{By Danielle of Knotty Yarn}

School starts in two weeks. I could not be more thrilled.

I love school. More importantly, I love being a student. Having the undeniable permission to pay attention, soak in, look around, experience, and learn. I’m good at it.

Lately I’ve been reflecting on how I generally feel from day to day. It’s easy to sidestep talking about depression when you aren’t actually depressed. If you believe in hocus pocus, you fear that talking about it will bring that black fog back into your life. If you’re easily overwhelmed, you just want to focus on each day. If you’re medicated, you often don’t care to talk about depression, as long as you have relief from the physical effects of it.

If you’re all of these things, it’s hard to sit down and reflect your emotions via the written word.

I’m not depressed. I’m not experiencing anxiety from the monumental task of getting out of bed and looking each day in the eye. I’m not exhausted from insomnia, forced awake by the constant worry and sadness. I don’t curl up and weep in the shower, on the kitchen floor, in the car, in bed. I don’t unplug the phone, ignore email, forget friendships. I don’t look at babies and think “What a shame to bring that kid into this pitiful, bleak world”.

I haven’t thought about quietly, unobtrusively killing myself in nearly two years.

Yet when referencing depression, either internally or externally, the only thing most of us can think to say is that we suffer. We suffer from depression. How can I be suffering from depression when I’m not actually feeling depressed? It’s a linguistic accusation.

I no longer think of myself as someone who suffers from depression. I experience depression. I acknowledge that yeah, I have the chemical version of the devil’s advocate living in me all the time. While I hope that it won’t rear it’s ugly head ever again, there’s no way for me to be certain. Things that come naturally for most people require a lot of thought and internalizing for me. Sometimes I need medication to help me…to help me. Help me get going, help me get on, help me get through. I spend a lot of time kicking my brain’s ASS.

This last time around, I was able to turn my depression into the impetus for making a big, tangible life changing decision. I had to plug in the phone, answer the email, say “yes” when I wanted to say “no”, persist when I wanted to take a nap. It took a team of loving, dedicated people to give me back my life. To get me to a point where I could open up a world of options for myself, be brave enough to try something new, make connections and new friendships, rediscover my creative life.

I’m not suffering.

And I’m not merely alive.

Originally posted on The Anvil Tree

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Originally Posted at Mom-O-Matic.

I’m going to try and talk about what’s going down with son because it’s kind of eating me up these days. When I write in this blog I do try to stick to just telling my own stories. That way I’m the only that can get mad when I realize that everyone knows my scene. But the lines between my story and his story are kind of blurry. When I look at my kids it’s like someone put the zoom lens on in my head. I really don’t see anything but their beautiful faces looking up at me. So worrying about son is overshadowing my view of everything. And I can feel it weighting me down into the depths of crappymotherhood. So I’m hoping I can get this off my chest and breathe a little easier, but do so in a way that respects his privacy. Here goes.

Son’s just been having a hard time of it this year. He’s been sporting these big, black shiners under his eyes all the time. He seemed run down and whiny often – but in that way that kids get when they’re sick. I admit we hoped that after his adenoid/tonsil surgery the relief from constant sinus infections would restore him. Bring back our bright and sunny guy. But my mommy gut knew that there was going to be something more going on. However, I told mommygut that she’s often been wrong since she started hanging around with myanxiety and to stuff it.

And at first he seemed to feel so much happier. He was sleeping better and eating more too. But those darn shiners just wouldn’t go away. And I hated them because they look like he hasn’t gotten enough care, or that he was sad. And then he started to say quite often, “I feel sad and I don’t know why.” (Mmm? What’s that sound? Oh that’s just my heart smashing to the floor – let me get a broom and clean that right up.)

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