With a jump rope.

Its been a bit of a hard week for me - I've been on sort of a downward turn. It seems though I didn't want to be affected by the recent difficulties with judgements of others....it still took its toll. 

And, obviously this blog has to be somewhat fluid, as some days it is hard just to talk myself into getting out of bed, so I have to be able to every once in a while give myself a break and not write a post. 

Running through my head today is the song Jump Rope by Blue October.  My sweetheart recently pointed out the lyrics to me and I couldn't help but be introspective as I listened to them.  I suppose it speaks to me mostly because of the constant battle of ups and downs that I struggle with, but the most poignant line to me is to "be strong and don't give up hope".  It is a mantra that I try to tell myself almost daily.  I know we all struggle at times, and as for me....I'm hoping that I can "bounce" back from low points like this one with as much ease as jumping a rope. 

"Jump Rope"

Remember how you used to say
"you couldn't wait till tomorrow for a brand new day"
No fuss when ya had to ride the bus
You could add a little blush
Just to paralyze your school crush

Now your older and the weight upon your shoulder
Makes the world a little colder
No more hidin in the old days
Be strong
Don't give up hope
It will get hard
Cause life's like a jump rope

Up down when it gets hard remember life's like a jump rope

There'll be a bump there will be a bruise
There'll be alarms and there will be a snooze
There'll be a path that you will get to choose
There'll be a win and there will be a lose

You have to hold your head up high and
Watch all the negative go by
Don't you ever be ashamed to cry
You go ahead
Cuz life's like a jump rope

I want to tell you that everything will be okay
That everything will eventually turn itself to gold
Keep pushin through it all
Don't follow, lead the way
Don't lose yourself or your hope

Remember life's like a jump rope

Like a robot with a peg leg.

Today I had an epiphany, or as Oprah would phrase it....an Ah Ha moment.  I was running along as usual, thinking and running, breathing, and running.  I realized it almost felt robotic, like some sort of perpetual motion machine where my feet just sort of naturally kept lifting and dropping in a rhythmic pattern.  Almost how we end up going through life sometimes. 

 

But for some reason or another today I started to listen to my running.  I started to focus on my legs and I realized that my left foot was sort of dragging behind.  It was almost as if my right foot/leg was the leader and was making the forward motion, and then the left leg and foot would kind of just swing up to meet it.  Have I always run this way?  Is this my normal?  Am I a robot with a peg leg?  If this is the robotic motion that my body just does, then I could definitely use a V8.

Never did this image ring more true!

But could I change it?  It took me a few good blocks to think it through thoroughly before  I started the the actual switch to having my left leg be just as active as my right leg.   If anyone happened to be sitting on their porches enjoying the summer air, they definitely had an awkward show playing out right in front of them.  Surprisingly after a few blocks I had figured it out and it was amazing.  It was a completely different motion than I was used to, but in a good way.  A few times I went back to just jogging along listening to Bon Jovi and thinking about what color of duvet color I wanted to find for my bedroom for fall, and my right leg would just take over again with not even a moments hesitation.  I would have to restart my "new" pattern all over again.   In the end, I upped my speed by a TON!  (wish I would have figured this out a long time ago).

How honestly refreshing it is some days to feel the sense of accomplishment from learning about me and how I am strong enough to keep pushing back against my subconscious self in one way or another.  Physical or mental change takes time, and it takes hard work, lots of thought and determination.  But boy is it worth it.  Even though sometimes Bon Jovi and duvet covers are just what the doctor ordered, I would like to believe that I am in some way always trying to awkwardly change the negative patterns in my life.  Whether it is something as simple as learning to respond to my children with even more patience, learning how not to give in to my disease, or figuring out how to make my feet do equal work when running, I hope my mind is always actively trying to become something better just one step at a time. 

So here's to all of us learning how to manage our subconscious robotic tendencies, whatever they may be.  
 

Running away.

Today is a day to run away.  Run away from people who are thoughtless, unkind, and hateful.  Today i am running from anger and pain........today I was extremely hurt by the inference that it is obvious I have a mental disorder and that because of that I am less of a person, I am not normal, and I have problems.  


Each footstep is spent with the continued agonizing thought process of separating the hurtful words from the reality for my brain.  One step at a time telling my depression to take a back seat even though it feels like it is seeping into my body like the tears that are flowing down my face. 



