Depression Hurts

I am putting off cleaning my grody-pachody house because I feel the need to tell you all a few things.

1) I am feeling MUCH better. Thank you for your outpouring of support over this post. It was the first time I've actually be afraid to share myself, and you guys proved yourselves worthy of getting the truth ALL the time, like it or not. I appreciate the support, even when you didn't sometimes "get" me.

2) Thank you for reaching out to me via text messages, comments, emails and phone calls. I have never felt more cared for by a group of friends and it was just what I needed.

3) I have no doubt that the funk I was in for the last week and a half was, in fact, depression. Temporary depression, but depression nonetheless.

Knowing that, I feel compelled to share with you exactly what I was feeling. Not to make anyone feel guilty or sad, but because it was like nothing I had ever in my life felt. It was hard, and icky and painful, and I know there are thousands, if not millions, of people who feel that way every day. And yet, most of those people live their lives, day after day, with that load upon them. I cannot imagine such. 1.5 weeks was almost more than I could take.

I'm not sure what triggered my depression, probably just a culmination of many, many things. I have made friends with a new woman and her day to day living just breaks my heart on so many levels. Add that to the stress of just normal life, coupled with some disappointing discoveries and it just settled on me before I realized what was happening.

At first I thought it was just "Aunt Flo" coming for a visit. I usually get moody and cranky a few days before and it just bugs the crap out of me that I cannot control myself better than I do. Therefore, I began beating myself up over not being able to control my emotions toward my husband and my kids. I was angry, very angry and I could not hide it.

Then, I realized that I wasn't spending enough time in The Word. So, I set out to read some scripture, anything really, just to be in the word. However, I could not focus. I couldn't sit and read anything (not even blogs - which is HUGE for me people!) for more than a few minutes. I would read the same 3 or 4 words over and over and over again, yet not be able to remember what they were. I became frustrated with my "lack of love for God" and slammed by Bible shut. I continued to beat myself up over every little thing.

It wasn't long before I had dug myself a little hole and jumped right in. Everything I did hung on me like a wet blanket.
The kids were fighting with each other - therefore I must be an awful mother.
Luke got frustrated with the pile of dishes and laundry - I must be a horrible wife.
Friends weren't calling or inviting me out to dinner - I must a backstabbing, no good friend.
God wasn't hearing my casual prayers to bring me out of this pit - I must not really be important to Him.

Everything, I'm telling you, everything hung on me and I couldn't shake myself free. It felt as though I was standing in the bottom of a very deep pit, looking up at the people standing around the rim. I knew that if I could only get their attention, then they could help pull me out. The problem was that I didn't know what to say, I wasn't sure they'd understand and I didn't quite know how to get to them. So, I just sat there.

I felt lonely. Afraid. Sad. Tearful. Betrayed. Angry. Hurt. Selfish. Worthless.

If I died, would anyone even care? How easily/quickly would I be replaced? (I did not think about killing myself - just FYI - but I hear that many people suffering from depression do.)

I mean, what kind of person cannot just shake these feelings? What kind of person slips, so quickly, into this hole and cannot get out. So then, came the blame.

"STOP IT, JESSICA! Stop being so stupid! Get over yourself!" These thoughts echoed through my brain. Satan saw a foothold and took advantage.

"If people really loved you, if they really knew you, they'd come and help. If God really loved you, he'd pull you out. You're just not that important." The Enemy's whispers pushed me further into the pit.

Looking back, I can see how quickly I spiraled out of control. Keep in mind, all of this happened in a MATTER OF DAYS. Even still, I cannot believe that I felt so lost that I could not even form the words to speak to my own husband.

The only thing that I understand, the only thing I can assume pulled me out, was prayer. I finally broke down and told my BFF how I felt. She said she would pray. Then, another friend called after my post and prayed with me on the phone. By opening up and allowing myself to be vulnerable, I came through.

However, I know that there are many people who have been dealing with depression for YEARS. I cannot imagine the hopelessness they must feel, the burden, the sadness. Depression is a lonely, lonely place. I pray, with my whole heart, that if you are experiencing this that you will open up to someone, ANYONE and share your struggle.

A week and a half seemed like a month of torture. Please feel free to comment on this blog (I will open anonymous comments) or email me (beaverbunch (at) gmail . com) if you find yourself in a pit. Or, talk to your Doctor, or a trusted friend (which I know sounds ridiculous becasue you probably don't know who that person is).

