• Book Info
  • Scribbles

Wynded Words

~ Home of author Sarah Wynde

Category Archives: Depression

The first day…

05 Monday Mar 2018

Posted by wyndes in Depression, Grief, Personal

≈ 6 Comments

I’ve been joking with two different friends about every day being New Year’s Day. It’s not just that all my resolutions have gone nowhere — did I even make any resolutions? — it’s that 2018 is slipping away while I feel increasingly stuck, grinding my gears deeper and deeper into the mud.

The mud is obviously metaphoric, but I’m not even sure what it is. Depression? Maybe. Grief, sure. Lack of productivity leading to self-loathing leading to inertia leading to the dirty dishes piling up in the sink and a blue hair tie sitting in the middle of the floor day after day after day. Why don’t I just pick up the damn blue hair tie? I don’t know. It seems like too much work? It’s an interesting dash of color in the gray? It reminds me that I should brush my hair? Not that I do, I just think, “hmm, maybe I should brush my hair” and then I start browsing the internet again.

Today I picked up the blue hair tie. And I washed the dishes and put them away. And it’s a Monday and I’m going back to blogging on Monday and Thursday, regardless if I think I have anything to say, because it was good for me to have that structure in my life.

Today is the first day of the rest of my life, cliche as that statement is, and if it was the last day… well, I would want to know that I’d used it wisely. Which means not browsing the internet for hours, not reading books that I don’t care about, not playing mindless internet games, but yes, taking good walks with Zelda, yes, eating healthy food, and yes, writing some of my own words. And yes, making sure that my tiny house is comfortable and cozy and clean.

Time to get started.

sunrise through the trees at Lake Catherine, Arkansas

Sunrise through the trees, from March of 2017. It’s a metaphor, I suppose.

The pros of the apocalypse

19 Monday Dec 2016

Posted by wyndes in Depression, Florida, Grace, Travel

≈ 2 Comments

I’m camping in Blue Springs State Park this week, famed as a home to manatees in winter time. I’ve visited this park before as a day visitor, more than once, so it’s not new to me. But this morning while I was walking Zelda, I was imagining myself in a post-apocalyptic world. The kind where plague has taken all the people, not zombies. I wasn’t scared, it just felt incredibly empty. Every other time I’ve been here, there have been lots of people, but of course, that was never before dawn. Then I spotted some manatees in the water and got much more cheerful, because probably if the human beings all died out, the manatees would have a much better chance of surviving. The pros of the apocalypse.

Last night, it rained. My weather app — which honestly, seems fairly useless, except for the immediate weather — had been claiming rain for days, including an entire afternoon of lightning and thunder yesterday, but it didn’t happen until 4:43 AM this morning. I can be so precise about the time because I woke up and it had barely started, a little tap-tap-tap on the roof of Serenity, but as I lay there wondering what that noise was, it really started. It went very quickly from tapping to torrential, which sounds a lot like being inside a drum. Or maybe a heart beat. I haven’t had nearly enough rain in Serenity, because I do enjoy it so much. Last night, I could hear the difference in the sounds of the rain hitting the roof and the rain hitting the plastic vents over the fans. It was music, definitely. Albeit slightly boring music after ten minutes or so. Plenty of rhythm, but a lack of harmony.

Despite the rain and the bleak apocalyptic thoughts, I’m really happy to be here. Right now, I can see a cardinal sitting on a branch outside my open door. There have been squirrels darting through the trees—or maybe one very busy squirrel. I’m surrounded by trees and greenery. It’s definitely not the most peaceful park I’ve spent time in—the train tracks must be incredibly close because wow, the trains are loud when they rumble through—and there must be some kind of construction going on nearby because there was a lot of heavy equipment moving around, including those annoying backup beeps, earlier this morning. But it’s not a parking lot, it’s a park.

