I did not take the heart that was offered to me and handle it with care.  I was selfish and scared.  I was not calm and composed, I took it personally, and it was something that wasn’t about me.  And I don’t know how to mend this situation.  I don’t know how to show this hurting person that I really am there for them, that I care about how they feel.  I don’t know how to show them that they are believing lies about themselves and that none of the things they said are true.  Maybe I don’t know how to do that because I cannot believe it myself? 

I am frightened at the honesty and hopelessness in this person’s words.  They said things like “I am done trying,” “I give up,” and “I am done.”   I don’t know how to encourage someone who is completely giving up on themselves, who has no more fight to fight.  How do I show that I will fight for them?  How do I fight for them?  I begged this person to get some help, I begged this person to try.  But they really are done and that made me sob.  It made me cry so hard.  I don’t know how to help someone who won’t even try.  But what I did do definitely didn’t help, and now they probably won’t reach out to anyone else. 

I failed miserably.  I let my own fears cloud my judgement.  I let my own lies reflect outwardly.  I have been on the edge of giving up.  I have been tempted to give up.  I keep going for my kids and my husband.  I try to prove to others that I can do it.  I feel like if others see that I can handle it, then maybe they will see me as something other than a failure, and that will make it true.  I think of the family members who have bullied me, or leaders that have tore me down in the past and I think that if I can prove to them that I am better than they thought, that maybe I really am.  But this reminded me, I am nothing.  I am worthless like I have been told most of my life.  I have nothing to offer.  I am a failure.  

Choosing to Continue

Depression is something that I have struggled with since I was a teenager.  I went through a really dark time in high school where I felt utterly alone, unlovable, unwanted, and like I was just nothing.  Kids can be mean and since I was a little girl I just wanted to be accepted.  There are only a handful of people that have accepted me and loved me for who I am, but I still have some serious abandonment issues.

I can remember being under the age of 10 and putting a plastic grocery bag over my head because I had heard you could suffocate and die.  I remember even trying to hold my breath to speed up the process.  I wasn’t doing it for attention, I was doing it because I honestly felt like I was worthless.  Since I was adopted on my dad’s side I so badly wanted to fit in with that family.  They were this big awesome-looking family who all got along and who, to this day, are still incredibly close.  Some of them accepted me and loved me, while others made it a point to remind me that I was not a “real” Bassett.  I have always felt like I am not a “real” anything, like I don’t belong anywhere.  These were some of my very first wounds, along with feeling like my biological father didn’t want me either.  That is an entirely different topic, though. 

I think my hurt and anger made it easy for me to verbally lash out at people which made it difficult to make and keep friends in high school.  My friends were all on again and off again.  I look back at who I was in high school and totally understand why people didn’t like me, I mean, I didn’t even like myself (and sometimes I still don’t).  In addition to this, people in school called me fat, which made me feel even worse about myself. My youth pastor even used words to hurt me deep to my core.  I was completely at the place of feeling like there would never be redemption for me, that there was no hope of ever being loved or understood.  I was alone and miserable.

My senior year of high school I had pretty much given up on everything, I stopped doing my homework, slept through classes, and it got to the point where I didn’t even get to walk at my graduation.  I had my diploma a week after graduation and still had a 3.425 overall GPA but I never had a graduation party, I never had a celebration, I didn’t get to walk with my friends.  This was very hard for me and at this point I had almost entirely stopped eating and if I ate, I was throwing up my food.  The thoughts of suicide were always there.  I was desperate, alone, and didn’t want to keep living with the pain I was in.  Everything felt hopeless.

My anxiety also grew as time went on which made life even more unbearable.  I was worried at all times about everything and it literally made it difficult to breathe.  By the time I was pregnant with my second baby I was fantasizing about jumping out of the car while we were on the freeway.  I used to time it to where I knew a semi truck was right beside us.  I figured it would be quick and painless.  The mom in me didn’t do it.  I would then be hurting my unborn child and didn’t want to do that, so I pressed forward.  I was put on antidepressants as soon as Alex was delivered but it just made things worse.  I was in a fog, I had no feeling at all.  I was mostly numb, but still wanted to end things.  We switched medicines around but have still never found anything that works. 

