Category Archives: Family

When You Love Someone With Depression

When You Love Someone With Depression
When You Love Someone With Depression

Whether it’s a spouse, a child, a parent, or a good friend, chances are you know someone who is battling depression.  Sharing a portion of your life with someone who is dancing with this insidious disease will be an experience like no other.  Like being on a rollercoaster that constantly changes speed.  And direction.  In the dark.  Without a pre-determined track.

Like many other diseases, severity and symptoms can vary widely.  Is it curable?  Yes, but its rate of recurrence kind of discourages the word “cure”.  Is it fatal?  It can be.  Is it contagious?  It sure feels like it.

Unlike other diseases, there are no real tried and true treatments.  Or causes.  There are a GAZILLION treatments, and absolutely no idea which one will work for your loved one.  There are also a BAJILLION (yes, I can make up words…shut up about it) professional opinions about those treatments.  PROFESSIONAL.  As in, this is what they specialize in.  Yet, if you see 3 of those professionals, they’re likely to propose 3 different types of treatment. That’s really reassuring.

At least you’ll be able to tell right away when you’ve found the right path to managing / beating this thing.  Oh, wait….no you won’t.

It’s messy.  And scary.  And emotional.  And frustrating.  And you’re not even the one suffering!  Well, yes, you are.  But you’re not the patient, and I’m pretty durn shure it’s even worse for them.  Pretty durn.

If you love someone with depression, you already know all this, and you don’t need to hear it again.  So what I really want to tell you is that it’s ok.

It’s ok.

It’s ok that you sometimes say you have to go pick up something from the store just so you can go sit in a parking lot and cry.

It’s ok that you never know when it’s time to be silent, when it’s time to be reassuring, when it’s time to encourage, or if you’re enabling.  It’s a crapshoot.

fine

You’re allowed to become frustrated.  It’s hard trying to be the strong one when you don’t feel like you are, or even can be, anymore.  You’re allowed to mourn the loss of the relationship that you shared with your loved one BD (“before depression”).

It’s perfectly normal to think that you either A) caused this, or B) can fix this, even though you’ve read all the books and know that neither is true.

It’s ok to have the occasional panic attack.  No, you’re not the only one who goes into full blown hysteria when you text twice with no response, and then, God forbid, have a call go to voicemail.  An hour later, when you finally reach them and learn that they were napping or left their phone in the car, you may WANT to slap them, but you should restrain yourself.  Also, extra points to those who have perfected silent hysteria.  Just keep driving, or working, or trying on clothes like your heart isn’t pounding out of your chest.  Good job!

You’re allowed to put some responsibility on the patient.  Listening to Enya while lamenting that everyone would be better off without them is not ok.  Go ahead and temporarily confiscate that iPod and suggest a walk in the park. Just make sure you keep in mind that the real bitch of this disease is that it inherently makes the patient not want to recover.  Thank you, limbic system, for this little twist!

anxiety-humor1

It’s ok that when Robin Williams died, you had a major meltdown.  Just remember that for every Robin Williams, there is also a Charles Schulz or Winston Churchill or Mark Twain, all of whom battled depression but lived full lives.  While that doesn’t help when you wake up in the middle of the night terrorized over the thought of losing this battle, it will help you talk yourself down once the sun comes up.

It’s ok to get angry.  When you’ve had those good days that turn into good weeks and (dare I suggest it?) good months, then out of nowhere, in an instant, you see the physical change in their eyes and expression, and know that the slide has come…it’s ok to cuss and rant about how life is unfair.

It’s ok to continue to live your life.  While your loved one may not be able to face the neighborhood pot luck, it’s ok for you to go.  Depending on the circumstances, it may even be a relief that you go.  Nothing piles guilt on your loved one more than feeling like they’re stealing your joy and ruining your life….and no matter how bad the food at that potluck is, they’ll truly feel like they’re a burden and keeping you from happiness.

You never know what life is bringing.  Embrace the good, acknowledge the bad.  Be patient.  Appreciate each day for what it is.  Let them know that you’re in it together.  Depression sucks, but life doesn’t have to.

It’s ok.

