A friend of mine saw me dropping off my daughter at one of her extracurricular activities and he tried to catch up as we haven’t seen each other in a long time. Maybe it was social distancing or lack of opportunity, but my usual sparkling personality didn’t have shine. I felt our conversation lagged and beyond the perfunctory exchanges, I didn’t feel motivated to share the years’ worth of Covid hibernation. Maybe I was distracted. He eventually asked, “You alright? You seem distant.” I lied saying I was just busy and tired.  

The truth of the matter was that I was barely hanging on. A shift from equal to majority custody and all the transitional conflicts with the ex has taken its mental and financial toll through the courts. At the same time, my house was undergoing renovations and the delays meant my daughter and I were still homeless living in a basement rental unit much longer than expected. Even though I have a builder and a project manager, I still spend time with subcontractors and trades explaining designs and doing walk-throughs. At the same time, my work has crazy deadlines and not enough resources, so I was pulling 14-hour days! Add to this, I got emotionally involved with someone and it didn’t end well for me. I was staring at the horizon daydreaming about a version of reality that wasn’t and didn’t realize that the tides of depression were already chest deep. I lost my appetite; I wasn’t sleeping well or slept too much; I wasn’t exercising; I became disinterested in many of the things I used to get excited over; and the temporary basement felt like a seasonal tomb. The only two things I could do on autopilot was to keep a stoic face to my daughter who can’t know I’m falling apart and being a hardworking employee because it took me away from my worries for most of the workday. At night, I would crash from exhaustion only to wake with barely enough energy to brighten my daughter’s day. But often, I would spontaneously be awashed with emotions so overwhelming it would leave me rudderless. How did I get here? My dark place is usually a refuge I reluctantly go to by choice, but it seems this place has taken over much of my real world.

 

I have been lying to people telling them I am okay. I need to practice saying to myself that I am not. That first step was the toughest to take.

 

I thought depression is triggered by an event. No, it snuck up on me. I’ve been busy at work before but projects are usually cyclical with definable beginnings and ends. But everything seemed blurred. I tell myself that after this part of the project, I will take a break. I tell myself that after the family court Motions, I will take a break; I tell myself that after my daughter’s school semester, we’ll will take a break. I knew I was lying to myself that things will be fine when my Tuesdays already felt like a Friday. Like a frog sitting in warming water, there never was clear warning which ensures only one outcome. But I try to remember that the brakes are on the inside of a runaway car, always under my control. I try.

I thought surrounding myself with family and friends will help me. No, I couldn’t see the forest for the trees. Even very close siblings and friends who know me for most of my life are only able to help marginally. They don’t fully know my situations (and I’m disinclined to overshare). They aren’t trained mental health professionals (and I’d refused their help me even if they were). And they will project themselves onto me and reinterpret my problems to fit their solutions. Social gatherings are fine, but my problems are layers deep into my psyche. A madding crowd is no place to work on the self.

I thought I can isolate my problems by solving them. No, depression is emotionally based, there’s no logic to it. We cannot always solve our problems; we can only work through them. We cannot simply treat the symptoms that we see and be blind to the underlying causes that can simply manifest in different forms. Depression is like a cancer of the mind. Ignoring it will do nothing; herbal serenity will do nothing; even medication will do nothing but numb the pain. I must look at the cause and eradicate it to the point of remission and then be always vigilant.

I thought I saw the light at the end of the tunnel. No, it was another on-coming train. Therapy is not a one and done approach to good mental health. And when I excavate the inner recess of the mind, I find issues upon issues buried like overgrown calluses. I can’t be fooled by immediate gains and abandoned the mental mining effort. The true work comes when I’ve struck more than just compacted sediments; I have to go deep into the psychological bedrock.

I have lost count the number of times I have walked this beaten path to my dark place. Seems I can never escape it and it has become an inextricable part of me. My therapist helps me and every time I go, I feel an ounce lighter; but there’s still a thousand pounds on my shoulders. I don’t know how or when I will get through it, but she does tell me that I’ve never forfeited my choice. My reactions to things and the way they impact me has always been in my control. I just got lost. Very lost. And I had forgotten who I was. I reflected on that and wondered about the possibility that I was trying to control too many things, too intensely, for too long. I need to learn to care deeply about fewer things and not at all about many things. I have been lying to people telling them I was okay. I need to practice saying to myself that I am not. That first step was the toughest to take.