The many faces of depression

Catherine and I watched "13 Reasons Why" when it first hit Netflix. I remember looking at Kate Walsh's character and thinking she looked like hell. Hollywood tends to make depression stereotypical in its portrayal. Greasy hair, bleary eyes, grayish, laying around, and just looking like they have given up on life. 

For the real world, that isn't what depression looks like. Some people silently suffer from depression and no one ever really knows. Some people look a bit like Eeyore. But it isn't always like they make it in the movies. Like the Kate Walsh character, I too lost my daughter. The day after Catherine died, I asked my sister to cut my hair short. I didn't want the greasy ponytail look like I saw in the movies. I got waterproof mascara because I figured I would be crying all the time and bleary eyed. Yeah, none of that happened. Instead, I got up, fixed my hair, didn't put on any makeup, and went on about my day. 

People tell me all the time that I have it together and they don't know how I manage. Here is a little secret, I don't have it together. In fact, I am a hot mess. I've been through numerous medications to fight the depression. The first round (month one) made me want to drive my car off the road and I constantly wondered what was the point in living if I was going to feel like that all the time.   My doctor changed my medicine and while I didn't want to drive my car off the road all the time, I still contemplated it. That was month two. At my next visit she upped my medicine and I can say that in month three, the feeling to drive my car off the road has subsided. But I am still a mess. Just because I don't walk around with greasy hair and bleary eyes, crying all the time, doesn't mean I'm okay. 

Every morning I fight the urge to call in sick. I fight the urge to turn off my alarm and hide under the covers. I fight to brush my teeth and shower. I can't tell you the last time I wore makeup. Finding something to wear is a struggle and some days, I want to give up and climb back in bed. Waiting for the baby to be brought down or hearing movement upstairs is enough to make me want to vomit. I absolutely HATE going upstairs in the morning. It terrifies me and will cause a major panic attack. Some how I manage to get everyone out the door without coming unglued and the walk from the parking lot to the office seems to take forever. Most days I can't focus and I'm grateful for a boss that keeps me on track. Some days I want to just leave but I manage to push through. The depression is real. 

Depression is having a dining room table full of half finished projects and no motivation to finish. Depression is having messes all over your house. Depression is eating everything in sight and then not eating at all. It isn't just the greasy hair and bleary eyes. It affects everything. How I interact with my kids, going out into public, holidays, visiting with friends or family. Everything just seems too damn hard. The medications definitely helps me push through but it is a battle every single day. 

For some reason today was hard. Like really hard. I lost count of how many times I started to cry. The boys have their recital on Sunday. The first one without Catherine. Max has a band concert and choir concert coming up. Christmas is coming. It is all coming so fast and it is like drinking water out of a fire hose. The grief and depression is all consuming. But I will push through. I will be there for the recital and the concerts and Christmas. Because I'm needed. 

Depression has so many faces. I wear a lot of them. But just because I am smiling or laugh at a joke, doesn't mean I'm not sad and filled with grief. I'm a mess. It is one day at a time and right now that seems like a lifetime of pain. I watch others who have lost a child and I gain hope that at some point their grief seems to ease and they find some level of comfort. But in the meantime, I'm going to keep wearing all those faces and pushing through.