 

A Reminder Named Allison

A Reminder Named Allison

*While I’m out traipsing across the country for my real job, I thought I’d post something that was written 5 years ago today.  I was living in Ft. Lauderdale, FL, away from my family, while I worked.  For sanity, I spent my free time volunteering at a local animal shelter.  This is a story about a dog, one of millions, that explains why I am so passionate about animal rescue.  Please consider a shelter pet.*

Last night, I was invited to the home of friends for dinner & a movie.  They have 2 dogs, sweet mixed breed companions that are well loved members of the family.  One is a little possessive, and will bark at you if you pet the other.  It worked out ok for me, because Moose & Echo have taught me well how to pet 2 dogs simultaneously.

So, I was grateful for some canine time.  This morning, though, I realized that a little dog time is much like one handful of M&M’s….it’s probably plenty, but you really want another handful.

After leaving work today, I went back to the Humane Society.  I continue to be very impressed with this facility and its operation.  The volunteers/employees are friendly and helpful, the animals are always spruced up with neck scarves or bows, the information cards are filled out….it’s just a good facility.   I was happy to see there’s no overcrowding right now.  As a matter of fact, one of the 4 kennels is completely empty, which gives the Society time to do some maintenance on those enclosures.

There’s a real glut of American Staffordshire Terriers in the kennels, a.k.a the politically correct identification of a pit bull.  Whether it’s for marketing purposes or legal reasons, I’m glad to see that the stigma of “pit bull” is left off of the descriptions of these sweet, smart dogs.

While I won’t go so far as to say there are no bad dogs, I am a firm believer that there are no bad breeds….only bad owners

Note:  there ARE bad dogs, but based on a percentage of population, there are way more bad humans than dogs. I’ll take a bad dog over a bad human any day.

I’m going through the kennels, thinking it’s a pretty good day to be a shelter dog.  Happy dogs, lots of families looking for canine companions, with constant exclamations from all sides:  “Awwww, look at her!”  “Moooooom, come see this one!”  “Wow, what a beautiful dog!”  Yep, it was a good day to be a shelter dog in Ft. Lauderdale.

Then I came to the last enclosure in Kennel 4.  Allison’s enclosure.  Beautiful face, beautiful eyes, just a gorgeous young dog.  Another American Staffordshire Terrier, wink wink.  I wonder who picked “Allison” as a name.  It doesn’t suit her at all.  She’s a Chloe, or a Shera, or maybe even a Margot or Zoe, but not an Allison.

She is shaking like a leaf in the center of her kennel. I take another step and she bolts to the back of the kennel.  Check the signs on the chain link, and learn she just had a bath, she’s a year old, she’s in training.  There’s another sign, that says “I’m shy, please be patient”.  “Shy” is kind of a mild word for her.  If she could find a way to crawl into the floor drain, she would.

I sit on the concrete floor.  I’ll go down to her level, let her investigate.  I don’t call her over, but I do talk to her.  I stay still, letting her decide when she wants to take a sniff.  She peeks around the opening into the front part of the kennel, takes 2 steps towards me, then runs to the back.  We do this for 20 minutes.  She is shaking so badly I’m starting to feel guilty for causing this anxiety attack, but I know this behavior isn’t going to get her adopted.  So I wait a little longer.

Eventually, she takes the two steps into the front kennel and doesn’t bolt.  She sits.  She shakes.  No growling, no signs of aggression, and I’m encouraged. I put my hand out, hoping she’ll return the effort and at least lean her nose towards me, but even that minor movement causes retreat.

She tries again.  Hesitantly crossing the divider and slowly sitting down, averting her eyes.  Shaking, shaking, shaking.  I wait.  Whether faith or anxiety or curiosity compels her, I don’t know, but finally she looks at me.  In just the briefest of moments, I see behind her eyes, and know that Allison is the reason I am so passionate about these animals.

Her heart wants to run over and climb on me and lick my face.  She wants nothing more than to have someone throw a ball or play tug of war or get a belly rub.

She is shaking because her fear is greater than her hope. 

Her instinct is to love and protect, but her experience defies her instinct.  She doesn’t know if this human is going to hurt her.  Has she been hit, yelled at, neglected, kicked?  I don’t know what the method of action was, but the result is that she is a dog betrayed.  She doesn’t know what she has done wrong, and is unsure what to do now that will get a good response.  She is fearful, distrustful, terrified…but still wants to trust some human enough to love them.

