Saturday, December 05, 2009

there are no casseroles for depression

George and I were watching a PBS special about depression not long ago when one of the panelists remarked that, "there are no casseroles for depression." Meaning that, of course, people with depression don't generally get a lot of support from their community. Part of this, I think, is because there is still a huge stigma about mental illness. Many people have told me, personally, that depression is really just a sign of weakness and that I should just "pull myself together." Many people who have never dealt with depression don't realize the huge toll it can take on not only the depressed person, but also the family. And it's also true, I think, that people don't know what to say. So they wind up not saying anything at all.

This isn't true of all of my friends and family. I have several people I can count on to be there when the depression hits, as it has recently (after we decided to stop trying to get pregnant) but to be honest, most of the time I feel incredibly alone. And yes, I do tend to isolate myself when I'm depressed; it's hard to reach out for help when you're worried about people will think. I am trying to help myself: therapy, increased antidepressant dose, etc. But mostly it's a matter of dragging myself through, one day at a time, praying that soon the dark fog will lift and I'll feel like myself again. It's so difficult. My heart hurts, literally. The upcoming holiday season has me grieving all over again for my parents and desperately lonely for a family of my own; my eyes ache from crying all of time. So here it is: my attempt to reach out. A phone call, an email, a card--anything to let me know that I matter to you. I feel so useless, and so empty, and so invisible, like if I dropped of the face of the earth no one would notice. I continue to pray, and look for the gifts in the rubble, but have had no success as of yet. The darkness is just too great.

This is, by the way, probably the most difficult post I've ever written. Bless you, my friends.

The list below was taken from the Therese Bouchard's wonderful blog, beyond blue, on beliefnet.com. (It was originally posted by Angela Patterson, click here for the original post.) I thought it was definitely worth passing on...

10 Common Myths About Clinical Depression


"Almost every mental illness ends up accompanied by a barrage of myths, misunderstandings, and misconceptions that cloud the minds of the populace and ultimately produces muddied opinions of the true threat. Unfortunately, one of the most marginalized and ridiculed conditions is also one of the most common. An estimated 17 million Americans suffer from some form of clinical depression a year, most of whom end up never seeking psychological assistance due to feeling undermined and discouraged by the perceptions of society at large. Because those suffering from depression run a much higher risk of committing suicide or acts of self-mutilation than their comparatively healthier peers, it is absolutely integral to understand the complexities and widespread influence of the disease. Only by making an earnest effort to combat these negative and patently false perceptions can the depressed begin to realize that no shame or weakness lay in their situation, thereby removing many of the stigmas and reservations still undeservedly attached to entering into therapy.

1. Depressives are ingrates who lack empathy for real suffering.
One of the most isolating and unjustly prevailing myths regarding clinical depression is that the victims suffer more from a lack of perception rather than a recognized and very serious mental illness. It is not uncommon to hear the depressed speak of instances where friends, family, or another peer try to snap them out of a low point with admonitions like “Just be grateful you don’t have a terminal disease,” and “Maybe if you saw how people lived in third would countries you’d realize you have nothing to complain about.” These statements actually actively harm those suffering from clinical depression far more than they help. Trivializing their very real and very overwhelming struggles serves only to perpetuate already heightened feelings of guilt, shame, and seclusion. Depression’s true nature does not inherently involve a dismissal or ignorance of suffering elsewhere in society, and the implication that victims do not understand the world around them may potentially discourage them to pursue much-needed solace and support. Many of them are eventually led to believe that their anxieties and emotional issues do not matter when stacked up with genocide and cancer and other ills when the truth is that all suffering – no matter the level of severity – must be addressed and quelled if humanity hopes to move forward.

2. Depression is not an illness.

The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, 4th Edition, Text Revision lists three depressive disorders – dysthymic disorder, major depressive disorder, and depressive disorder not otherwise specified (DDNOS. Major depressive disorder is further subdivided into recurrent and single episode, and from there categorized by level of severity. Along with bipolar disorder, the depressive disorders are lumped under the major heading of mood disorders. Because depression is recognized in an official medical and psychological publication used to diagnose and treat patients, it is considered an illness.

3. Depression is nothing more than sustained sadness.

As a mood disorder, one of the major hallmarks of depression is a persistent sense of sadness, hopelessness, guilt, apathy, and anxiety. However, many physiological symptoms also manifest themselves when suffering from depression. Nausea, headaches, general aches and pains, insomnia or oversleeping, exhaustion, fatigue, and over- or under-eating are all commonly associated with depression. Not surprisingly, these symptoms can lead to major health concerns later on in life if left unchecked. Likewise, more severe instances of depression may result in suicide attempts as a means of finally sloughing off the emotional, mental, and physical torment as well as escaping the judgmental scrutiny of friends, families, and contemporaries.

