I’m a big fan of Hyperbole and a Half. I think first she won my heart when the comic/post that introduced me to her site had Ebola in the title. I’ve even found myself thinking in terms of the improved pain chart. In fact I should use it for my birth plan- “I can deal with “My pain is not fucking around.’ but if I get to ‘I see Jesus coming for me and I’m scared.’ it’s time for the epidural.”

Unfortunately there have been lulls in her writing that make my blogs look prolific by comparison, which have been explained by her recent stories of dealing with depression.

The Internet as a whole agrees that Allie puts what it’s like to experience depression into words (and pictures) better than anyone, ever. Personally I know that no one experiences depression the same, so I won’t say that I can relate completely or know exactly how she feels, but there were a number of panels that made me think, ‘Wow. Yes. I’VE BEEN THERE!’

– The part about deciding to not want to exist any more, which isn’t exactly the same as being suicidal, but in practice it might as well be.

– The part where trying to explain this to someone else becomes more about having to having to deal with their feelings about the situation.

– The part about the worst part being having to keep going, which for me was my last stint in Maine before moving to Seattle. At that point I no longer had the comfort of my escape plan. I just had to keep surviving and existing until a set date.

I feel like I’ve been mentally cleaning out some closets in my mind ever since reading this, and it might still be the influence of #2 (worrying about other people’s feelings about my feelings) but every time I find something I want to write about, another voice comes up beside me like I’m on Hoarders and asks, “Are you sure you need to post that? Why don’t we just put it in the trash pile instead?”

So the 1-800-GOT-JUNK truck in my mind is hauling away:

– My years of being what I call ‘passively suicidal’ – not wanting to actively kill myself but wishing I could will myself out of existence, or that something would happen to me like the bus crashing, as long as no one else gets hurt.

– A rant on how much I hate the phrase ‘something stupid’, as in, “You’re not going to do something stupid are you?” I really, really hate it. It’s so belittling and dismissive.

– A reminder of the amount of energy it takes to pass as normal while depressed. And sometimes the best ‘normal’ gets is not bursting into tears for no apparent reason at inopportune times.

– My own crying while (figuratively) drinking juice memories.

It’s been about ten months since I went off my meds and for the record, I’m still not crazy yet. I’ve realized that most of my memories of the “bad times” in the past (both as a teenager and something resembling an adult) have merged into a handful of blurry chunks, stuffed away in those closets I mentioned. I think it’s something of a defense mechanism, and if I had clear memories of what it was like before I was medicated, I never would have taken the risk of stopping. I’m thankful that I can pass as normal so easily now, even to myself.

I sometimes think about if and when I’m going back on my meds since I’m doing so well, if I make it through the pregnancy and breastfeeding (and maybe a second pregnancy and breastfeeding at that point) without them. On one hand it doesn’t seem like I should be taking unnecessary drugs just because. On the other hand, depression isn’t like a headache where you feel it coming on and know where your tolerance lies before it’s time to take something to make it stop. Depression tricks your brain into thinking you’re supposed to feel that way, and even if you know better, that not being able to control your own mind makes you a failure. I remember once looking at my bottle of lithium, knowing it was the magic pill that could make everything better in a few minutes, and still refusing to take it because I felt like I should be able to deal with it on my own.

I do worry a little about the future – is all of this ‘normal’ just my mind saving up for the big meltdown later? What about in October, when I’m potentially overlapping postpartum depression with the start of winter? I worry, but it’s an abstract worry.