"Coming back to life," as I call it, after every episode of severe depression is a process that I never wanted to experience once, let alone repeat so many times. I don't know if I can find the words to adequately describe it, but I have to try.
At first, it's remembering what it was to feel the emotion of happiness, but wondering if that is somehow no longer attainable for me, like I'm too far gone to find that peace in my life again. It's hurting so deeply as I try to find whatever life and light is still left in my heart and go on. It's being forced to face the harsh reality that this problem will likely come and go periodically for the rest of my life and trying to overcome the overwhelming thought of how many years and how much heartache is left ahead of me, knowing that I can't stop it all from happening. It's often feeling alone in these feelings, because there aren't the right words to explain it, although I'm so thankful for the people who try to understand. Eventually, through little experiences and tender mercies that build on one another, my days start to fill with more and more light, until I finally feel like myself again.
It takes time and lots of patience to work through this process, but I'm getting there once again. Little by little, day by day, step by step, I'm coming back to life and hoping that this will stick around for a very long time.
I have to share these three pictures, because they show the process unfolding perfectly. It started with me laying down almost all the time, hardly able to get through the days, scrolling my phone in an attempt to pass a little more time, not able to be present with my family, because everything hurt too much, feeling like my family desperately needed more than what I would ever be capable of offering, etc. Kyle sent me this picture from inside our house and pointed out that even when I was just surviving, I was still making my kids happy by playing with them with my feet. They were laughing, and I hadn't even really noticed. When I saw his message though, I immediately felt a little spark of light, like there was something good left inside of me, and I could somehow try to be okay again. And I did. After that, I started doing a couple of the things that I knew could help me be okay again.
Then, a week later, Kyle wanted to go on a hike as a family. Somehow he knew what my heart needed, even when I didn't. We spent time together in nature, in the sunshine, working up a sweat, taking pretty pictures, and it fed my soul. When we got to the lake at the top, a random man said to me in passing, "It's all worth it," words I had been wondering and asking myself for days. How he knew that I needed to hear those exact words I will never know, but I felt an even bigger spark, like some sort of energy filled my heart and lifted away a huge weight that had been hanging there.
We walked back down the mountain and my heart felt different. I really, really wanted to try to be okay. I finally felt like I could. Near the end of the hike, I wanted a picture with my family and with the beautiful view, because it all made me happy, not the fake happiness I had been forcing for a few weeks, but real happiness.
I guess my point in sharing this is to say that coming back to life is possible. I've done it 23 times, and realistically that number won't stay there, but I'll keep doing it again and again, as many times as I have to. Thanks to my wonderful husband, sweet kids, and many supportive friends, I can keep doing it, because they help me carry what my heart could never endure on its own.
