So, in my last post I spoke about dealing with a horrific combination of anxiety and depression. I’ve done everything I can to try to combat it (continuing to see my counsellor, talked about it with my husband and both sides of the family, talked to my mentor, talked to my pastor, prayed about it alone and with others, blogged about it, cried about it, accepted it…everything). It’s still not gone. And that’s okay.
I don’t know why I expected depression to be so different from anxiety. I know that with anxiety, distractions only work temporarily. When I feel better, I know I’m not cured. So why did I think this depression would just “go away” after a few days?
Over the last two weeks, Jeff and I spent almost the entire time with family. The first half was spent with mine. The second half with his. My biggest breakdown happened on Tuesday night. Thursday morning, we were off to see my husband’s siblings and parents (after I sucked it up and got my blood test done).
During the visit, I was totally distracted. I hung out with my two sister-in-laws and one brother-in-law. We talked. We played boardgames. I bonded with my two-year-old niece. We had our Christmas Morning (a.k.a three straight hours of opening presents!), and spent almost the entire time surrounded by people. It was great. I didn’t think about my health. I didn’t think about death. I felt hope.
But then we came home.
I didn’t feel nearly as bad as I did before leaving. The trip gave me time to relax and not worry for a few days – which I totally needed. Still, the house felt quiet. My thoughts seemed louder. My fears went from background noise to constant chatter.
So now it’s Monday morning. I start back at school on Wednesday – full time this semester. I’m worried. I’m sad. I’m scared. I’m anxious. But beneath all that, I still feel some hope. Finally, there’s a tiny voice telling me “you can handle this.” I might not believe it yet, but at least it’s there.