She puts her front legs forward a bit, a timid introduction to lying down. She is still shaking.  I s-l-o-w-l-y bring the camera up from my lap, and she runs with her tail between her legs.  I’m an idiot for trying to move, and fear we’re going to start from scratch.  It’s beginning to feel like a really awkward slumber party, and my knees are starting to scream protest against the concrete floor. She surprises me, and returns to her hesitant spot in less than a minute.

We hang out this way for another 20 minutes, with Allison fleeing only when prospective adopters walk past.  I sneak 2 pictures.  I finally decide to go, and she turns her head and backs away as I leave.

I have reinforced her fear of rejection.  It breaks my heart.

I walk away wondering if the right person will show up.  I wish I could leave yet another sign on the cage. I would title it “Do You Deserve This Marvelous Animal?”  I want to tell those who are looking for the perfect dog to not be put off by the shaking.  This is a wonderful dog, a beautiful dog, an intelligent dog.  She is going to need a lot of time, a lot of attention, a lot of reassurance. The payback will be huge.  She will be loyal and kind and loving.  She will protect you with her life.  She will be your companion and your confidante.  She will be an incredible family dog.

Tonight, my hope is that the right person will stop long enough to see what’s behind those eyes, and will give her a forever home…and a new name.

Allison

Allison

 

Best. Elves. Ever.

Best. Elves. Ever.

 

 

 

 

Warning:  this post is sickeningly sweet.  It’s about an early Christmas surprise that made me cry.  If this description makes you roll your eyes or let out a big sigh, you might want to scroll on past.

The older I get, the less I want gifts.  Especially at Christmas.  I want to spend time with my friends and family.  I want to watch the wondrous anticipation on my grandchildren’s faces when we go to see the lights.  I want to laugh.  I want to cook, and eat, and bake, and eat some more.  I want to chortle through “National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation” and cry through “It’s a Wonderful Life”.  I want to see parades – the local ones with floats made from farm trailers and hay bales.  I want to make wreaths, decorate trees, light candles, and spend every waking minute with Christmas music playing.

Yeah, I’m one of those.

This year, my Christmas spirit has been a little muted.  Steve’s Dad took a fall in mid-November, and the injury was much worse than initially thought.  Just before Thanksgiving, Steve headed to Canada to help out while his Dad recovered.  I had put my Christmas spirit on ice a bit, wanting to wait until Steve was here to do it all with me.  We both kind of knew that Christmas was a long shot, but decided we’d jump off that bridge when we came to it.

Last week, we jumped.  No doubt about it, we’ll be spending the holiday 1,000 miles apart, for the first time in 17 years.

On the bright side, it’s been too many years since his Mom & Dad have had Christmas with both of their children, and that makes me really happy for all of them.  This will be Steve’s first Christmas with his niece and nephew, which he’s really excited about.  On the down side, it’s really throwing us all off.   The grands miss their Papa something fierce, and I miss him more than that.  He doesn’t realize it  (hell, *I* didn’t realize it), but he’s kind of the frosting that keeps our gingerbread house together, even if I’m the one that makes sure all the gumdrops get put on.

This is my world without Steve

This is my world without Steve

Bottom line, I’ve been wallowing and whining more than I’ve been decking the halls.  I’ve made some half-hearted attempts at leading the  HoHoHo charge.  I changed the regular porch light bulbs to colored bulbs.  I put the tree up (but didn’t decorate it), put the Santa head on the door (which isn’t nearly as gnarly as it reads), and threw up some wreaths.  I even made my own pine roping for the front porch.  I was trying, by God!

Regarding the creation of 50 feet of pine roping:  if you’re already in the throes of Christmas joy, you will find the scent of the pine intoxicating, and hum Christmas carols while you patiently attach small sprigs of holly among the pine.  You’ll sigh with a warm heart when you see the completed project.  If you’re NOT yet basking in the glow of the season, making your own pine roping will cause your arthritis to flare, you’ll fall off the ladder while gathering your cuttings, and it will take you 3 days to get the sap off of everything.  Care to guess which experience I had?

