Depression vs. Being Depressed

I've been wanting to write this for quite some time, but wasn't sure if I could ... or even if I should.  There are some things that are just too scary to think about, let alone share.  What am I actually going to say?  What will you all think of me when you read it?  I don't want to lose anymore.  I can't.  But I also can't continue to hide behind this rock and just keep quiet - that isn't who I am, and it isn't fair to any of us.

There's a history of mental illness in my family.  I don't really know how far back it goes, or how many twists and turns it takes.  I just know that there are many people sitting on the tree who struggle with all different types of issues.  I don't have a clear diagnosis for myself, because as I've aged, I've changed my outlook a bit, and adapted to other things.  I'm way overdue for a full physical evaluation, and I know that my poor health has a lot to do with a lot of the obstacles I have to climb.  Of course, with the case plan I've had this past year, I've undergone both psychological and psychiatric evaluations, and while it is clear that I have some stressful situations going on that have obvious negative affects, I don't suffer from mental illness.

But that hasn't always been the case.  In the past, I was diagnosed with severe depression and borderline bi-polar disorder.

Wait ... how can that be?  Mental illness works just like any other disease, right?  If a person is diagnosed as diabetic, isn't he *always* a diabetic?  Well, there's a gray area.

DISCLAIMER!!!  Before I go any further, I want to be VERY clear here.  I am NOT a doctor.  I am NOT a medical professional of ANY kind.  Any medical information that you get out of this blog is simply what I have learned about myself, and my own experiences.  Mental illness - of any degree - can be very tricky and take many shapes and forms.  I'm only writing this to tell my own personal journey.  If you struggle, please see a doctor, talk to people, get help.  The only way you can get through any mental illness is if you find a doctor and/or counselor that you trust, that you like, and that understands you, keep seeing that doctor, establish a good and honest relationship, and get the exact care you need.  That kind of medical attention wasn't always available for me, and that is the primary reason I've had such a rough time dealing with my own head.

Looking back now, the only times that I've ever seen a doctor was when I was in crisis situations.  Not just when I'm "a little blue" or when "I'm a bit overwhelmed" ... but when the proverbial poo was hitting the fan, and when things were so bad that even healthy-minded people would be freaking the freak out.  So, of course they're going to think I'm bat guano insane ... because in those times, I WAS!!  There were also a couple of times when I was dealing with postpartum depression, and for whatever doofy reason, it wasn't brought up that I had given birth in the last year.  OY.

I don't want to sit here and say I have the worst life, because I know there are so many of you that are traveling horrendous paths right now, and I don't want to diminish your struggle at all.  And let's face it, have we watched the news lately?  If you're reading this, chances are you have electricity and running water and live in a real house within a country that doesn't ban the internet, so we're already doing better than a huge percentage of humans just right there.  That being said ... the crud I've dealt with over the past few years has been hard.  A lot of it is my own doing (or mine and Hubby's since we're in this together), and a huge portion of it is outside circumstance ... but the path I've walked has looked more like straight up a cliff than meandering through a forest.

So how am I *really* doing?

I get asked this a lot, and there are several factors on which I base my answer:  whom I'm speaking to in the first place (because, seriously, not everyone needs to know all this junk), how exhausted I really am that day, how much caffeine I've had (don't lecture me, I'm too tired LOL), and how many meltdowns the kids have experienced so far in the day.  For the most part, in any given moment, I'm "alright".  Not bad, not great ... just alright.

I have days when I want to hide under the covers and binge-watch Netflix and eat ice cream and nap.  I think we all have those days.  The question of whether or not this is depression - I think - comes down to how many days are we talking, here?  If you're like this more often than not, chances are that you're dealing with depression.  For me, it is generally one or two days a month, and it seems to follow a cycle, but I haven't yet been able to figure it out.  (Again, I *really* need to get in to see my doctor.)  It isn't every month, and sometimes it is just a morning that I'm sluggish and moody, and then I'm fine.