I spent the last two weeks sitting in a campground that was a parking lot: trailers on either side of me, nothing separating me from my neighbors, and my view consisting entirely of people stuff. My goal was to finish Grace or give up. I did neither. I didn’t get very far, but I did come up with a new ending and a new plan, so I’ll be persisting. But I did learn that I should really, really not sit still for so long in a place that doesn’t inspire me.

While I don’t seem to get a lot of writing done on the days that I’m moving from place to place and planning moves takes energy that I could be putting into writing, my level of depression rose steadily over the past couple weeks. Or my mood sank steadily? And the trap that is depression was sucking me in: I knew I was starting to feel bleak but I lacked the energy and motivation to make a change. It’s really only today — gloomy apocalyptic thoughts and all — that I’ve been able to wake up and realize how much I had lost my joy. That’s because having a cardinal sitting on a branch avoiding the rain brings it back. I don’t want to live in places where I have to search to find the beauty, even if they are cheap.

Of course, that does mean that I should earn some money and that means that I should be writing Grace right now. So off to do it! It’d be nice if I could get out of the scene I’m in and back to a scene with Grace and Noah together. Not that I know what happens in that next scene, but I’m a lot more likely to find out if I keep writing than if I wait for inspiration to hit.

 

The eye of the beholder

15 Monday Aug 2016

Posted by wyndes in Depression, Personal, Randomness, Travel

≈ 9 Comments

Tags

Gettysburg Farm RV Park, Pennsylvania

fungus

I suffer from the relatively common ailment of mean brain. Not mean to other people, but mean to myself. It’s something I’ve worked on for a long time, but I still have flare-ups. Maybe it’s like an allergic reaction? My hyperactive immune system thinks that half the common substances on the planet are dire threats and stimulates misery in response. When my mean brain gets triggered, it stimulates misery, too. Maybe it’s some kind of protective mechanism, but it’s not a very good one.

Sunday morning, it started whispering. I’ll spare myself writing out the details — it’s not like it’s going to be good for me to spend more time in those thoughts — but the words “homeless” and “failure” were pretty loud. Fortunately, I was in a really good place to see those thoughts for what they were, just words. Just labels.

Earlier I had been sitting in my chair, watching the water and the trees and a chirpy little sparrow. The sparrow was adorable, totally charming in that tiny bird way. It kept a fearless eye on the dogs, but it was much more interested in whatever it was finding in the dirt. It flew away and I thought, “What a miracle birds are.” Flight is so amazing. It’s incredible that they can just lift off and soar through the air. It’s not a new thought, I’ve had it many times before, often when seeing birds take off around the pond where I used to walk the dogs. And then one of the nasty biting bugs landed on my leg and I thought, “Hmm, I don’t think I ever think about bugs being a miracle. But they can fly, too.”

I waved the bug off and moved on, heading inside to figure out what I could eat for breakfast. The campground I was in was a first-come, first-served campground, and I was reluctant to pack up to make another grocery store run while weekend people were coming in. My spot was lovely, a mix of sun and shade, looking right out on the water, with a pretty view of an open field on the other side. It was also nice and flat with no major ruts or big muddy spots, easy to get to, and reasonably simple to access. In other words, I was afraid to leave it for fear I’d lose it. But food supplies were running low. Still, I made myself breakfast from the dregs of the fridge. And when it was ready, I took a picture of it, because it was very pretty.

salad photo

As I sat down to eat, I was thinking about reality and how we shape it with our words. Here’s a reality: my nectarine was bruised. I had to cut out the bruised bits. My cucumber was a tasteless grocery store purchase, no flavor at all. The radishes, from the farmer’s market two weekends ago, never tasted very good and were getting squishy. I threw the rest of them away when I was done with my salad. The carrots are the kind that seemed old the instant I opened the bag, slightly bitter and drying out. The salad greens are still remarkably nice given that they’re a week old, but they’re heavy on some grassy thing which I’m not nuts about. One of my three remaining eggs was cracked, so I had to throw it away. As a result, I only had one egg on my salad, so I could save the second one for later when I would be hungry again.

