If you want to call depression an illness, go for it.
If you want to call it a disease, that’s fine too.
Let’s not argue over semantics.
It doesn’t really matter what label you put on it.
Depression is no joke and it’s a big fucking deal.
And while there may be some people who are lucky enough to never have to deal with it themselves, I bet you’d have a hard time finding someone who hasn’t been at least indirectly affected by it.
There is usually only, at most, one degree of separation where depression is concerned.
So let’s say you are sitting down in the sludge of the rabbit hole and nobody knows.
You are afraid to tell anyone.
You think people will judge you.
Or not understand.
Well,
you might be right.
There may be some people who don’t understand.
There may also be some completely ignorant assholes who tell you to just suck it up.
You can’t just suck it up.
I know.
I get it.
And many, many other people know it.
Don’t listen to the ignorant assholes.
Listen to me.
Yesterday I wrote a post about unloading your Fucked Up Shit (FUS).
I have always been a sensitive person.
Ever since I can remember.
I know I’m genetically predisposed to depression. Then, things happened. Varying degrees of fucked up shit piled on fucked up shit.
Eventually you have layer upon layer upon layer and it just feels too heavy.
You don’t want to tell anyone because you are embarrassed.
Or you feel weak. Like you should be able to handle it.
Or maybe you feel like your depression, or the things that caused you to feel depressed aren’t major enough to warrant you wanting to curl up in the fetal position in a corner of your room and stay there.
Forever.
Stop comparing your shit to everyone else’s shit.
Your depressed doesn’t need to be as severe as someone else’s to be serious.
If you found out you had stage one breast cancer you wouldn’t wait until it became stage four to get treatment, would you?
You would take care of that shit before it got worse.
So like I said before, I have always been a little extra sensitive.
And I had very little self-confidence when I was little.
Like, none.
I made a big deal yesterday about unloading FUS. Well, I’ve still got some that I’ve never unloaded.
Ever.
I have never told one single person.
Not my parents.
Not my husband.
Not any of my eleventy-skillion therapists.
Because I’ve felt like maybe this FUS was my fault.
Or like it wasn’t fucked up enough to be FUS.
But it fucked me up.
Badly.
And I have been carrying this FUS around for almost 40 years.
It’s time to unload.
So here goes.
Like I said before, I was an overly sensitive kid with very little self confidence or self esteem.
I was extremely shy.
And there was a person in my life who I pretty much worshipped.
She was only a couple years older than me. But she was everything I was not. Bold and seemingly fearless and outspoken.
I wanted to be just like her.
I idolized her.
One day around the time I was five years old, she asked me to take off my shirt.
I knew it wasn’t okay.
I knew it was wrong.
If felt all wrong.
But I wanted so badly to be accepted and liked by this person, that I couldn’t bring myself to say no.
I did whatever it was that she told me to do.
No matter how wrong I knew it was.
When she told me that she would never talk to me again if I ever told anyone, I sealed my lips shut tight.
I never told.
I so badly needed her to approve of me.
At any cost.
Over the next few years, the things she would tell me to do became increasingly explicit.
I knew they were wrong.
But some of them felt good.
And that really made me feel bad.
I had opportunities to tell someone. I came close many times.
But I never did.
Eventually, once she was old enough to start dating boys, the encounters stopped.
I was left in this limbo.
Happy that I wasn’t being manipulated into situations that I knew were wrong, but still carrying around tremendous feelings of guilt.
Shame.
Always wanting to tell someone but scared to death I’d be told that it was my fault. That I should have said something. That I knew better. That I must have asked for it.
And then there has been the comparison of my FUS to other peoples’ FUS.
It’s not like I was molested by a step father or a priest.
Or held captive in a basement for fourteen years.
It doesn’t matter.
It fucked me up.
And I found out it’s an actual thing! It wasn’t just me.
It’s called child-on-child sexual abuse.
Then, about six years after all that ended, my baby brother was diagnosed with leukemia.