4. Depression can disappear by just thinking happy thoughts.
The old cliché about terminal illness states, “I always thought it was something that happened to other people.” This statement also sums up how depressives generally understand sustained happiness – it is an emotion exclusively rewarded to everyone else, but forever teasingly dangled in front of them as a metaphorical carrot on a stick. Only the most severe cases of depression do not involve small spurts and instances of joy, of course, but the illness includes far too many emotional, mental, and physical complexities to merely disintegrate with the simple act of thinking positively. Many mistake depression for a case of the more common and temporary “blues” and attempt to approach it as such. Though well-intentioned, this mindset carries the same inevitable side effects as the one which pegs depressives as whiny ingrates. It only addresses one aspect of a much broader issue, thus reinforcing the victim’s lonely feelings of being misunderstood. The best way for a concerned family member or friend to tackle the subject with a loved one is to provide support by encouraging them to speak with a professional therapist. Counselors, psychologists, and psychiatrists are all qualified and equipped with the tools necessary to understand and combat depression. If positivity were the only cure, there would be no need to spend the time, money, and resources to train any of them in how to combat the issue.

5. Depression only affects women.

Due to brain chemistry and hormone balances, women are twice as likely to experience depression as men, though men are more likely to commit suicide or develop substance abuse issues as a coping mechanism. By feminizing depression, society stigmatizes men suffering from the illness as somehow weak or less masculine. As if depression did not carry enough unfounded shame along with it, men with the disorder end up facing double the pressure. With a supposedly enlightened society still clinging to archaic ideals that males ought to display stoicism and women stand as emotional pillars, men with depression oftentimes end up ostracized by peers who do not fully comprehend the true nature of the illness. Externally perceived as effeminate and pathetic, depressive men are far less likely to seek therapy and end up self-medicating with drugs, alcohol, or other addictions to curb the anxiety instead. In more extreme cases, some men turn to physical abuse or suicide as an outlet. While stereotypes of masculine and feminine behavior do have a foundation in biochemistry, labeling emotion as solely the domain of women is the root cause of many serious issues regarding men and depression. Breaking down gender barriers as well as promoting an awareness of how the illness manifests itself remains the only real solution to this overarching problem.

6. Depression is a choice.

Like other mental illnesses, those suffering from depression never chose to live their lives swarmed with the mental, physical, and emotional stresses associated with it. This myth forms from similar stock as the ones regarding depression as an ingrate’s condition and belief that a cure lay in only thinking happy thoughts. All three of these falsehoods vastly oversimplify the issue at hand, reducing depression to little more than whining, sadness, and negativity when the reality of the disease is far more intricate and nuanced. The decision over whether or not to pursue psychological treatment is the only choice that victims can actually make for themselves, but the initial onset of the disorder remains entirely beyond their sphere of control.

7. If a parent or grandparent suffers from depression, their kids will too.

No professionals will deny that both nature and nurture play a role in the development of a depressed individual. Genetics does factor into depression, as does body chemistry, environment, and an individual’s psychological profile. Not surprisingly, depressives with parents or grandparents who suffer from the disease as well are far more likely to succumb to it. However, this is not always the case. A child born into a family with a history of depression may not always end up with it. Likewise, a child born into a family free of depression may end up developing the illness later on. Genetics is only one of the many possible causes of depression – its absence or presence does not always indicate that an individual will inevitably display the symptoms later on in life.

8. Suicide attempts are just a plea for attention.

All suicide threats and attempts ought to be regarded with the utmost seriousness. If an individual makes reference to how he or she plans to die by his or her own hand, dial 911 immediately. Statements such as these are not to be taken as petty ploys for attention, but rather as grim cries for help – a signifier that the victim feels so very desperate to free themselves from the bonds of depression that death seems the only viable option. Callously casting aside the suicidal as merely resorting to extreme measures for the sake of a little attention completely belittles and underestimates the true gravity of the issue. They need intense therapy, not pity or eye-rolling condescension. As symptomatic of a much larger problem, suicide attempts must be fully addressed and taken seriously rather than dismissed as little more than histrionics.