The despair is lifted and the burden is gone. Thank you all for allowing me to be real, personal and free. Thank you. Thank you.

I lift up my eyes to the hills—
where does my help come from?

My help comes from the LORD,
the Maker of heaven and earth.
Psalm 112:1-2

In my distress I called to the LORD;
I cried to my God for help.
From his temple he heard my voice;
my cry came before him, into his ears.
Psalm 18:6

I'm Gonna Put On, My My My My My Runnin' Shoes....Maybe

I've never liked running, ever. When I was in college, I played on the volleyball team. Our coach was hardcore and during preseason would make us get up 2 to 3 times a week and run. Our goal was to run a mile in 8 minutes or less. I know, I know...that's not incredibly fast. However, volleyball players are sprinters my nature. I never minded sprinting, it was the long distances, you know longer than the straight aways, that I hated. Each morning we ran our timed mile, I'd wake up (have I mentioned I'm not a morning person either?) at 5:30am, slip into my workout clothes and, while dry-heaving, tie up my running shoes. The dry heaving would continue as I walked the 100 or so yards across campus to the track. The closer I got to the track, the more I'd dry heave. I'm not kidding. Even now, thinking about it, my heart is racing.

The dry heaving would continue as our coach made us run an entire warm up lap. I felt that this warm up lap was completely unnecessary and I didn't understand why she would make me use up perfectly good running energy to "warm up."

Usually, I finished my mile in less than 8 minutes, but almost always I barfed afterwards. I would have to syke myself out with each step, saying something stupid like,

"The next time I'm right here I'll only have 3 laps left."

"Okay, just make it to the next line and then you'll only have 11 more lines left" (referring to the starting lines on the track).

Mental toughness when running was never my forte. I could handle practicing for 3-4 hours at a time, do sprinting drills, suicides, etc. but distance running....NO THANKS!

So, with that said why is it, I ask you, that I feel the need to become a runner? (There it goes again, my heart is starting to race.) Why do I feel this drive to run? Well, I've been following the blog of Lindsey Broere, a friend from my middle school days. I don't know what in the crap she's training for, but she's running like a mad lady. I think I read somewhere the other day that she ran for like 4 hours or something. Can I just say "NOT A CHANCE IN YOU-KNOW-WHERE!!!"

Nonetheless, I have felt called to run. Maybe it's because of the way Lindsey talks about the quiet time, or the consistency, or the way that she feels God is communicating to her thru the endurance and physical exertion. At any rate, I'm going to give it a try. I could use the toughening up and the opportunity to shed some extra pounds.

As I said before, I'm NOT a runner. I'll probably start off with a brisk walk and work my way up. If you read this, and you ARE a runner, I'd enjoy any tips you might like to share. For the rest of you, just PRAY.

And, if you see me, laying face down in the grass on the side of the road, don't be alarmed. I'm probably just cooling off.

****By the way, this is my 100th post! Yay!******

Hidden "Treasures"

Alright, today's a two-fer blog day because I had to share this with you all.

Luke says I have the nose of a 'coonhound. He's right. I smell things far better than he does, and much sooner too. Usually, I can smell smoke, bodily functions (toots), vomit, etc. before anyone else in the crowd. I've had an unusually heightened sense of smell all my life, then I got pregnant and got the super-hyped sense of smell you get during that phase of your life. With most women,this souped up smelling goes away after childbirth, with me it did not. I can smell nastiness from yards away. It's a special gift and I'm still trying to decide if it's a blessing or a curse.

Anyway, for about the last week I've smelt this odor in our kitchen. It's progressively gotten stronger and was primarily located near our stove. We keep a small trash can the cabinet beside our stove so I've just been writing the smell off to stinky trash. Last night, I took out the trash and left the door open so that the cabinet could air out. This afternoon, it still stunk pretty bad. Upon inspection with my sniffer, I discovered that it was not the cabinet, but rather the actual stove. I assumed that there was a dead mouse or something under our stove and found the flashlight to inspect further.

I'm not a sqeemish person. Bugs, mice, dead animals, they really don't gross me out much. I mean, they'r not my favorite things, but I can handle it. Our stove is a drop in range, meaning that it doesn't slide in and out for easy cleaning (not that I clean under my stove that often anyway, as you will soon discover).

