The Struggle to Survive

Be Kind

I was in my last year of college when I got diagnosed with depression and put on my first prescription of antidepressants. I now know leading up to that I had experienced my first mental break. I collapsed in my bedroom and my good friend at the time had to call my mom. She helped me pack my suitcase and I managed to get in my car the next day and drive home. I spent an entire week on my parents’ couch, mostly sleeping and only getting up to shower and eat. It was awful and scary. And, little did I know that I would continue to be plagued by those feelings for the rest of my life.

In graduate school, I was “officially” diagnosed with textbook Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD), which would manifest itself in severe compulsive activity and anxiety, which would then transfer to depression and feelings of despair. It was a horrible cycle and the only way I can describe it is like being stuck in quicksand. The more I tried to pull myself out of it, the deeper I sank. At the time, I had taken a break from my studies to regroup and was working at a nearby gym. I had an early morning shift and I vividly remember times driving back from work and thinking how easy it would be to just run my car off the road; and it would all be over. I felt guilty for the anguish and worry I was causing those around me and, in my desperation, I honestly thought it would be best for everyone if I was gone. Fortunately, the part of my brain that was rational was able to talk the manic and irrational side out of it. I was one of the lucky ones; or as I now believe, it was not God’s will for my life.

As the years went by, I would have good days and bad days. But, when my son was born, and I suffered from what I now believe was undiagnosed postpartum depression, I found refuge in drinking. Like many people who suffer from depression, drinking became my other “medicine.” It’s how I escaped the anguish, despair and loneliness I felt. I was ashamed that I couldn’t just “snap” out of it, which made me sink deeper and deeper into my despair. To those looking in from the outside, my life seemed happy and wonderful. However, at the time, I found little joy and happiness.

I share this because when people talk about the selfishness of those who commit suicide or state that suicide is a choice; I highly doubt that they have ever experienced the despair of depression and addiction. By no means do I agree that taking your life is the answer; I don’t. I believe that all life is a God-given gift to be treated with the utmost respect. But, I also believe, that like any disease left untreated, depression and addiction can and will kill you.

Those of us who do suffer from these diseases must take care of ourselves, which is why I couldn’t get to a meeting fast enough last night. I was starting to become complacent in my recovery. I wasn’t attending meetings, and just as I had heard from others’ experiences, I hit a wall. A day that was already filled with sadness from the anniversary of a close friend’s death, was exasperated with the news of Robin Williams’ death. And, with everything else going on in the world – it became too much. I felt myself begin to sink in that quicksand. The anger, anxiety and depressive thoughts were welling up inside of me and it scared me. Because, I know those feelings lead to a need for escape. The alcoholic in me doesn’t want to feel them; I want to drown them out until I get to a place of total and complete numbness.

So, when my husband got home, I high tailed it out of our house and drove to a new women’s meeting I had been wanting to go to. And, the minute I walked in and was greeted with smiles and hugs, I was able to breathe again. I was with my people. People who knew and understood the despair I was feeling. As we went around the room, we laughed over our crazy alcoholic stories and cried over this disease that has taken so many of us.

But, in the end, we all expressed how grateful we were to be there, in that meeting, not as addicts or alcoholics, but as survivors.

Today I am a survivor, but I know how quickly I could become a victim to this disease. We must be vigilant in our recovery and treatment – and we must ask for help.

 

20 responses

  1. Hear hear, Chenoa. Bravo. I couldn’t agree any more about what you said. I really can’t add anything else other than it’s not suprising and saddening to hear people go on about how “selfish” suicide is and how we it’s the Wrong Choice. Ugh. I had major suicidal thoughts in my early recovery.

    It’s been about 5-6 weeks since my last meeting…speaking of complacency. I need to go. Soon! My monkey mind is my enemy, and the more I can smother it with stepwork and fellowship and God’s light, I don’t have to worry about going down Mr. William’s dark path.

    Thank you. Kudos to a wonderful post.

  2. I was bummed today too. Didn’t feel the need for a meeting but I did hightail it out of work and sinking into my favorite blogs. 134 days sober Thank you for your service to me and others.
    Gratefully,
    Irishgirl

  3. Chenoa, What a divine moment it was when I felt the nudge to speak to you at Costco. YOU were so calm, pulled together, and friendly. I had no idea at the time that any of this was swirling around inside of you. What a gift you have given to others to share from your heart. I had not seen this blog today until I click on the link.
    I agree it is so easy to sit in judgement where we have never gone before. The unfamiliar looks “wrong” because it’s seen through the viewer’s lens. I have been blessed to have never had alcohol be an issue in my family growing up so my lens doesn’t see things as clearly (and painfully) as one who has dealt with this. YOU are that calm, pulled together, friendly woman I was privileged to meet in Costco and now consider a friend.
    I love you sister! Linda

  4. Straight from the heart and soul! I love that you shared this. It is so easy to judge harshly, especially when we are just sure others have done something we would NEVER do. We humans are messy. I am so happy that I’ve stopped pretending to be unmessy. I spent a few minutes today with a beautiful young woman who knows I’ve stopped drinking and is trying to do the same. I took a scrap of paper and wrote down the name of your blog. I hope she finds you and I hope she sees these awesome words.

    • Oh, thank you for your kind words and telling your friend about my site! I spent WAY too many years trying to hide my messy – not anymore! It’s exhausting trying to pretend to be something that you’re not. Grateful that we can all be real here and, just maybe, help others in the process.

  5. Like you, I’ve been sad to read people’s responses to William’s suicide. As for me, I really can’t be around people like that right now. I think for some people, they have to go through something very hard in their life to develop empathy. I just need people who “get it”. Glad you get it. Thanks for being you!

  6. My stepfather committed suicide, I attempted suicide when I was 13 and 4 of my siblings and my mother have attempted suicide. It is so hard to explain to people what goes through a person’s mind when they’re in such a deep state of depression and how suicide can sound like a solution. It’s also hard to convince someone in that state that suicide is absolutely not a solution. I understand it from both ends and I hope that Robin Williams’ death will open up a deeper discussion about depression. When we lose hope, we lose everything. Thank you for sharing your story, Chenoa.

  7. Chenoa, your take on staying sober always encourages me. As I’ve said before, alcohol has not been my vice, but I’m no stranger to trying to medicate and numb. Achievement is usually what’s in my glass and I run my mind and body into the ground – to the point of…and when you talk about those points you get to, I know I don’t even need to elaborate. Y’all get it. I feel like I understand alcoholism better and that we can all understand each others’ hearts. We are all on our way – with the courage to make that way better one daily choice at a time. Thanks for building bridges here, Friend. 🙂

    Best,
    Emily Grace

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