Being pregnant actually kept me alive.  Having my kids kept me living.  I wanted to be alive for them.  I wanted to strive to be the best mom I could, for them.  I knew if I gave in to my depression I would end up getting them taken away from me, and I couldn’t live with that.  It isn’t a life I wanted or one I wanted for them.  So I pressed on.  I pushed through because they deserved better.  I never wanted any of them to feel unwanted or unloved the way I had felt.

Then March 24, 2011 happened.  My mom died.  Strangely enough I pressed forward.  I went into action mode.  I fed my dad, I talked to medical examiners, to detectives, I notified all our family and friends.  I took care of everyone.  I buried it.  Everyone around me to this day has been worried because I haven’t grieved the loss of my mom, not really.  I have turned it into a fact, something in a box that is almost unreal, something that can’t really hurt me.  Why?  Because I am not sure I can make it through that loss.  My mom held me together through all of my ups and downs.  She was one of the few people who saw my heart, saw my good, saw who I really am.  She didn’t just see my behaviors, but she saw my heart.  She advocated for me.  She loved me.  She deemed me as lovable and demanded that others saw me as such.  And then she was gone.  I was dealing with deep life altering depression before I lost my biggest advocate.  She was my mediator.  She was everything.  She really helped keep me alive all those years, and she made me feel worthy, lovable, and special.  I know that I cannot handle that loss.  It is way too big. 

I have chosen to keep going because I could not leave my kids motherless the way that I am motherless.  They deserve to feel loved and worthy.  They deserve to feel understood and advocated for. They deserve to have their mom.  So I am here.  I will always fight for them.  But sometimes the suicidal thoughts still flood in.  Sometimes I still fantasize about ending it.  I will not take that selfish route because my husband and kids deserve more.  The handful of people who truly love me deserve better. 

Depression is no joke.  Anxiety sometimes strangles me to the point where I can’t function.  These are my daily struggles.  Last night I got a semicolon tattoo.  The semicolon represents my choice to keep going.  A semicolon is where the author could have ended the sentence but chooses to keep going.  My story isn’t over yet.  It may be an incredibly painful journey, but it is my journey.  I choose to keep walking it.  Sometimes I have to take it minute by minute, but I am choosing to continue on.  

I was lucky enough to have my best friend by my side when I got my semicolon, and she got on as well. 

Lost in the woods, unworthy of rescue

I have been working very hard at keeping myself busy.  I workout, clean, take kids to and fro, work part time, swim, etc.  There has been so much going on in my head that I am sometimes unsure how to deal with it all.  Be it the pain of losing my mom, the pain of my kids growing up, the physical pain in my body, the stress of finances, or the emotional pain of life, I occasionally feel incapable of coping.  There is stress, there is sadness, there is confusion, but most of all there is longing.

I long so much to have my mom back in my life.  I long to hear her, to see her, to feel her.  Since I have been so good at repressing my feelings, I have lost so much of her.  For a couple years now I have not been able to hear her voice, to hear her laugh, or to see memories of her.  I try to go back in my head and remember specific things that I know we did, but I cannot see her in them.  It is like my brain has removed the very existence of her.  When I try even harder my brain replaces her image with that of a photo, generally a picture I have seen recently.  She has been reduced to nothing but photographs. 

I blame myself for this mess.  I am the one who has chosen not to feel the pain of her death.  I am the one who has made it a fact, something generally easy to talk about and not at all personal.  I am the one who has separated myself from reality, in fear that it would destroy me.  The times I have let a little bit of the sensation in, I have been unable to control the overwhelming explosion of sadness.  I am terrified that if I allow myself to open the closet door, to let all that darkness in, that I will not ever get back to the light.  I am afraid it will swallow me up and I will never emerge out of it all.  Just cracking the door open a little takes me off my feet and I am inconsolable.

I still don’t know how to move on with my life.  I honestly do not even know who I am anymore.  I look back over the past couple years and it feels like I am looking at someone else’s life. I long to remove the past four years from the record.  If I could snap my fingers and go back in time I would. I don’t know how to move on without my mom.  She kept me grounded in a firm foundation of truth and wisdom.  I was a better mother, a better wife, a better friend, and a better person.  I just do not know how to do it without her, and without being able to hear her, feel her, or even remember her, I am just lost. 