Then there are the days when I'm just mad.  No one has done anything to hurt me, there isn't a situation going on ... just everything ticks me off.  Kids didn't put their dirty laundry away?  I'm yelling at the first reminder instead of the fourth.  Hubby is frustrated that we didn't discuss the kid taxi for that week?  I'm yelling about how our communication is in crisis and he never listens instead of backpedaling and going back to the schedule we need and making sure everything is covered and settled.  Dad and/or in-laws being grumpy and demanding?  I'm stomping around my room throwing inanimate objects instead of just rolling my eyes and going on.  Again, I think that what you have to decide here is how often this is happening.  For me, it might be once every other couple of months.

So is this depression?  I don't know, actually.  When I take a look at the bigger picture, I know that I could be doing better right now.  Mental health goes hand in hand with your physical health, and if you're not taking care of your body, your brain is going to take a hit.

I ran out of my vitamins a couple of months ago, and I keep forgetting to get more (you'd think this was a simple thing to remedy, but I keep forgetting because I'm a doof).  When I do take them, I have more energy and function better overall.  Yes, I know, I've got to get them.  I will try to remember this week.  ;)

I haven't been sleeping great, and I'm all out of whack.  Quite frankly, Hubby's weird work schedule does a number on me, and I often feel overwhelmed just by trying to get the kids to school in the morning by myself and to bed at night by myself, even though it isn't a daily thing.  I think now that I'm older, my body is starting to thrive more on routine, and we don't have that with his work schedule.  It was a little easier when we were homeschooling, because I didn't have to be anywhere, but now that getting up and out of the house by a certain time is a *must*, and getting the kids to bed by a certain time so they get enough sleep is a *must*, I feel a bit more pressure and I get tripped up by it.  I'm working on it, but it is a slow progress as I figure out my own needs and try to balance them with everything else going on.

I'm not exercising like I was.  I've almost completely stopped, and we all know that is not doing me any justice whatsoever, for MANY reasons.  I have more excuses than my pride will allow me to admit.  But when I took one of those long hard looks in the mirror the other day, I told myself to shut up and at least get out and walk.  I'm doing better, because I'm afraid I'll kick my butt.  ;)

Is a better sleep schedule, working out, and a few vitamins enough to fix me?  I don't know.  I know that when I'm doing all of those things, I feel better.  I know that I feel better when I'm out photographing and editing (until my editing folder gets as long as it is right now, then I get a little anxious lol).  I know that I feel better when I'm journaling and blogging.  I know that I feel better when I'm spending more time reading and studying the Bible.  Yet, for the past couple of months, I've left all of those things behind.  I'm not very smart, am I?

So, could my own definition of depression be that when I'm not helping myself be better, then I get worse?  Could it be that the more I wallow, the more I *want* to wallow?  And is this actual depression, or am I just not in a good place right now?

To that end ... well ... I'm *not* in a happy place right now.  The events of this past fall did me in.  Issues with family, this stupid court system, worrying about job situations, the holidays ... it has not been a fun season.  I think, that for me personally, I face the tough things head-on, and just want to collapse when they're over, and sometimes that collapse lasts longer than I want to.  When that happens, I start abandoning all the things that I know make me feel better, because I'm just not sure I'm ready to feel better - I fell justified feeling crappy.  Once all of those things are gone, I start to wallow.  I'm miserable when I wallow.  So, I wallow just long enough until I tick myself off, then get up and start doing the things again, and I feel better.  When I start to feel better, I do better.  When I do better, I AM better.  And all goes well ... until another curve ball throws me off track again.

So, again, the question ... am I depressed?  Or do I suffer from depression?  Probably both.  I strongly feel that, for me personally, dealing with meds is not an option I want to face right now.  I've been down that road too many times, and each time has screwed me up more than the last.  I'm not saying I'll never take meds ever, I just don't think so right now.  I think, at least for now, my best option is to just keep chugging along.  I'm very blessed to have a wonderful husband who understands that I struggle, and who is patient with me ... most of the time ;)

And ... I have all of you.  Most of you may not have realized that this is what I face.  Some of you may be facing some of the same issues.  You're not alone, we're all in this together, and we can all get through it together.  If you're buried ... reach out to me, you know I'll understand.  Paths intertwine, they're not meant for you to traverse them alone.