Here’s another reality: the egg was perfectly cooked and delicious. Still warm, it peeled easily and the yolk was exactly right. (Go, insta-pot!) I made a dressing to go on the salad that was fantastic — mayo that is gluten-free, soy-free, egg-free, and dairy-free (aka, miracle mayo), plus olive oil, lemon juice and powdered ginger. It made the cucumbers delicious, the carrots tolerable, couldn’t help the radishes, was interesting on the nectarine, and was amazing on the egg and the greens. I didn’t quite lick the plate, but I ate every last bite of the whole salad, even the grassy stuff.

And maybe those thoughts about reality and how we shape it were the trigger for me being mean to myself, but before I could do more than take two or three nasty swipes at my choices and my character, I caught sight of the image at the top of this post. Such a bright color, almost like a California poppy. And the curves of the stalks are like petals on a flower.

But it’s a fungus. A fungus growing out of the picnic table where I was eating. Ick. Gross. And yet… it really was beautiful in the sunlight.

When my mean brain triggers, my eyes stop seeing the beauty around me. And in me, too. They start labeling: bugs, fungus, homeless.

It is a reality that I have moments when I feel homeless, not adventurous. Three weeks ago, I had a perfect last day in my house, and the memory is bittersweet right now. I miss my pool. I miss my shower. I desperately miss my high-speed, always-on Internet connection! And it’s painful to be homesick for a home that you never get to go back to.

But my mean brain is not running this show. It’s also a reality that I feel incredibly lucky. My salad was no different, no better than any salad I could have had a month ago at any time… but I appreciated it more. A shift of the kaleidoscope wheel and the pieces are the same but the picture is changed.

Grace as needed

15 Monday Feb 2016

Posted by wyndes in Depression, Food

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

Depression, recipe, squash

I’m not sure why I woke up in a bleak mood this morning. Nothing went wrong, nothing bad happened, and yet my old enemy depression grabbed me by the throat and started beating me up.

To this level: I opened the cupboard to get the coffee and somehow knocked a glass out. It shattered on the granite countertop and I sighed and decided to finish making coffee before cleaning up. And in the 90 seconds while I scooped the coffee and ran the water, my brain kept cycling around the question of whether I could kill myself with the broken glass but still somehow make it look like an accident. I’m not suicidal. I have no intention of killing myself. But that thought process is known as suicidal ideation and it’s one of the deepest and most frustrating symptoms of depression for me. I finished making the coffee and I cleaned up the glass carefully and I fed the dogs and I tried very hard not to hate myself.

And then I opened Facebook and read this post from Anne Lamott. And you should absolutely go read the whole thing, because it is so worth it, but this line — “The author might mention in passing that we get to start a new, sillier, more self-forgiving day whenever we want to.” — that line is the gift of grace that I needed this morning.

(Really, go read the whole thing. I want to quote it all. And then read the comments, because many of them are lovely and moving, too.)

Today, I am going to be silly and self-forgiving. And I’m going to write a lot of good words, and maybe I’m even going to hunt down some Valentine’s Day chocolate (or other chocolate, I’m not picky).

And on a totally unrelated note:

stuffed acorn squash

Acorn squash stuffed with stuff

Yesterday’s invented recipe was acorn squash, sprinkled with ginger and cinnamon and roasted, then filled with a mix of apple, red onion, cucumber, dried cranberry, and diced chicken apple sausage. I think it would have been better if I’d used celery instead of cucumber and heated up the filling, plus the addition of some toasted pecans and goat cheese would have been amazing, but I want to save it for future reference anyway. Delicious, healthy, filling, and even AIP.

Win at trying

06 Friday Jun 2014

Posted by wyndes in Depression, Personal

≈ 4 Comments

I can’t italicize a title, darn it.

Two blog posts in one day, ridiculous!

