How to Grow Your Heart Two Sizes

I watched the president's speech in Newtown last night and cried. My heart goes out to everyone in that community. This morning I arrived at work only to find that the first email was from a co-worker whose father is very ill. It's the happiest time of the year and there is far too much sadness. So, so much of it everywhere.

It's very easy for me to get bogged down in that. I think it's hard for a lot of people this time of year, and depression makes it worse because it already tells me that life sucks. "Give up. Go back to bed. Why bother?"

But I decided that this year is going to be different. I've been so tired the last several years that I've made very little holiday effort. I've gone through the motions but my heart hasn't been in it. Most years I've only done it because of D; otherwise I wouldn't have bothered. Then this year I decided to be spirited and to enjoy the holiday. I still haven't baked enough (or at all) or watched enough Christmas movies but I'm in it more than I have been in recent years.

I loved helping our adopted family. It felt so good to be able to help people that really needed it. But then I keep hearing about more people in similar situations and it feels like I haven't done enough. That helping just one family almost isn't worth it when there are SO MANY people that need help. And I would love to help everyone, but I don't have the resources for that. My bank account only stretches so far.

So yesterday I decided to just give thanks to someone else who is doing something on a regular basis. To give them some encouragement to keep going, to know that their efforts are appreciated. They're both "friends" on Facebook.

One happens to be a little Boston Terrier who visits elderly people and sick children and many other people in need in his community. Of course there is a man with a giant heart behind this little dog who deserves most of the credit. I mean, the dog is adorable and obviously helps people, but he can't answer the phone when he's wanted for an appearance or drive himself there. Even though he does have his own motorcycle.

The other is actually a friend of a friend whom I have never met. She got tired of hearing about all of the shelter dogs who never find homes and decided to do something about it. She adopted two dogs herself from high-kill shelters and then floods my newsfeed daily with photos of other dogs whose lives are on the line. I don't mind. I'm glad someone is doing it. When she posted about how she feels like she isn't doing enough and gets discouraged knowing that so many,  many dogs are still put down daily, I had to respond.

I posted messages to both thanking them for what they do. I chose people with dogs because that is my passion. And it took all of maybe 10 minutes. Probably less. They both responded so I knew that they had heard me, but it wouldn't have mattered if I hadn't heard back. The point was to put a little more niceness out in the world. A little encouragement, a little bit of gratitude.

There isn't enough kindness right now. It's easy to get frustrated at long lines in stores and say something snarky about it. But you know what? It's just as easy to be nice to that cashier when it's your turn. Because she's probably dealt with a hundred crabby people and really needs someone to have some patience with her. It's easy to send out a message to someone you know or even don't know and thank them for what they do. Shovel a neighbor's driveway, let someone in line in front of you, leave a bigger tip than normal.

Someone might be on the verge of giving up. Giving up their cause, their plans, even their life. One kind word or act from you could change that. Even if you never know, you'll at least know you've done your best.

Let's do our best today.

The X-Ray of My Soul

Depression isn't sadness. Not real depression. Sadness is caused by something. Your pet dies. You break up with your boyfriend. Your favorite TV show ends. There's an impetus to sadness. A + B = sad.

There's no equation for depression. One day it just shows up, invites itself in, and makes itself at home. Sometimes it does wear a costume of sadness. Just to shake things up a bit. But it's at the oddest times. "Hey, I'm with friends! People like me, this is great! Oh, wait? What IS that? Why am I suddenly crushed with sadness? Get it off, get if off!!!" Yeah, it's kind of a mind-fuck like that.

Have you ever gotten an x-ray and they put that heavy coat/vest/doormat thing on you? Even if you're just getting your teeth checked? Depression is kind of like that. Heavy, only all over. Over your very soul. It's debilitating and makes it hard to breathe. Only it's invisible. Like an invisible cloak, but not in a cool, Harry Potter way. In the way that all you can do is crawl under it and drag it around until it gets a little lighter, then a little lighter, then lifts. It disappears for the same reason that it appeared. For no discernible reason at all.

And what does it look like to the people around you? Well, because it's invisible, it looks like you're being an asshole. It looks like you don't care. Because you don't. Depression makes you numb to caring, not just about other people, but about yourself. It's impossible to care about anyone or anything when your soul is covered with this heavy darkness.

And then it lies to you. On your better days, you know you're smart and capable and deserving. When depression knocks, it makes you believe that you're worthless and stupid and wrong. No matter what you do, it will be wrong. You know that you have things to do, that people depend on you. People you care about. Depression tells you those people don't care, that you're a disappointment, that the effort of trying is too much. And even if there are other voices saying, "No, do it! You can! You're someone who matters!", depression's voice is louder. Only it's not loud, because it's in your bones. And your bones are heavy and you're tired and you can't do it anyway because you're shit, so you don't. You give up.