So picture me, the bottom of the stove popped off, on my hands and knees looking under our stove with the worst flashlight on the planet. I scan the underbelly, of the stove, expecting at any moment to see a partially decomposed mouse. Instead, I see this glass jar hanging down on the left side, so I remove it. Apparenly, Jenn-Air ranges have a drip feature. They also have drip jars to catch the "juices." This drip jar wasn't appetizing, but it also wasn't the source of the foul odor. I move it to the sink and resume my search. I contiue to scan reaching the right side of the stove. There it is...the nastiest thing I might have ever seen in my own house.....another drip jar, 1/4 of the way full with "juice" and the inside covered with MAGGOTS!

Let me explain to you the basis for my hatred of maggots. Like I said, I'm not fearful of bugs, (you know, except scorpions, tarantulas etc.) so spiders, flies and other creepy crawly things do not bother me. However, when I was in junior high school I lived with my Dad and step-Mom. Each week, one of my chores was to take the trash to and from the curb for trash day. Now, if you've ever been in the south you know the humidity is in full force in the summer. If you've ever been to Arkansas in the summer, you know that no other place on Earth can rival the humidity in the air mid-summer. Each week, the trash would stink to hi-heaven. Each week, my job was to wash out the trash can. Why did it need washing you ask? Well, in high humidity places, flies and mosquitoes breed like rabbits. Each week, our lovely curb side trash can had a fresh crop of maggots. Each week, it was my job to exterminate them. Compound that with the fact that we almost always had Spagetti on trash night (not sure why exactly) and you can see why I loathe maggots. My little sister was about 3 years old at the time and needed her spaghetti cut up for her....yes, making it look just like a bowl of bloody maggots. Gag! I rarely ate dinner on trash day.

Okay, back to this afternoon. I remove the maggot filled jar from the bottom of the stove. Keep in mind that we have lived in this house almost a full year. Until today, I had NO IDEA that my stove came with a set of drip jars that were catching our drippy goodness.

I move the jar over to the sink, thinking that I will put all of these special creatures and their nastiness down the garbage disposal and give them a good dicing. My friend Paige was standing by watching the whole thing. As I sat the jar on the counter, she asked:

"You want me to do something with that?"

I replied, "No, I'll take care of it after I finish washing these bottles."

To which she responds, "Well, you might wanna do something soon, they're crawling out the top."

I glance over, only to see 1 little maggot wriggling it's body out of the opening of the jar. I scream, just like a girl. I'm not much of a screamer, really. Very ugly words go through my mind and I run, and I do mean run, from the jar screaming,

"Get it out! Take it out! Paige, get that out of here!"

Graciously, she takes the maggot filled jar outside, dumps it somewhere (I'd rather not know) and washes it out with the water hose. Guess I'll check my drip jars weekly now.

Have I mentioned that I hate maggots?

Oh, and remember this post? I think I've found out why we have such a problem with flies.

Five for Friday

This week's Five for Friday topic is: Grody-ness

1. Fruit flies must be the most annoying insect on the planet. We have them, can't figure out why and don't know how to get rid of them. This evening, I realized that I think they like the left over formula in the baby bottles. It totally grosses me out.

2. A toddler pooped in the kiddie pool at "The Club" where my parents are members. I thought it was pretty funny, especially since the lifeguards had to scoop it out with a net. Even funnier if you picture 1 lifeguard with a net and the other with a LARGE plastic trash bag (toddler poop isn't THAT big). As the scooper guard attempted to scoop, it would float away. Slippery little suckers.

3. I HATE spit up. It's disgusting and feels super gross on your skin. I hate it even more when it is slipping down my bare back. Yuck-o!

4. Elizabeth has gotten to the age where smelling her clothing is no longer a desirable way to determine if it is still clean. I remember my Mom telling me she experienced this with me as well, but I never fully understood. Now I do. From now on, if I think it's dirty, it's dirty.

5. My children's breath is entirely disgusting when they wake up. I don't know why this surprises me, because mine isn't exactly roses. However, my kids have no concept of personal space at 8:00am. Since they are so incredibly happy to see me 1st thing in the morning, and I cannot refuse free kisses, I will be purchasing nose plugs this weekend. Problem solved.