9. Depression is a psychosis.

Society as a whole seems to regard all mental illnesses as some level of psychosis, with therapy that both saves and improves lives stigmatized as the resort of the feeble-minded and insane. As per its diagnostic criteria, depression is not considered an inherently psychotic disorder. It is labeled as a corruption of moods, but not always a signifier of mental instability or a detachment from reality. While depression does occasionally operate as a symptom of a serious psychotic disorder, its presence does not always mean the victim fits the psychological profile of an individual with psychosis. Depression usually ends at depression. If a sufferer does not display any other indicators of psychosis, then he or she cannot be considered psychotic.

10. Depression is a result of personality flaws and weakness.

Depression is a result of numerous biochemical, genetic, environmental, and psychological factors entirely beyond the control of the victim. This myth ties in with those touting depression as a convenient excuse for whiny ingrates, the histrionic, and psychotics. Many highly functioning, successful individuals suffer from depression and enter into therapy, become active in raising awareness of the issue, and/or create works of art, literature, and music in order to alleviate the pain. It weakens, but self-control prevents it from becoming a weakness. Like addiction and other mental illnesses, the surest sign of strength and integrity is admitting that there is a problem and actively pursuing healthy treatment. Weakness lay not at all in the diagnosis, but rather in how the victim handles the issues he or she has been given.

In spite of existing as one of the most common mental illnesses in America and beyond, the reality of just how serious clinical depression is remains obscured by the dozens of myths, misunderstandings, and lies permeating society. Spreading the word of the true challenges, setbacks, and struggles that depressives face on a daily basis is the only way to put cracks in these potentially dangerous mindsets. Like all people – mentally ill or not – victims of depression need compassion and understanding if they ever hope to combat their disease. The perpetuation of ignorance and misunderstanding only furthers their symptoms and nurtures shame and guilt far more than it inspires them to seek professional help."

Saturday, November 07, 2009

the red thread

This is going to be a very short post, just an update on our baby situation.

To make a long story short, we are no longer trying to get pregnant. As it turned out, I simply couldn't handle being off of my fibromyalgia medications. My muscle relaxers, Advil, Excedrin, and trazedone (a sleeping medication commonly used to treat fibromyalgia) are all, without question, definitely verboten for anyone trying to get pregnant. And without them, I've wound up in one of the worst fibromyalgia flares in years. I've been in too much pain to function: unable to dress myself, drive the car, cook, get myself to class, type on the computer. So, after talking it over with my husband and my physician, the three of us made the decision that, for me, pregnancy is simply not an option. (If anyone has any doubts about whether or not fibromyalgia is a real, debilitating chronic pain syndrome, check out the mayo clinic website or web md.)

I feel as though I have lost an actual baby, not just the hope of one. I loved this sweet, precious little child, our little red-haired girl; she was planted firmly in my heart and mind, in my very being, and the grief of knowing that she will never come to exist is overwhelming right now.

But I know that I will survive this. And George and I KNOW that there is a child out there, waiting for us, waiting to become part of our family. In a funny way, being adopted myself, adoption, rather than pregnancy, seems like a normal way of becoming a family. So that is the plan.

I'm going to close with a quote I have propped up against my keyboard as I write; it was sent by a good friend when she and her husband adopted a little honey from China, and I have a feeling it's going to be my mantra for some time to come.

"An invisible red thread connects those who are destined to meet, regardless of time, place, or circumstance. The thread may stretch or tangle, but will never break."
--An ancient Chinese belief

Please keep us in your prayers, if you are so inclined.

Saturday, August 22, 2009

a window opens

There is an old saying that when God closes a door, He opens a window. And every once in a while, it seems to come true...

I went in to see my doctor a couple of weeks ago for a medication recheck and, somehow, the conversation drifted to babies. Our Philippines adoption plans fell through earlier this summer--not only are they no longer accepting applications for toddlers, but, according to our adoption counselor, they are about to add medical restrictions. Just about every country we've looked at now refuses to accept parents on anti-depressants. The only country that would possibly accept us is Russia--for a price tag of 30 grand+ and therefore not even within the realm of possibility for us.

So I'm crying, sharing all of this with my doctor, when suddenly she said, "Barbara, have you thought about trying to get pregnant again?" (I should explain here that we did try for a few months about two years ago, after consulting with a genetic counselor and a perinatologist. However, at the time--this was before I went to my beloved pain clinic--I was having chronic migraines. Not exactly conducive to babymaking. So we quit and decided adoption would be easier. Little did we know.)

According to my doc, all the signs indicate that I'm still fertile (I'll spare everyone the gory details) and, despite my seizure disorder, history of depression, asthma, etc., the risks are manageable. I'd still be considered a high-risk pregnancy and need to be under the care of a perinatologist, but chances are more than good that we'd have a HEALTHY BABY!!!!!