I run to clear my head and to get rid of negativity. 







To that certain individual who recently belittled my existence:

To use someone's difficulty in life against them is unimaginable and horrifically mean.  You know you are wrong and I realize that your lack of intelligence or ability to retaliate to the completely valid points that I made was the reason for your unfathomably cruel rebuttal, but you need to know that if you ever feel the need to discuss me or my child or my parenting skills again, I will always stand strong and ready.  Your words were more than unkind, they were mean spirited and awful, and for any other person you might cross paths with in the future, I want you to know the damage you could do to someone who is dealing with depression.  Luckily I have a great support system, a wonderful family, and great doctors who all help me, and I am in a good place.  But someday there may be someone out there who might just be teetering on the edge, and your spiteful and horrid comments might be the thing that makes them think that life just isn't worth living any more.  Words can hurt.  And to someone with depression it can be even worse.  I feel sorry for the lifeless, sorrowful life you live and after this letter I will not think of you for one minute longer. 

With a black dog.

 Winston Churchill battled against depression most of his life. He described his depression as the "black dog" that chewed at his mind and soul.  To some this descriptor might invoke the frightening image of an ominous black figure always looming slowing behind you in every aspect of your life ready to bite at a moments notice.  It is creepy and dark imagery to be sure, and I understand the description, yet the first time I heard of battling depression being described as walking the "black dog", I had to smile.

My image of a "black dog" will always be different.  A vision of peace, companionship and amazing love.

In her youth my sweet Kona was just a ball of energy and spunk.  She would chase a tennis ball until her feet fell off if she could, and she loved to be outdoors. Yet, she would never run away.  She always stayed nearby and hence was a great dog on or off a leash.  This made her the perfect dog to take to the beach, to take on leisurly walks.......and most importantly to take running, which had always been my dream.

My husband made my dreams come true around our one year anniversary. I had told him of my dreams of owning a beautiful black Labrador, and that her name would be Kona.  And on a beautiful day in January in downtown Baltimore, Maryland we found her!  She was in a cage at the SPCA and as soon as we turned the corner, it was love at first sight. We adopted her!



She was a beautiful and young 2 year old and we couldn't have been happier to have her be part of our little family.  She became my best friend as my husband was gone or deployed working. She became my safety at night when I didn't want to sleep alone in our ghetto apartment in Baltimore.  She became my baby, and I was in love.  Best of all, she was my running companion and protector. She was my dream come true and then some.  Kona dutifully moved around the country with us from Baltimore, to Southern Virginia, to Southern California, and to New Jersey.  She was always with me for runs, walks, and trips to the mail box.  I work from home and Kona would always be my companion through hours of transcription.  She sat at my feet, and slept and listened for anything that might be amiss to warn me of.

She was part of our family to be sure, but she was mine.  She was my baby, my puppy, my friend, my confidant, and most importantly my therapy.  Kona was intuitively aware of my illness, and would never leave my side in times of deep sorrow and despair.  She laid at my feet or next to my side of the bed, even walking me from room to room to be with me wherever I went.  She was always there to nuzzle and love and petting her gave me peace at times when I could find it no where else.  She knew me, and I needed her. 

My sweet Kona was part of our lives for more than 11 years.  She eventually slowed to the point where running was no longer an option and evenutlaly cancer took my sweet girl's life.  Though it has been a few months since her passing not  a day goes by where I don't acutely feel her absence.  I constantly miss her sweet calming love and care for me.  I know it may sound strange to some, but my relationship with her was perfect and exactly what I needed.  I only hope I did as much for her as she did for me, and I will miss her until the day I die. 

I always think of my sweet girl when I run.  My last run with my girl was last Thanksgiving when she tried so very hard to keep up to complete the 3 miles that day.  Her body was so weary and she did amazing at first, but as the race wore on I could almost see her face begging me to slow down because she didn't want to lose me.  She was suppose to protect me and always be with me but her body just wouldn't let her any more.



I dream of her now being free and running so hard that I can't keep up.  And someday I think I'll be able to run with her again.

For now the imagery of walking a black dog is one of strength and comfort to me, and I will always be "running with my black dog" in my thoughts.

I should.