Sometimes in life I feel like I am just going through the motions, but am almost empty inside.  I feel like I am lost in the woods.  It is breathtaking and beautiful, but also scary and lonely.  I can hear the echo of birds calling to one another, finding each other.  But I am here alone with nobody to find me.  I am a lost cause who should honestly give up hope of any rescue.  Nobody has probably even noticed I am missing, and the ones who have probably feel better off without me.  When I look at myself I think they probably are better off without me.  I am so inclined to just mess everything up.  I am so talented at ruining the good around me.  I turn smiles into tears, approval into disappointment.  I push everyone away from me. 

I sit around here feeling lonely, but I have shut anyone close to me out.  There are so many people upset with me right now and that is mostly because during a really hard time I stopped responding to anyone.  I stopped answering my phone, didn’t respond to texts, and disconnected all social media.  People who had been close to me, who had been a support system were shut out and I still haven’t found forgiveness for that.  I chose to shut everyone out of my life, but then felt lonely and bad about myself that nobody was there.  It is such a vicious cycle. I have been doing better about this, but sometimes still go back to shutting people out.  I just fall off the face of the earth because it is easier than dealing with reality.  I feel like everyone is just ready for me to be okay and that I am going to disappoint them all again.

This downward spiral that I have been on since my mom died has been very unpredictable, unstable, and devastating to those of us involved.  There have been very few able to walk it with us and for those who have stuck with us, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.  It is by the very grace of God that our family is still in tact, that we are still married, and that there are still a few people who truly love our family. 

I am so very ready to wake up from this nightmare.  

The stranger in the mirror...

I haven’t felt free to blog in the longest time.  This entire past year has been the worst in so many ways for my family, and I am not truly able to be unrestricted with the content that it all includes.  Since I am so open and vulnerable in my writings I have been afraid to write as I might divulge too much information to the public.  I am not good at being censored, and in the attempt at being discerning I have kept any writings of mine private, minus sharing them with a very select few.

I am currently enrolled in school this semester and have the wonderful opportunity to be taking a poetry class.  I was originally very timid and uncomfortable with the idea of poetry, as I hadn’t written poetry since junior high and I was unsure I even had the capacity to be poetic any longer.  I decided to go outside my comfort zone and even though the class has only met twice I have already been enlightened and am already enjoying the outflow of poetry out of me.  Writing has always been an outlet for my thoughts and emotions and exploring the original form of my writing is exciting and special to me.    

Today in class I was literally fighting back tears as our writing exercise became so real and personal to me and the outflow of my thoughts shocked me.  After everything that has happened over this past year, I am really struggling with who I am as a mom, a wife, and a human being.  This was so evident in my poem today, and I have a feeling will be for quite some time.  The person I see in the mirror has no face, at least not one that I recognize and those thoughts were echoed in my little poem. 

The teacher passed out a sheet that had a lot of quotes from different poets and people regarding what poetry is, and several struck me. 

“Poetry is the rhythmical creation of beauty in words.” –Edgar Allan Poe

“Poetry is a mirror which makes beautiful that which is distorted.” –Percy Bysse Shelley

“Poetry is when an emotion had found its thought and the thought has found words.” –Robert Frost

There are more, but I won’t go on.  I think of poetry as medicine for the soul, a release of energy that we are otherwise imprisoned to.  My poem came out dark and painful.  He had us write in a specific style, just filling in the blanks.  The style was “I used to be ___, but now I am ___.”  This is the poem that I became entangled with as I wrote:

I used to be perfect,

But now I am broken.

I used to be worthy,

But now I am nothing.

I used to be stronger,

But now I am timid.

I used to be pink,

But now I am dark.

I used to be sure,

But now I am sorry.

I used to be happy,

But now I am anguished.

I used to be hopeful,

But now I am doubtful.

I used to be spotlight,

But now I am shadows.

I used to be supported,

But now I am deserted.

I used to be a smile,

But now I am a tear.

I used to be me,

But now I am a stranger.

I used to be loveable,

But now I am a disappointment.

I used to be an asset,

But now I am a debt.

I used to be full,

But now I am empty.

I used to be the cause,

But now I am the effect.

I used to be repair,

But now I am destruction.

I used to be whole,

But now I am crushed.

I used to be new,

But now I am ruined.

I used to be present,

But now I am past.

I used to be able to breathe,

But now I am suffocated.

I used to be encouragement,

But now I am consequences.

I used to be a person,

But now I am a monster.

I used to be a crier,

But now I am a weeper.

I used to be life,

But now I am death.

I used to be brave,

But now I am small.

I used to be fruitful,

But now I am untrimmed weeds.