Folding on Folding

Most people think I'm a control freak.  They think I have to have every little detail planned and every little aspect of every situation exactly how I want it, where I want it, when I want it.  But, really, I'm not.  I'm somewhat demanding, but not controlling.  I'm actually fairly easy going.

Unless, of course, we're talking about how the laundry is folded.  That is a whole different story.  We don't have a lot of storage area for clean clothes, so I'm very specific in how I fold clothing and where they are put away.  I border on psychological disorder, I admit it.  When I sit down to fold laundry, I threaten anyone who comes near my neatly stacked piles.  When I'm done, it looks like a department store.  I'm always so proud of what I've accomplished.  I've carefully paired jammies, neatly organized school uniforms, and have Hubby's work uniforms at the ready for his next shift.  Perfection.

Until ...

It always happens, it never fails.  Something always happens, and then I'm angry and bitter about the hours of hard work every week that goes into maintaining our laundry, only to have ungrateful beasts destroy it.   And yes, that sounds harsh, but when I'm tired, and I'm having an OCD attack?  Yes, everyone is a beast.

The last straw?  I had paired up jammies for the Littles and they were stacked neatly on my dresser.  I had not put them away yet, as I had been going through a large box and it was blocking the drawers where their things went.  All it took was one time for me to instruct them to *carefully* take their jammies off the stack.  That didn't go as planned.  I hit my wall, I was done.

You have to understand just how many hours I spend every week folding laundry.  There are five of us.  Hubby only has 3 sets of uniforms, Littles have enough pieces to get them through the week, but they have favorite things that they like to wear more often.  Princess never has enough jeans - ever.  I've tried having a laundry day, I've tried doing laundry every day ... it doesn't matter how I do it, I end up folding laundry about ten hours a week.

Do you know what I could accomplish with TEN HOURS A WEEK?!?!?!  ::sigh::

I certainly know what I could get done with an extra ten hours.  With that realization, I jumped in the car, headed out to wal-mart, and got a new laundry sorter - one of the really nice three-compartment ones that rolls, and is very sturdy.    Three compartments, three kids (here at home - as a reminder, Red lives with Granddad) ... Princess, Fluffy, and Smiley.

The new rules:

• I will wash and dry clothing, and keep the dirty laundry from overtaking us all.
• When the laundry comes out, I will sort their laundry into their individual compartments.
• I will continue to fold school uniforms and church clothing - just so we're all assured they have their uniforms and don't look like ragamuffins.
• They will attempt to fold a little bit every day, or at least make sure that their compartment isn't overflowing. 
• If they would like help or instruction with their folding, I'll be more than happy to do so, provided they ask politely, and at a time when I'm available to do it.  Otherwise, they can fold their things anyway they'd like.
• They will put their clothes away neatly, and wherever they want it - as long as it is AWAY.
• I'll go easy on them while they're learning, but we will get to a point where if they don't put their things away, they will receive punishments.

I have made the choice to not care what it looks like.  I just ... don't ... care.  I have to not care.  The time that I'm spending worrying about how nicely their undershirts are folded is *killing* me.  They are smart, helpful, and independent - all of them.  Time for them to take those three attributes out for a test drive.  

So far, the plan is working out quite well.  They have kept on top of it, and they seem eager to be in charge of their own belongings.  I know that this is a honeymoon period, of sorts, but I'm going to ride it for as long as I can!!  Last night it took me 10 minutes to deal with two loads of laundry.  A girl could get used to this kind of luxury ...

The Big Transition

As my writing all of last year has proven, it has been extremely hectic.  We were dealing with legal things, or moving, or appointments ... I didn't feel like I even had time to breathe.  The entire year was just a series of stressful nonsense, and the ones paying the price were the Littles.  Homeschooling started taking more and more of a backseat.  We were missing more days than we were schooling, or we'd wake up on Monday morning and start really strong, but by Wednesday, we'd be so burnt out, we'd quit.  Or, we'd have to stop for an appointment, or we'd get sick, or ... or ... or ... or ...

Well, you get the idea.