This trail is actually just 3 minutes from my house.  I am pretty lucky!  I figured I would run in the forest's ample shade and enjoy a late afternoon run.  But the 89% humidity and 96 degree temperature started to take its toll around mile 2.  As my feet hit the pavement at a slower and slower pace and I dumped the water from my running bottle onto my head to try to help with the heat, I found myself thinking. I should have gotten up early this morning to run. 

 I should.........

How many should thoughts can one person think in a day?  
I should be smarter.  I should spend more time with my kids.  I should work out more.  I should be able to make homemade bread with wheat from my year supply of food.  I should be a more attentive parent.  I should spend more time with my kids instead of reading.  I should make dinner from scratch out of the organic vegetables I grew in my enormous garden.  I should have a cleaner house.  I should have used my time better today.  I should have fed my kids something more healthy for breakfast. etc. etc. etc.  

An endless barrage of negative self deprecating thoughts can be extremely dangerous to someone with my disorder.  But, I'll bet it takes its toll on just about everyone.

My therapist Dr. Marie always responds to "should" statements with "WHY?" or "WHO SAYS?".  

 Dr. Marie's pragmatic and empathetic views on life have given me so much relief and clarity.  On any given day I can go on and on about how I feel like a horrible person because when my husband was deployed I fed my kids pizza for dinner and had them watch a movie instead of chatting with them about their day while they were enjoying the delicious soup I spent all day cooking, then playing board games and making cookies together.  (I realize that to some of you this might sound trivial and a somewhat small issue but remember my brain is a little messed up).  Dr. Marie always sort of matter-of-factly asks me something like ..... "are your kids safe?  Are they happy?  Are their needs met?  why do you HAVE to do all of those other things.  Can't you just make it a pizza party  just for fun and give yourself a break?" 

Honestly, when she says things like this (especially after I have spent 20 minutes raving about how I am feeling so sick because of all that I have to do and how I feel so full of self loathing that I haven't planned better etc), she actually makes me laugh out loud.  And then I cry.  I laugh out loud because I realize how right she is and how silly I sound, and I cry because my brain just couldn't see it. It has taking me a long time to start thinking Dr. Marie's way on my own, and because of my illness I will always need to use this tool in my life. 

Unfortunately with depression, the way in which I think is distorted. So, if I start to think of my life in terms of "shoulds", I am putting myself in a bad position that I can't afford to be in.  And sometimes I have to occasionally meditate and quiet my mind in order to sort out the truth from the lies my brain is telling me.  No, I don't have to make homemade bread to be a valuable person.  No, I don't have to be skinnier to be awesome.  No, I don't have to make dinner from scratch all the time (pizza will do just fine thank you).  And if I need to read a book instead of playing super heroes with my kids to maintain a healthy mindset today, then that's okay. They are happy, safe, and just fine.

Most importantly was the realization that years from now my kids won't remember what kind of dinner they ate on a random Wednesday in October, but they most assuredly will remember their mom spending a week in bed, or finding her on the floor of her walk in closet in the dark because she was too depressed and overwhelmed with life to come out and interact with them.  Pizza and a movie then becomes an easy choice filled with ease and confidence.

My life will never be void of shoulds....but SHOULD I get up early in the morning to run when it is going to be hot?  I have learned how to say no and believe it.  Because the truth is, I still ran.  It was boiling hot and I'm pretty sure I came home with a mild case of heat exhaustion, BUT...I am much happier that when my boys woke up this morning they could come running into my room to wake me up, and I got to snuggle with them for a long time instead. 

In the dark.

I grew up in the dry air of the Rocky Mountains.  Summers there are hot, yet it is a dry heat, so even at 100 degrees, being outside is doable.  Unfortunately my current home of New Jersey is the exact opposite.  Here it is always so humid that even walking outside to go to the mailbox results in sweat dripping off of you like a Gatorade commercial gone wrong. So running for now has to be either really early in the morning or late in the evening when the sun is almost completely gone. (Don't worry, my husband has amply equipped me with reflector belts and portable pepper spray.)

Still, running at night is not something I do frequently.  I like to run in the light.  I like to see what is coming and where I am stepping. I like to look around and enjoy the beautiful scenery around me.  I like to run and feel the openness and freedom.  And most of all I like to be able to know where I am going and see my destination get closer and closer.  But sometimes in life with my illness, being in the light is not a possibility.  I have had to learn to run in the dark. 