But my friend Tim said something to me tonight and I need to save it forever and this is the place where I save things forever, so… he said,

“You win at trying.”

It makes me want to do fist pumps, jump in the air and clap, turn my head up to the sky and shout in my loudest voice, “Yes.”

I win at trying. Getting out of bed is so hard sometimes and I do it anyway. When I can’t write the words, I at least open the files and look at them. It feels like nothing. I beat myself up about it. But I keep doing it, day after day after day.

And all I need to remember is to keep doing it. It’s not about finishing a book. It’s not about making a business work. It’s not about accomplishing anything. Never giving up is a success unto itself.

It’s my new life goal: Win at trying.

Depression

30 Sunday Dec 2012

Posted by wyndes in Depression, Personal

≈ 7 Comments

This post has been sitting in my drafts folder for a month now. I don’t know why I’m so reluctant to simply let go of it, one way or another, but I am. I want to keep it, to remember it, and I also want to get rid of it, to erase it. But I’m tired of being indecisive and I’m tired of seeing it in my drafts, so I’m posting it today, to let it finish out 2012, and tomorrow or Tuesday, I will write some nice inspiring “2013 will be all better” post to start off the New Year with a little more optimism.

I left a comment on Anne Stuart’s blog this morning and I’ve been thinking about it all day. I need to revisit it. And what better place to do that than here?

Blogging is public, obviously, but my blog is also personal. Posts on this blog go back six years or so, long before I started writing fiction again, and I’m willing to bet that I’m the only person who’s read some of the older posts. That’s fine by me. For a long time, I posted words here but I never mentioned them anywhere else. This was literally an online journal–my memories, stored in the cloud. When I self-published my books and linked the books to the blog, I accepted that people might find it but I also never really expected that people would. I’m saying all this because I’m torn between my desire to write with honesty–for myself, for what I need out of writing at the moment, for my own experience–and my awareness of the possibility of an audience. Personal versus professional, I guess. So, warning: this is intensely personal and if you’re only reading because you’re hoping to find out when A Gift of Time will be available, it is absolutely okay with me if you stop reading and go do something more fun with your time.

So here’s how the story goes.

R was unbearable last Sunday. Completely annoying. I finally snapped at him, “I’m done. Go away. I can’t handle this. I don’t want to hear it.”

He did the hurt look.

I felt guilty.

I said, “Wallow in your own room. In your space. But I am not up for this level of self-pity.”

He exited. Gracefully. I felt guilty. More than guilty. Evil. Mean. Bad mom.

Eventually, probably at least an hour later, I wandered over to his bedroom doorway. He didn’t glare at me. He gave me the stoic, “you have crushed my spirit and wounded my sensibilities” look. It’s a good look and he does it well. All his life–or at least from the time he was eight months old, which is the first time I can remember this feeling–he’s been a master at the expression that says, “you have failed me, but I forgive you anyway.” It’s a powerful look and someday I should write the story of the only time I spanked him and how quintessentially perfect it was for my parenting philosophy, but that’s not today’s story. Anyway…

I said to him, “You have a genetic predisposition to depression. It is an illness. It is a chemical imbalance in the brain, a shortage of dopamine and maybe serotonin. It can be helped with drugs. And if you think that is where you’re at, we can go to the doctor and get you medication and that’s okay.”

He shook his head.

I said, “That’s fine, too. But what I’m hearing you say is that you feel overwhelmed and if you’re overwhelmed, you still have options. I sort of think they’re obvious. If you can’t finish your English project, you tell your teacher, I can’t finish, I need to work over Christmas break. And she says, well, I’ll have to downgrade you a letter grade and you’ll get a B instead of an A. And so what? You’ll live with a B.”

He glared.

I repeated, “So what? You’ll live with a B.”

He glared more. Maybe added a nostril flare.

I shook my head. “You have choices. You have options. It is not the end of the world or anywhere close if you get a B. Or worse. Nothing that you’re doing is going to affect the fate of the world.”