And a year and a half later, he died.
More FUS.
My family never talked about it.
More FUS.
I went to college and sought validation and acceptance the way I had learned to when I was little.
I let people take advantage of me.
I cheated on boyfriends.
Eventually getting guys to sleep with me became a challenge.
During the chase, I felt empowered.
Finally I was the one in control.
In reality, I was completely out of control.
And the next day, I would wake up feeling dirty.
Disgusting.
Empty.
Depressed.
I’d vow never to do that again.
And then, inevitably, I’d break the vow a couple days later.
More layers of FUS.
With each layer, I became more and more depressed.
Eventually one of the guys who I cheated on a boyfriend with got me pregnant.
More FUS.
We got engaged.
3 weeks before the wedding I had a miscarriage.
More FUS.
We still got married.
And then a year later we got divorced.
More FUS.
Around this time I started doing drugs.
More FUS.
I dove back into sleeping with anyone and everyone to make myself feel better.
But it only made things worse.
The depression got worse.
More FUS.
I got engaged again.
I was able to break it off before I made another mistake. But I went back to sleeping around.
More FUS.
Then, I ended up in an abusive relationship.
I wasn’t able to remove myself from it for quite some time.
A SHIT TON OF FUS.
I got out of that and started dating a guy who was extremely wealthy.
I moved in with him.
He was a major pothead.
I became addicted to smoking weed.
Yes, they say it’s not addictive.
It was for me.
I was a fourth grade teacher who was smoking pot almost 24/7.
More guilt.
More shame.
More FUS.
Eventually, one day, I just started crying and I couldn’t stop.
I ended up in the nuthouse.
When I was released, my pot-smoking boyfriend dumped me.
More depression.
More FUS.
More sleeping around.
Eventually, I met my husband.
We got married.
Very soon after the wedding, I got pregnant.
And then I got pregnant again.
I loved being a mom.
But I was still fucked up.
And one night, after a couple glasses wine,
and a huge fight with my husband,
I took an entire bottle of Xanax.
I don’t remember much of what happened after that.
But let me tell you something.
If you think admitting to someone that you are depressed or that you don’t think you can handle your life or that you cheated on your boyfriend or that you’re addicted to drugs or whatever else is embarrassing,
it’s not near as embarrassing as getting wheeled out of your house on a stretcher and into the back of an ambulance and then sitting in the ER — or the fucking psych ward — with dark black stains down your chin and the front of your hospital gown after you’ve repeatedly puked up the charcoal concoction the EMT’s made you drink.
I know hindsight is twenty twenty.
And I like to think that everything I went through I went through for a reason.
But I sure do wish I had shared that first round of FUS way back when.
It might have saved me a couple trips down the fucking rabbit hole.
Or at least that last one in the ambulance.
So don’t wait for Stage 4.
Say something now.
I just unloaded a 40-year-old dish of secret with a huge side of shame.
And I feel better already.
Now it’s your turn to feel better.
If you need someone to talk to, call the National Suicide Prevention Hotline 1-800-273-TALK (8255)
You’ll never know what reading this means to me. Thank You.
You’re welcome, Mary 🙂
Wow. Thank you. From the bottom if my heart, thank you.
Just lightening the load! Stay vulnerable!
so brave. thank you!
You are very brave for putting this all out there, a lifetime of FUS condensed down into one post. I hope it is healing for you, and I’m sure it will be helpful to many.
You are so brave! It’s nice to know your not alone! Especially your story about when you were 5. I to had a similar experience may times with a friend when i was 5 to 6 years old. Only her threats were that she would get her older brothers to beat me if i didn’t go along with it. They were big guys and into lifting weights….so i believed her. Thank you for sharing your stories, very comforting to hear from someone who’s also been there!