Pine Rope Creation 101:  Wear Gloves

Pine Rope Creation 101: Wear Gloves

I digress.  The bottom line is that rather than swimming in a pool of Christmas bliss, I’ve been flailing around in a bucket of Yuletide pity.  I even traded the Sirius Holly station (channel 17, if you’re still looking for it) to CNN.  You know, nothing like listening to endlessly depressing news to put you in a good mood.  December blasphemy.

Last week I was off on my final business trip for 2014.  I was rather grateful for the distraction.  3 long days of meetings and spreadsheets and budgets, a few good meals, and no boxes of ornaments staring at me at the end of the day.  I’ll take it.

My daughter Krista agreed to stay at the house with the dogs, as Moose is really too old to be boarded any longer.  A further testament to my funk, I stocked up on frozen pizza and cereal for her and Ethan before I left.  The real me would have made her a pan of lasagna (her favorite), and made sure the E-man had Nutella and biscuits.  Welcome to Slacker Central, and I hope the milk isn’t sour.

I came home on Thursday afternoon, buoyed by on time flights and decent weather.  One more work day before my holiday vacation started.  I was, once again, trying to rally my holiday mood.  I picked up Lexi on my way home from the airport since she was exempt from finals (smarty pants!) and needed something to do for the next couple of days.  She’d be a great incentive to get the tree done, and maybe even put out a candle or two.  I flipped back to Sirius channel 17 and focused on happy things.

Since Krista had my house key, she left the back door unlocked for me.  Lexi offered to run around and open the front door while I unloaded luggage, and dogs racing out of the house to greet me (even the hobble-race by Moose) was a welcome sight.  It was nothing, though, compared to walking in the house.

It had been transformed.

Spotlessly cleaned.  Christmas tea towels on display.  Ornaments and garland hanging from the tree.  Table runners.  Winter pine candles.  Most stunning was the removal of a built in, room length table in the dining room that I had wanted to destruct for months, but didn’t have the energy to do it.  It’s gone, and you’d never even know it had been there.

Lexi was beaming.

“Did you know about this?”

Nods.

“Who did it?”

She pointed to a gingerbread train on the kitchen island, with a note.  “Mommy and Aunt Krista and Uncle Alex.  Surprise!”

Best. Elves. Ever.

Best. Elves. Ever.

I wiped my eyes and started dialing the phone.  One after the other.

“Merry Christmas, Mom.”  “I hope you like it.”  “We wanted to help.”  Each one downplayed their role and filled me in on the efforts of the other two.  Of course they did:  these are my kids.  My selfless, giving, children.  If I had known what fabulous adults those little snot buckets were going to mature into, I probably would have grounded them less as teenagers.

I can’t adequately articulate what they gave me this year.  Not just a boost, an attitude adjustment, a helping hand.  All of those things, certainly, but much more.  They reminded me that we’re a family, and families pick each other up.  That when our chain gets weak, they won’t let it break; they link arms and fix it.  They gave me their time and energy, even though they have their own houses to clean and decorate, and their own families to tend to.

They gave me a great big “I love you” Christmas.

And I’m crying again.

Yesterday, Lexi and I went on a whirlwind thrift store adventure.  We bought enough stuffed  bears and bear accessories to create an outdoor Bear Family Display.  We looked up some Pinterest pins on gifts she wanted to make and gathered supplies.  As we arrived home, my kids and the other 6 grandchildren were pulling in, preparing for our Holiday Baking extravaganza.  We laughed and disciplined kids for jumping on furniture and talked about how much we miss Steve and snuck bites of cookie dough and ate sandwiches.

The ManHeisHolShop Bear Family

The ManHeisHolShop Bear Family

We celebrated Christmas.

Just like my friend the Grinch said

Maybe....Christmas means a little bit more

Maybe….Christmas means a little bit more

Enjoy your day, my friends.  I’m going to head into the kitchen and help Lexi with her Pinterest project.  Then some shopping.  Oh, and a lasagna to make for someone who will really love it.

Never doubt how meaningful an act of kindness can be for someone.  You can give someone their best Christmas ever without spending a dime.

Merry Christmas.

merry christmas