The glare deepened.

“Dude,” I tried, “When I was in 11th grade, everything was desperately important to me. I felt like screwing up would be…” I couldn’t come up with the words for what it would have meant to screw up in 11th grade. I shrugged helplessly. “I knew that I couldn’t screw up. But I was wrong. It wouldn’t have mattered if I did. And it doesn’t matter if you do. You’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.”

“I’m not going to screw up.” His words were tight and hostile.

I sighed. Being a mom just sucks sometimes. You want to show that you understand but it doesn’t come across that way. “I was desperately worried about disappointing people when I was your age,” I said, trying hard to keep my voice even. “But you know what? It’s okay if you disappoint me. I will love you just the same.”

His glare softened slightly. But only slightly.

And inwardly, I wanted to roll my eyes. Great, I’d told him he could disappoint me. That wasn’t really where I wanted to go with this conversation. He is–okay, I’m a little biased–the most amazing kid ever. He’s never going to disappoint me. Not because of anything he needs to do, but because he is who he is. He could fail every class, and he would still be the gentlest sixteen-year-old you have ever met. He would still be a charm magnet for six-year-olds. He would still be himself. There is nothing he has to achieve to be wonderful. He simply is.

So I persevered. “When I was your age, I felt like I had to be perfect. I thought I needed to be perfect. But that was an illness talking. That was the wrong amount of dopamine in my brain. You don’t need to live that way.”

He looked away.

“If everything is overwhelming and you can’t handle the stress and what you need to do is stay home and play video games all day for a few months, that’s fine. We can make that work. We’d figure it out.”

“I don’t,” he grumbled, still not looking at me.

“Okay.” I stood in his doorway feeling stupid. I’m not sure what I finished with. I don’t know how I ended the conversation. But I walked away frustrated and worried and uncertain.

The next day, he was sick. Sore throat, flu-ish, so I told him to stay home from school. He did the same the next day. Wednesday, he was back to himself, cheerful and positive and offering up quirkily random bits of information, like the fact that golden eagles were used as hunting birds in Mongolia. And then he said to me,

“The opposite of depression isn’t happiness, it’s hope. You know you’re depressed when you’ve lost all hope, and you know you’re getting better when you find it again.”*

I think I said something along the lines of “Feeling better?” to which he said, “Yeah,” and the conversation ended.

But I’ve been stuck on the words ever since.

My friend Suzanne asked me if I wanted to go to Belize a few months ago. I said yes. Since 1999, Belize has been number one on my list of places I wanted to visit. I still remember sitting in our dreary apartment in Walnut Creek, on the hand-me-down-down-down couch, and hearing the name of a completely unfamiliar country on a television show, probably Zoboomafoo and thinking “Where’s that?” It was a place I’d never heard of, despite three solid years of major Model United Nations activity in high school, and it sounded wonderful.

And now–I just don’t care. I want to care. I think I ought to care. I keep reminding myself that I adore Suzanne and her husband and I love going to new places and I’ve wanted to visit Belize for over a decade. But I just can’t find … anticipation.

I told R the words that I had quoted him as saying, and he said that he wasn’t nearly so poetic about it, and that he just meant that he felt like normal life included lots of looking forward to good stuff and depressed life didn’t have any looking forward.

Yes. Exactly. Depressed life has no looking forward. I am living in the absence of hope. I am trapped in the inability to believe that the future matters.

I don’t want to go to Belize. I feel as if I ought to want to. But I just don’t. And it is that way for everything in my life right now. I simply can’t make myself believe in the possibility of tomorrow. All there is, is now. And now isn’t very interesting.

I stumbled across this post the other day. I know it’s long. But the part where she talks about feeling like you’re living life through a television screen? I went to my favorite event of the year a couple of months ago with one of my favorite people in the world and that is exactly how I felt. I wasn’t really there. I am not really anywhere.

