I find myself explaining my depression to people like this:
It’s like I unknowingly swallowed a slow-acting poison pill. For the first few days, everything would seem normal.
Then one day, my arm would fall off. That would kind of freak me out. I’d look at the hole where my arm had been, and wonder why the heck it had happened. Still, I wouldn’t know about the poison pill.
My mom’s philosophy as a naturopathic doctor was to look at the cause of the illness, and not just treat the symptoms. She wouldn’t even look at my arm, she’d focus on what was inside me.
But she’s not here, and for that very reason, I can’t find the poison pill. I slowly destruct, continually affected by this intangible thing.
I go through my life, wondering where my arm has gone. When my leg starts to show signs of separating, when my entire body gets covered with warts, I just sit here, and wonder why.
It’s hard to connect the dots.
Once A Week
I have a confession to make. I only think of my mom about once a week, if that.
I’ll usually be washing the dishes, taking a shower, or walking down an empty street, when something she did, something she said, pops into my head. As the memory plays in my mind, I feel no pain. I don’t really feel anything.
People ask what it’s like to be on antidepressants. It’s kind of like that. Things that should matter to you seem distant, and insignificant details matter much.
People I’ve asked say they don’t think about the recently lost much either. Why? What’s the thread? Could we all be heartless? Forgetful? Superficial?
I don’t think of my mom all that often because when I do somewhere inside me hurts.
Like the poison pill, the memory of her, the pain, is always there inside of me. Deep inside. I have learned to live with this. A car that drives itself. Sometimes I crash. Sometimes I climb big hills and look down from the top.
But the hardest thing is explaining to those around me that I don’t know why I feel so worthless, so hopeless. And then, one hour later, why I can’t remember the pain at all.
Suffocating
The one to suffer most from my numbness is Chanterelle. She was the first person I talked to after finding out my mom’s diagnosis, and she was one of eight people to see my mom’s spirit leave.
And now, seven months later, she waits patiently, blowing on my pedals, trying to get me to open back up. She has moments of desperation, but she supports me even then.
And today, as she leans in to kiss me, I feel my chest tighten, my shoulders flex, my jaw clench. I feel as though I am about to be suffocated.
In the last few weeks of my mom’s life, she would say she was afraid of not being able to breathe. As the cancerous growths pressed against her lungs, it really did become harder for her. She eventually needed pressurized pure oxygen flowing in through her nose to feel comfortable. Sometimes she would put her hand on her chest and try to breathe, over and over, gasping for a full breathe of air.
And now, as the safest person in my life approaches my lips, I panic. Now, somehow, it’s my fear. My lungs are haunted by my mom’s. It is incredibly hard. Hard on me, hard on Chanterelle. It is worse to see her heartbroken face as I fight to break free than it is to feel my heart hammer, and my body contract.
They Walk On Eggshells
When someone mentions their mother, I can see guilt in the eyes of the ones who know. I can see their stares flickering to me, waiting for a breakdown.
Every time someone complains about their parents or make a joke about hairless cancer patients. Every time someone mentions death. Everyone looks at me. Carefully, cautiously. They kick themselves for being so insensitive. For parading their painless lives in front of me.
But I don’t feel anything. I don’t think of my mom. I don’t fight tears. I just listen, just like any of them.
I haven’t asked, but I would bet most people feel like this when they have lost a loved one. Like the classic and dependable “I’m so sorry” that comes after telling someone about the death, it would be better if they just moved on.
Reflection
Even with the poison pill. Even when my arms fall off. There is one instance in my day when my mom’s memory seeps, in full color, into my conscious mind.
I wake up. I roll out of bed. I feed my cat. And walk into the bathroom. As the sleep clears from my eyes, and a vision of my reflection swims into view, I am greeted with the most valuable souvenir of her love I own.
“Hey Mom,” I say as I look into her eyes.
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{ 4 comments… read them below or add one }
Very impressive.
Thanks.
Aloha Christian,
Once again, I can relate to so much of your overall state of malaise, and I understand your inability to connect the dots.
I think that one of the biggest misconceptions (among the average unaffected person) is that depression means you’re always down in the dumps or feeling blue. Unfortunately, it’s more a case of feeling nothing at all, and that’s so much worse.
Losing interest in your own life and feeling apathetic about things you once cared about is far more debilitating than it may sound on the surface. Although you wouldn’t think so unless you’re there, being empty hurts worse than actual pain sometimes.
In your case, you naturally miss your mother terribly, and the pain of her loss is very normal and understandible. If I’m reading you correctly, it sounds like you’re now feeling guilty because even that pain has been numbed. Obviously, that’s the insideous disease speaking, since you love your mother as much as ever and will always hold her close and cherish every loving memory. Depression is trying its best to rob you of emotion.
That’s what I was trying to say when I spoke before of my experiences with Welbutrin and other anti-depressants. They didn’t seem to do anything except numb me even more, so since I saw absolutely no improvement, I stopped them altogether.
I wish I had a magic answer for you, but I don’t. All Ican do is to tell you to realize that, for whatever reason, this damned disease has you under its spell for now, but that you will break free. Keep trying alternative treatments, and hold your network of loving friends and family close. Those who love you will have patience and wait for you.
In the meantime, please know that you’re doing nothing wrong. Just because your mother might not always be in the forefront of your head doesn’t mean that she’s not there in your heart. Banish all thoughts of guilt, and concentrate on regaining your balance.
I think this is the best thing you’ve ever written.
You, sir, are an amazing writer. Whatever pain you are going through, continue to use it as you have done so well here, spinning heartbreak into something beautiful.
My personal believe about anti-depressents is that they postpone pain, they do not cure it. When you lose someone you love, you are supposed to feel sad, you are supposed to feel miserable and angry and horrible. That is what it is to be human. If we avoid feeling, then we have put our life on pause, and we cannot move on until we allow ourselves to go through the process.
You have a girlfriend who loves you, who is there for you. You have talents that are evident even to completel strangers who have never seen you face to face.
I have read some of your older posts on this blog, when you were travelling, and they had a very joyful tone. Maybe it’s time to hit the road again for a while.
Bring the girl with you.