IN PRAISE OF FOLIC ACID
The biggest risk to the baby is neural tube defects, such as spina bifida. This is thanks to my anti-seizure medications, which change the way the body uses folic acid; however, taking 4 mg of folic acid by prescription drastically lowers the risk. Yes, gals, that's 4 MILLIGRAMS. And it's been proven to work! (Otherwise I would never even consider pregnancy.)

So our quest begins. If anyone has any advice for me, PLEASE don't hesitate to share!!! I figure that in a way I'm lucky after all that all of my friends have had babies before me--lots of experienced women out there for support!!

And if we can't have a baby this way, then we'll adopt through the MN Waiting Children Program. So come hell or high water, we are going to have a family!

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

top ten things i learned from my mother

THIS IS FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO KNEW AND LOVED MY MOM:
Top Ten Things I Learned From My Mother
(In No Particular Order)


  1. She always told me that love is the only thing that really matters. You can lose your possessions, your job, and your health, but you can always hold on to the love. And in the final analysis, it's the only thing that makes life worth living.
  2. Decorate your house with bookcases, because you can never have too many books! Nothing ever seems quite so bad if you can curl up with a good book and a cup of hot cocoa.
  3. Class is not determined by money or social position; rather, a truly classy person is one who goes out of her way to make others feel comfortable and special. Classy people are warm and gracious.
  4. You'll never get old if you are always interested in other people and continue to learn new things.
  5. Life isn't fair. But that doesn't mean it can't still be good, even wonderful, if you retain a sense of gratitude and remember what really matters.
  6. God does not send us tragedy and pain. But he does give us the strength to bear them, the courage to face them, and the grace to learn and grow from them.
  7. Listen to your heart and follow your star. You never know where they might lead you!
  8. Yes, you are your brother's--and your sister's--keeper. Always remember that "whatsoever you do unto the least of them, that you do unto me."
  9. What others think of you doesn't matter. It's what you think of yourself that counts.
  10. It takes more muscles to frown than to smile--and holding a grudge takes too much energy.
Plus Two Extra:
  1. Never, ever, take the people you love for granted. And never hesitate to say "I love you."
  2. Tough times don't last. But tough people do.
(NB: This is from the eulogy I gave at my mom's funeral on April 19, 2007)

Friday, February 27, 2009

friday five: the fork in the road

This week's Friday Five come courtesy of Singing Owl from RevGalBlogPals. She writes:

Friday, February 27, 2009

Friday Five: The Fork in the Road














"I am at a life-changing juncture. I do not know which way I will go, but I have been thinking about the times, people and events that changed my life (for good or ill) in significant ways. For today's Friday Five, share with us five "fork-in-the-road" events, or persons, or choices. And how did life change after these forks in the road?"

Okay, Singing Owl, here are my five forks in the road:

1. I didn't have a lot of say in this one, being five weeks old at the time, but the first big fork in my road came when I was adopted by Millie and Leonard Resch on October 24, 1968. It turned out to be a 38-year-long love story, lasting until my mom's death in 2007. I could not have been more blessed, both by the mom and dad who loved me and raised me, and the mom who loved me so much she was willing to give me up. I love all three of them, my wonderful parents, more than words can express.

2. At 19 I was diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and severe clinical depression. This led to years of therapy and, even more important, much painful soul-searching, trying to figure out where God was speaking to me in my suffering. And I found out that not only was he there, he was holding me, lovingly, and feeling my pain as his own.

3. At 27 I did a unit of C.P.E. (Clinical Pastoral Education), which is, basically, an intensive chaplaincy internship. It's impossible to sum up in only a few sentences what that summer meant for the rest of my life...suffice it to say, I fell in love with the work, am finally back in grad school (after years of struggling with fibromyalgia), and hope to work as a hospice chaplain once I get my degree.

4. When I was 32 I met my husband through mutual friends at the Basilica of St. Mary. Can you say instant lightning? We've been married for five years and he's my rock, the light of my life, and on many days, especially when my depression is bad, the reason I get out of bed. Our marriage tells me a lot about God's love for us--steadfast, constant, always forgiving. We want to adopt so we can share the love with which we've been graced with a special child.

5. Two years ago in April my beloved mom died of emphysema. I am still so lonely for her. But in the midst of her dying, she taught me, by example, what it means to have lived a good life, and what it means, for a person of faith, to go to meet her Creator. (Check out "top ten things I learned from my mother" under "select posts" near the top of the right-hand sidebar.)