This evening my mind seemed preoccupied with finding the patches of light. The streetlights glowed in front of every third house or so, or on every corner sending a circle of light downward spotlighting the black road underneath, and I felt as though I was running down an all too familiar path.

While a mild amount of research and a quick perusal through WebMD anyone can learn that depression is actually a group of symptoms which impact mood in a way that causes pain, despair, disability, and a reduced ability to function, if you were to run down this nighttime road with me, you would be able to see a small glimpse of what it feels like to live with depression.

Sometimes my life is best described as a dark road I need to travel.  It is a harsh reality that my journey through life is always going to involve darkness at times.  There are days of immense darkness and the only way I can get from sun up to sun down is by telling myself sometimes minutes at a time that if I just put one foot in front of the other soon it will be over. But, there are times filled with light too.  I am grateful that there are small patches of light urging me onward.  Grateful for days when my heart is full and happy and grateful.  Days when I can see who I really am and truly feel happiness and peace. 

Running in the darkness of my disease is something I have become accustomed to.  And thankfully since my diagnosis I have started to learn how I can actually enjoy the dark too.  Yet, I am just beginning to realize the joy of coming into the soft glow of the streetlights, if only for a few quick minutes, to bask in their warmth and safety before stepping into the dark unknown once more.
So though running in the dark is not what I want to do, I will keep running for my life because even the possibility of another patch of light up ahead is worth running to.

Why I try.

I think I first was interested in running after high school and early in college. I was never excited about it before then, but looking back, I think it sort of unknowingly was also the beginning of my journey through depression.  Though it was years before I was officially diagnosed with a mental disorder, months of treatment have helped me to see its affects way back in those times as well.  I almost feel as though my body sort of knew it needed an escape, and that was all that I had.  Without even thinking about it, I had figured out a way to get out of myself even for a little while.

Now, more than a decade later, countless 10K and 5K races and 4 half marathons later I found myself not wanting to run anymore.  It was almost a sort of angry rebellion at the "old" me.  I ran a half marathon in the summer of 2011, the most brutal one I have ever run, and after that I just didn't have it in me anymore.

After being diagnosed with a mental disorder it is kind of a given that you are going to walk yourself through hours of thinking.  "When did this actually start?", "how much of my life have I wasted on this", "what will people think of me", "what do I think of me", "how long have I been dealing with this and didn't even know it?", "why didn't I realize this sooner?", "how much different/better could my life have been if I had only....?", "is my life even worth living?" and of course "will this ever get easier.....will I ever be normal?".  These thoughts start slowly and each question is mind blowing, time consuming, and all encompassing.  And they never stop coming.

I started going to therapy and found "Dr. Marie" who also helps me walk through my life, the past events, and also current events that shape the person I am and why I think the way I do, all while teaching me HOW to think clearly.  The disease itself tends to distort your thinking.   "Thinking" isn't what I would call a normal process.  Everything you think has to be sorted out into categories....is this the depression talking, can I afford to make this decision, is this a true thought/statement.  And this doesn't just apply to BIG decisions, it literally applies to the very simplest of things like debating whether or not to get out of bed, or even go outside on any given day. All of the explaining in the world truly can't explain what it is like living with this disease.

I think I quit running because I thought it was part of the "old" me, and I have been trying so hard to become the "new" me.  The "new" me in my imagination has this disorder under control and knows how to manage it, not one day goes by without living it to its fullest, I always feel fulfilled and I love myself and my life,  and most importantly I always feel driven and excited about what comes next in life.  I really like the "new" me I have imagined. 

But tonight, I finally figured it out.  There isn't going to be a big jolt of lightning proclaiming the new me has finally arrived.  I've waited for it. I've waited for her.  I've waited to see her coming around the corner full of confidence and spunk.  I've waited for her energy, life and vitality to suddenly appear because surely I have put in the hours and hours and hours of thought, prayer, therapy, and effort to learn about and gain control over this disease.  I've been waiting for a week to go by without even one day where I question whether or not I should even try.  I've been waiting.

But I think that maybe I should stop waiting and get back to what my body originally knew it needed.  After a year long hiatus I finally realize.......I need to run.  Perhaps it will seem some days like I am running away from the old me as fast as my legs will carry me.  And hopefully most days will feel like I am running towards the imaginary finish line in my brain where I will find her.  Find "the new me".  But mostly I think I will just be running.....one mile at a time........because that is all I can do.