Today is a down day for me, when thoughts keep swirling and I question everything. What follows is the rambling pangs of depression and divorce, life as it was never supposed to be, and fears of tomorrow.

photo credit: h.koppdelaney

Aren’t I good enough?

For eight years I devoted myself to being a wife and mother, to being what my family needed from me. I gave up my dreams and took on new ones that felt more right with who I wanted to be. No more did I plan to become a famous writer, to become wealthy, to have my freedom to explore and travel and see the world. I put my energy into being the center of my family, holding it together.

I baked bread and homemade crackers, I taught myself to can food, I cooked from scratch and search for ways to make every meal healthier. I ate foods I didn’t like, because they were better. I put my heart into every thing I made.

I breastfed and co-slept, I wore my babies, I researched medicines and gave birth at home. I cloth diapered, I got a sewing machine and made my own diapers. I made laundry detergent and hung up clothes lines. I did what was best for my family.

I’ve made noodle necklaces and paper viking boats, played endless games of Candy Land, cheered at my child learned to read, walked miles while 8 months pregnant to sit through t-ball games, sewn protection monsters from felt, taught my sons to sew, and danced around the living room to cheesy kids’ music for hours. I’ve kissed boo-boos, hugged through nightmares, and read one-more bedtime stories a thousand times.

I parented alone when his work hours were long, I never complained through a lost job, a big move, through changes. I wrote at night to not disturb him, I didn’t ask for time off or vacations away. I stood by whatever came.

And I’m still not good enough, it still wasn’t enough, there are still a million things I should have done more of. My best could never measure up to enough.

It’s 12:30 AM and I can’t sleep again. I’ve been thinking about my kids again, about my ex husband again. I’ve been crying again. I toss and turn, finally through bloodshot eyes I reach for my phone. My Hero answer after a couple rings, he’s groggy and tired. But he talks to me, and listens, and oh-so gently walks me down from the ledge I’m climbing up on. By 1 AM I’m relaxed more, I can sleep. I know the nightmares will come, but at least I can sleep.

It is no surprise to me that peer support has been found to be important in helping with depression. Sometimes what we really need is a friend, someone who listens because they care. No pay structure, no stopwatch, no trying to fix us. Just a friend with an open ear and a few soothing words. When you have severe depression, having a friend nearby that you feel safe talking to makes everything so much easier.

Peer support has been found to decrease isolation, reduce stress, increase the sharing of health information and provide role models, the study points out.

We are social creatures by nature. As much as solitude can be good for us, so is being with our herd. We need to be with others who will love and accept us. When you are depressed, the need is even greater. Sometimes, the medication is not enough, the therapy is not enough. Sometimes, you just need a friend that you can call in the middle of the night.

The need for additional coping options is important when one considers that one third of patients taking anti-depressants for major depressive disorder still experience significant symptoms after trying four medicines, and more than half of people who achieve remission of their symptoms relapse within a year.

Another therapy day, another day of talking about the ups and downs that I feel. But this time was different, it came with an absolutely. After shuffling back and forth, hinging on the word “possible”, they finally decided to make an official diagnosis. Bipolar.

That’s right kids, I’m officially crazy now. I hope I get a plaque to frame and hang on the wall.

Somewhere between happy, and total fucking wreck
Feet sometimes on solid ground, sometimes at the edge
To spend your waking moments simply killing time
Is to give up on your hopes and dreams and give up on your..

Life for you has been less than kind
So take a number, stand in line
We’ve all been sorry, we’ve all been hurt
But how we survive is what makes us who we are

- Survive by Rise Against

Having an official diagnosis almost makes it easier. There is no longer a possible this, possible that. I know exactly what demon I have to battle, so now I can find the right weapons to use. Knowing what you are up against is half the battle.

The diagnosis was not exactly unexpected. My mother was bipolar, and I saw a lot of my own ups and down mirroring her’s. The manic days when I baked for hours without resting. The down days when I could barely crawl off the couch. Times when my mind was running 100 miles per hour, times when I barely remembered what day it was. Though I never talked about it, I am pretty sure it was easy to see when you looked.

But now, I can be more stable. I have my medication, my support, my therapist, and my kids. I can quit flying up and down on a whim, and when those moments come I have people to talk to. I feel less like I should be hidden away in the attic, more open about my issues. About my mental state.

So, here I am. One big ball of crazy with dreadlocks on top. Whew, just saying that feels better already.