Thank you, M! Like I said…we’ve all got some FUS! Thank you for reading. And thank you for sharing 🙂
I know you don’t know us (your readers) but we all feel like we personally know you. I am glad you let it all out and I hope you always feel comfortable and confident in just being honest. Keeping things in can be so harmful. None of us are even remotely perfect and anyone that pretends to have never made a mistake, done FUS, or dealt with anything but happiness is lying. I know saying Go Girl is super cheesy but I feel like saying it – Go Girl!!
Thank you, Carolyn! Unloading feels good. I really appreciate your support 🙂
Thank you for sharing your experiences. Thank for being so real. Thank you for being so brave to share, and cheesy, but ‘hugs’.
Allison, thank you for your support. I really appreciate it.
Thank you! Have been on the edge of my rabbit hole. I know what it’s like down there, been there done that. I’m stepping back. Thank you!
I have this thing in my mind, and I know it’s from my history, if I fuck something up, I’m a failure. I’ve been taking it out on the kids and that adds more guilt. You’re amazing, your words touch deeper than you’ll ever know!
There is no failure except in no longer trying 😀
You never cease to amaze me. You are very brave to unleash that..and I bet a heavy weight has been lifted.
Go big or go home, Melissa! That’s my motto 🙂
It’s like deflating a balloon- unloading releases all of that pressure. You wonder why you haven’t done it sooner. We all have our own shit to process, thanks for reminding us to do it!
Thanks for reading, JoAnne, and thank you for your support. It means a lot to me!
When I was in high school I was going through a rough patch at home. The school required me to attend a weekly support group with the school counselor. I show up and there are all of the rest of the girls going through their own FUS. If anyone looked in the room they would have wondered why all of the funny class clowns were there. I’m betting nobody would have had a clue.
Secrets hold power over us. When we share them, that power diminishes.
I think the stage 1 breast cancer vs. stage 4 is really powerful. Yes, we would get help immediately. Why do we think differently about other problems that can grow and damage us?
Thanks for being so open. There is power in releasing the secrets. Go you!
Amazing how some people don’t get it, and don’t even try to get it. I have an extensive family history of depression and anxiety, and yeah, it’s not always a matter of just sucking it up. My husband’s form of support is the best: “It’s ok to feel your feelings” or “I understand you’re upset, even if I don’t understand why.”
On the flip side, like you, grew up in a family where feelings weren’t discussed, which led me to believe they were something to keep hidden, or at least dealt with privately.
When I see or hear comments like, “Why don’t depressed people just go for a walk” or accusations such people are just looking for attention – it is just so very frustrating.
Words cannot express how awesome you are. Thank you for sharing your stories. It’s amazing to know that someone out there has been down the rabbit hole too. I can’t say thank you enough.
I don’t know how you wrote this but I have so much respect for you that you did. When I write I feel so inhibited thinking about who will be reading it and what they will think… Scared of revelaing too much! You inspire me to share more and break down those barriers.
Bravo to you for your strength…having the guts to “own it.”
Hi Susie, You probably recognize my name from Daryl. Thank you for sharing your whole heart. My heart is for authenticity and sharing our dark moments, so that shame, confusion, lies and such can be released and not grow into the cancer that kills. I admire your honesty and willingness to share your pain- I know you have helped many by your willingness to be honest. I have had two bouts with crippling anxiety and depression and I share my story for the hope of sparing someone else the shame and confusion that follows it. I hope to meet you soon- It ‘s been interesting 😉 getting to know Daryl after so many years and then not really knowing him when we were young. His book is so important for the same reasons I just shared with you. You two make a beautiful picture of hope. Your children are beautiful!
Peace,
linda puffer
I love this.. But athough I haven’t hit stage 4 yet… The other night I had a really close call… Thank you for this! I knew I was following your blog for a reason. And tonight I found it.
I’ve read alot of your blogs. But this gives the word brave a new meaning. Isn’t it so sad that we quickly take care of every other organ in our body, but seem to forget about our brain. Thank you for having the courage to remind us. Your “realness” is touching alot ov people’s lives. Thank you.