Then people are disappointed. And you explain yourself until you're blue in the face but it doesn't matter. "Can't you see? I'm trying!! Can't you see? I care!!" No, it's like a one-way mirror. You see it, but they don't. You know you're different, that something is wrong and that you don't want it, but they only see the appearance of apathy, self-absorption, and discourtesy.

So you wait. You give yourself a time-out and face the corner. Which, by the way, is also rude and viewed as being a supreme asshole, but you can't worry about that. You can only wait for the heaviness to lift. For the lies to stop. For the moment you can smile again and really feel it.

One day you're happy again. What is happy for you, anyway. Once in a while you even forget for a little bit. You allow yourself to be carefree and silly and let the joy in. But it's there. It's at the edge, it's waiting to come back, unannounced, uninvited. You can blur the line for a little bit, you can put a few steps between you. But it will be back.

It always is.

Searching For Our Sassy

I don't want to write this. I can already feel the fog of judgement descending. I'm about to open myself up to criticism that can stab me, but for some reason I need to do it. I need to tell you how real depression is. I need to tell myself. And if you don't understand, well, good for you. Know that you're one of the lucky ones and be thankful and find compassion.

I know it's real. I know it's real for me and I know it's real for other people. But I didn't know how sneaky it is. I didn't know what a real asshole it is. Now I do.

D has been a monster for the last few months. Or year. But she's a teenager and she's supposed to be that way. She's supposed to do things that make me want to throw her out because she'll be leaving in a couple of years and I need to be ready for that. Only somehow it seemed worse than that. I had a feeling it was more. I had the thought that she might be depressed. And then I dismissed it. Because it couldn't be. Because I was unemployed and going through my own shit and I couldn't take on one more worry. Because depression tells you you're the only one. Not in a you're-so-great-that-everyone-thinks-you-poop-rainbows kind of way, but in a only-you-are-the-worst-person-and-everyone-else-is-better-than-you kind of way. And this extended to my own daughter.

She finally went to talk to her school counselor a few weeks ago, who told her she needed to talk to me. She had looked up symptoms of depression and pointed to all of the ones she felt she exhibited. Cue self-loathing. I knew it. I knew it and I didn't do anything about it. I made an appointment with a doctor for the next day. She talked to both of us, she talked to D alone, and assessed D as "pretty severely depressed" and prescribed an anti-depressant after discussing it with her. She wasn't sure she wanted to take it, so we talked about what it does and doesn't do, the type of medication, and the dosage. She agreed to try it.

I've been watching her. When she has a good day or is cheerful or excited about something, I think to myself, yes. It's better. We're good. Next. I should know better. I should know how much I pretend myself.

Yesterday was a particularly bad day for both of us. When I feel bad, I shut people out. When she feels bad, she attacks me. She hurts me with her words. I shut down. And when she said she has problems, I said so what. So fucking what. We all have problems, what makes your problems so much worse? Cue intense self-loathing. She spent some time in her room and when she wanted to talk, she really wanted to talk. She wanted to say she was sorry. She wanted to say how much she hates herself and how she cries when she looks in the mirror. And then she told me how much. How she doesn't deserve to be happy. She told me exactly how much she's hurting and how much she's losing control and falling apart and it shattered my heart. My beautiful baby girl who loved dance and her friends and laughing and life. She hurts and she doesn't deserve it.

We talked. We watched this. We cried. She asked me why we have to have this. This depression. I told her it's because we're strong because it's the only thing I could think of. It's true though. She was strong enough and brave enough to ask for help. Not just once, but until someone listened. She was brave enough to tell me and show me how much she hurts. Telling someone what you are inside is scary. She thought I would be disappointed or disbelieving but she did it anyway. She risked opening up that ugly part that we want to hide. She is brave and she is strong.

I told her all of the good things about her. I showed her the friends on Facebook who tell her how wonderful she is. I told her she's beautiful and kind and a good friend and talented. And sassy. It's one of my favorite things about her but she said it isn't a good thing. I said, oh yes. Yes it is. We are both sassy and it's good. Sassy is strong. Sassy means saying things that not everyone wants to hear. Sassy means being yourself. Whatever it takes.

This isn't what I wanted. When I held my precious baby for hours on end, this wasn't my dream for her. I want to protect her. I want to make this go away. My first reaction was to fix it. Only it can't be fixed. It can be dealt with, it can be understood, it can be talked about. There is no magic fix. I have to find my own strength to help her through it. Her beautiful bravery will be my motivation when my own asshole of depression tells me not to care.

Cue the sass.