So today ended up being a mental health day for me, the first since moving, the first since launching my company, the first I’ve needed in quite a while (with one notable exception that I won’t go into just now). Yesterday was a difficult day. It was one of those days where you have your kids with you and you want to enjoy every minute of the day because you don’t get to see them nearly often enough. But you can’t, because they’ve decided to take the whole day to be those little imp children you’ve read fairy stories about. When my head hit the pillow last night, I felt like a failure — as a person, as a man, as a boyfriend, as a leader, as a father. I felt like I’d spent my whole day yelling at and disciplining my children for every little thing under the sun, and that was certainly not how I’d hoped to spend my day. I know, as a parent, that not every day with your kids is going to go smoothly. The whole point of parenting is to raise up the next generation in the path they should go, to teach them, ultimately, how to be mature adults so they can go on themselves to be successful adults to raise their own generation of progeny. And I know this process isn’t easy. It’s doesn’t always go the way you plan or expect or hope. And I know that just because you’ve had a bad day with your kids doesn’t necessarily mean you’re a bad parent or a failure.
But I went to bed feeling like one anyway.
And when I woke up this morning — at 10am, because I didn’t set an alarm (because since I moved I haven’t needed an alarm) — I was weighed down by depression. Those feelings of failure had not lifted overnight. They had not passed. I awoke feeling almost more tired than when I went to bed. I’m used to this by now. Yes, the Effexor I take daily has, by and large, effectively banished my depression, but it doesn’t mean I’m completely free of it all the time. Every so often it likes to come back around for a visit. A spot of tea, a handful of crackers, and morose and morbid conversation that takes place only in my head to remind me what an utter and complete loser I am. Sometimes it even brings a suitcase or overnight bag and stays for a few days before moving on again. Fortunately, this wasn’t one of those days, but I ended up not being able to leave my bed until almost 2pm. At some point I fell back asleep and slept the fitful sleep of one who knows that everything he’s ever done with his life has been worthless, that everything he’s done the last few weeks has been meaningless drek, and that this dreamlike state of near-euphoria he’s been riding is just that — a dream. And so when I woke up, I found that depression had finally left, but filling his seat now was anxiety. And the things he was telling me were no better than what depression had been.
I listened for a while. You don’t just shut anxiety up and tune out. His voice is far too annoying and piercing for that to be effective. But eventually I grew weary enough of his presence that I took a Klonopin, washed it down with some water, and waited for it turn down the volume on anxiety’s voice. And once it did, I forced myself out of bed, itself a herculean feat, and took a shower to wash the stink of mental illness off my skin. I made my bed and put away my clean laundry. I found something to eat, giving my body resources to defend itself. I drank some more water, because I’ve learned that hydration is important for mental wellness. Then I settled in for a marathon session of playing Destiny on my Xbox and texting with my girlfriend (because she’s also my best friend and the first person I turn to when I need a reasonable, stable, compassionate voice). I ignored the rest of my apartment, which is a mess right now from having kids in it over the weekend. The floors need to be swept. The dishes need to be done. But I decided those things could wait. I needed to focus on myself for a bit, focus on settling my mind and my heart, because there’s still a full week ahead, and I have things to do. And I need to be well enough to do them.
I’m exhausted right now. I always am after doing battle with my depression and anxiety. But I’m also delighted that they stayed only a very short time. I suspect that having my own place where I could just sit in the quiet helped. It’s the first time in my life I’ve had the ability to sit and just be without interruption. I’m still looking for new and better ways to deal with and cope with my mental illnesses. But for today, for this round in the fighting ring, this is what I needed and this is what worked.
I’m about to call it a day, despite the fact that I’ve been awake for only eight hours. I need more rest. I need more sleep. I need to give my body more of what it needs to take care of itself so I don’t have to spend so much time focusing on fighting. I see my children tomorrow for a few hours. I want to be present for them. I have a business to run and contractual obligations to fulfill. I have a life to live, relationships to maintain, and things to do, so the less time I need to spend taking care of me is more time I can give to the things that are important to me.
Mondays are for mental health, but then, every day is for mental health. It’s an ongoing process, and it doesn’t just stop once the immediate crisis is over. So off to bed I go, hopefully toward better sleep and a better tomorrow. This man has things to do, things and people to keep in his life, and he won’t go down without a hell of a fight.
Here’s to the next breath. And the one after that. And the one after that, ad infinitum.