There’s a saying, “Depression lies.” Yes. It lies. But it also erases. Everything meaningful gets lost in a cloud of “so what?”

*This is the motivation post. It never really got to motivation. I am just not motivated these days.

Honestly

15 Saturday Dec 2012

Posted by wyndes in Depression

≈ 2 Comments

I was in school to become a therapist before my mom died. You have to do a lot of self-analysis. In one course, we wrote papers about ourselves every week. My professor wrote a note on one of mine, almost at the end of the semester, that said, “Abused children can’t.” I think I stopped breathing when I read it.

A while later, I said to my mom, gently, carefully, in the car, “Did you hit us a lot when we were little?” I don’t know what I thought the answer would be. Maybe, “sometimes,” maybe, “once in a while,” maybe, “oh, when you were bad.”

She said, “Yes.”

Long pause.

I wanted to know more and I didn’t want to know more. I asked, “For what kinds of things?”

She said, “Anything. Everything.” She was staring straight ahead, not looking at me, and I could tell how painful it was to her. So I didn’t ask any more. Within the month she’d been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and five weeks later, she was dead.

Akira didn’t come out of nowhere.

Malware and motivation

08 Monday Oct 2012

Posted by wyndes in Depression, Personal, Randomness

≈ 4 Comments

My computer has become infested with malware, making the internet essentially unusable. I’ve tried a variety of things to fix it, but every time, either I get frustrated after an hour or two and decide to try again later (fast-forward another week or ten days before I’m willing to tackle it again) or I think I have it fixed only to discover a day or two later that I’m wrong, wrong, wrong. By unusable, I mean that when I’m typing, it may take seconds between letters. When I’m browsing, clicking links takes me to random sites, not related to the sites I’ve clicked on. Filling out forms is simply impossible, and I’m not willing to go to any secure site (ie banking or business related) in case a keylogger is waiting to steal my password. In other words, unusable.

I have to fix it. I know I have to fix it. I know that I’m the only person who’s going to fix it. But somehow, I’m just stuck. It’s so much easier to turn the computer off and play Sudoku on my iPad. It’s a problem at exactly the wrong level of serious annoyance but not quite completely incapacitating.

But there is hope. I’ve been following a site called Unfuck Your Habitat . . .

You know, I got exactly this far in writing this post, and then I heard the voice of Ms. UFYH in my head and it was saying, “Excuses are boring.” It was a nice voice. Friendly, maybe a little tiny bit southern, in that way that some southerners can pull off of saying something mean in such a way that it sounds gentle, even though it’s not. But firm, very firm. So away I went and now, four and half hours later, my computer is reformatted and I’m online again and my most important software (Word, so that I can keep writing) and my most important files (the Time files, of course!) are all back online.

Not only that, the two most recent boxes of stuff from my mom’s house are unpacked and somewhat put away, and the kitchen cupboards are reorganized so that some of the china can fit into the kitchen, making it far more usable than if it were stuck in a box in a closet somewhere. And the coffee plus coffee supplies are actually next to the coffee maker. If the camera battery was charged, I’d go take pictures.

I’ve needed to fix my computer since July. It’s October.

Typing at full speed. Checking my email in seconds instead of tedious minutes. Clicking on a link and having it go where I want it to go…It wasn’t 20 minutes. But I’m so, so, so glad that I finally just stopped making excuses and got it done!

Thank you, #ufyh!

Subscribe via Email

To receive new posts via email, enter your address here:

Instagram

Just catching the sunrise
A little patch of flowers in the wasteland.
Spring is on its way. Yay!
The second rainbow on the right is a little hard to see in the photo so look close.
Pre-Epcot breakfast, made by Frisbee. Total SuperHost. All the stars!

Meta

  • Log in
  • Entries feed
  • Comments feed
  • WordPress.org

Proudly powered by WordPress Theme: Chateau by Ignacio Ricci.

 

Loading Comments...