Come on ladies, play along with me! Either on your own blogs, or in the comments box. :)

Friday, February 13, 2009

RevGalBlogPals Friday Five: Pets

Friday Five: Pets

(Per Sophia over at RevGalBlogPals...) My son's tiny beloved lizard, Elf, is looking and acting strange this week. His skin/scales are quite dark, and he is lethargic. We are adding vitamin drops to his lettuce and spinach and hoping and praying that he is just getting ready to shed his skin--but it's too soon to tell. Others in the ring have also been worried about beloved pets this week. And, in the saddest news of all, Songbird has had to bid farewell to her precious Molly, the amazing dog who is well known to readers of her blog as a constant sacrament of God's unconditional love.

So in memory of Molly, and in honor of all the beloved animal companions who bless our lives: tell us about the five most memorable pets you have known.
Come play along with me--either post your answers on you blog or, better yet, in the comment box! (Sorry to post this a day late--I fell asleep too early last night to finish.)

Barbara's Memorable Pets:

1. When I was about six, I adopted an earthworm from my dad's garden and named him Casey, after the boy at school I had a wild crush on. I loved Casey (both of them, actually.) One hot summer day, I devised a raft for Casey (the worm) on a small piece of torn-up shingle, and took him for a boat ride in a mud puddle in our driveway. My parents, watching from the window, decided it was about time for me to have a real pet, and that's how Bridget came into our lives. The Casey story does not have a happy ending, though: Casey the boy moved away, and Casey the worm received a ceremonial burial in the rose garden.

2. We got Bridget, a miniature poodle (almost big enough to be a standard) through a group called Pet Haven, almost immediately after the Casey incident. She was, truly, my best friend for all of my growing up years; talk about representing God's unconditional love. We took her everywhere with us. She was also brilliant--my dad loved teaching her tricks. One of his (their, I should say) favorites was teaching her to scratch fleas on command. She didn't have fleas, you understand. I thought about trying to get her on David Letterman's Stupid Pet Tricks, but never got around to it. When I came home from my scoliosis surgery, in terrible pain I went to bed immediately, and Bridget hopped up on the bed and very carefully and gently arranged herself so that she was nestled against me, head on my shoulder, magically, without hitting any of my painful spots (and there were plenty, believe me.) We had to put our beloved Bridget to sleep right after I graduated from college; she was 15-years-old.


3. About a year later we (mom and I) found my darling Molly, a cocker spaniel, at the Golden Valley Humane Society. I knew from the second I laid eyes on her that she was the puppy for us. She was picked up as a stray, and had apparently been abused. Molly had the absolute sweetest nature I have ever seen in a dog, and in a special way, we were soulmates. She could always tell when I was depressed, or my fibromyalgia was acting up, and she was always right there to comfort me. She also had a thing for flowers--we were always catching her out in the backyard sniffing them. When we had to put her to sleep, at the age of 14, (she had an abdominal cancer), we spread her ashes amongst the flowers she loved so much. I love to think of her resting there, helping the flowers grow.


4.
Warning: Do not let young children read this fish horror story. In my late twenties I decided I need some fish to help keep me company. So I trotted off the the pet store, purchased my little tank and fish goodies, and then selected my fish. I don't remember the name of the breed (Bellas, maybe?), but they were stunningly beautiful, and the store owner assured me they were a very passive breed of fish, and not likely to harm each other. (Does anyone sense some foreshadowing here?) I enjoyed watching them swim about in their tiny tank, weaving in and out of the fronds of the plants I had so carefully purchased for their swimming pleasure. But soon, I began to notice that a few of my fish seemed to have disappeared. Then, one traumatic day, I caught the fish villain in the act: he was devouring another fish. The story only gets worse from here. A fish execution by toilet, remaining fish obviously suffering from PTSD. I'm not sure what this was supposed to teach me. That fish can be possessed? That the reality of evil extends even to little aquariums?


5. Luckily, my last pet story reaffirms my belief in the goodness of creation. My darling Fiona, the Uber-cocker spaniel, curled up against my bare feet as I type, is my best furry friend and provides me with all the loving, unconditional care anyone could possibly need. When my mom was dying, and I'd come home from the nursing home in tears, Fiona was right there waiting for me. And after mom died, for weeks the little fluffy creature wouldn't leave my side; she clung to me, staring up at me with her big brown eyes that telegraphed her doggly love and concern. Fiona also loves to play; every single day, without fail, we must--and I do mean must--play with each of her toys in turn. She so loves her toys. She is my cuddly darling, and I hope to someday be the person she thinks I am.