I've blogged so infrequently that I can't even remember if I wrote about us moving in with Hubby's father and grandfather, but we did that last April to help take care of them.  We were very blessed in that the school district that we moved into has some of the highest rated schools in the county.  Hubby had commented several times over the months that maybe we should consider taking a deep breath and putting the kids in public school.  I kept fighting it.  I was just so determined that we should be homeschooling, yet we were all stressed.  In the meantime, Princess - who had been living with her dad for a few years and had been in public school - had moved in with us.

School started on a Monday ... the Friday before, we were sitting around the breakfast table, trying to figure out how our schedule was going to work the following week.  I was burnt out.  That week had been a nightmare.  I had so much emotional baggage, and so much frustration, that nothing had gotten done.  It was so bad, that I started crying because I was so worried about how I was going to handle Red living with my dad and starting his Freshman year of high school (ACK!!! lol), and Princess living with us and how I was going to keep ahead of her schedule on a daily basis, school the Littles, and still get housework done, all while continuing to attempt to build our photo business.  I broke down.  I couldn't breathe.  Hubby gave me "the look" - the one where I know he means business.  He suggested that now would be the perfect time to enroll the kids into public school.  Fluffy would be going into 2nd grade (technically third, but due to how our school year calendar is scheduled, she hadn't finished 2nd grade yet, and with the change that she would undergo changing into public school, we figured her staying in 2nd wouldn't be too bad) ... and Sir Smiley would be starting Kindergarten.  Really, the timing couldn't be better.

I looked at him, and all I could feel was dejection, and that I couldn't go another step.  I couldn't go another day fighting all the battles - most of them within my own heart.  I looked Hubby in the eyes and said, "We've got one day to get their paperwork together, better get dressed and get a move on."  He was shocked.  He thought I was kidding at first.  I assured him that I was going to cry and be emotional, and probably go through some major feelings of failure, but I was, indeed, serious.

So far, this school year has been pretty crazy.  The first assumption was that I'll have all the extra time on my hands, and my level of stress will decrease substantially, and think about how much I'll be able to get done now!!

No.

Just ... no.

I'll be honest ... the first couple of months I battled severe depression over schooling.  I couldn't fight the feelings of failure.  I screwed up.  I let them down.  It took quite some time to break through the wall that I built around myself.  What finally did it?  The Littles have an incredible art teacher, and we'd been studying an eclectic assortment of art the last few months.  Mr. Art Teacher sent a note home:  "I just wanted to say how impressed I am with the work you've done with Fluffy and Smiley!  Today we were talking about Picasso and Van Gough, and Fluffy knew every single piece of art!"  My heart exploded with pride!  He went on to say that he's never had a student so young be so knowledgable, and I must have been doing something right when we were at home.  The very next week was open house, when the teachers meet with parents on a one-on-one basis, and Fluffy's teacher said she had the highest reading level in the class, and she had an insatiable thirst for learning *everything* and she was so exciting to teach.  I had been working with Sir Smiley's teacher, had gone on a few field trips with them, and she loves my little monkey, and is always talking about what a joy he is to have in class.  It took quite a while, but my heart finally felt at ease.

My days now are still very busy.  I always have photo editing to do, or projects to work on ... or laundry to fold!!!  ACK!!  The laundry!!!!  I work in the elementary library once a week for a couple of hours - mostly to just get out of the house and stretch my legs a bit - and the littles ones are so cute!  Every once in awhile, I go up to Princess' middle school or Red's high school for a couple of hours to help with a project, but I've been careful to not get too weighed down with anything so far.

For now, I'm very satisfied with keeping the kids in public school.  I don't know if it will be forever, and I have the assurance that should we decide to homeschool again, I won't be starting from scratch, and I'll know what I'm facing.

I'm mostly relieved that my friends have been so supportive.  While I did receive a bit of negativity, everyone understands the walls I've been up against and have been encouraging.  If I were to advise any other family on the precipice of having to make this decision, to just be mindful more of what is best for them and for their children.  This goes back to the oxygen mask on the plane - if you aren't strong, you can't be strong for your children.

Keep strong, fellow parents ... the education of your children doesn't have to break you down.  It will be most successful when you're all on the same page, and you're all feeling uplifted!