About This Blog

My blog shares my recovery journey from childhood abuse to living with mental illness. I've been involved in twelve step groups and therapy since 1982. I accepted Jesus as my Savior in 1988. To the best of my ability, I have followed where He wants me to go and what He wants me to do. Maybe you'll find the hope and strength you need through what I write. Maybe you want to stop hurting yourself. Maybe you have a friend who needs help and can benefit from my story. I was newly disabled when I asked God this question: "What do you want me to do with my life?" I closed my eyes and paused for a few moments to still my mind. This is what I sensed from Him: "Amy, I want you to write your story to bring hope and healing to those who are still suffering." And that's exactly what I am doing!

Friday, May 23, 2014

Digging In Depression

Depression is once again rattling my cage.  It's beginning to bear down on me and I'm doing everything I know to keep it away from me.  I think I need to pull out my emergency arsenal.

I have a plastic lidded box that holds my secret weapons.  Things I learned while in the hospital.  They are technically called coping tools.  That's a good title for them.

There are things like affirmation cards, play-duh, handheld Yahtzee, coloring books and crayons, stress ball, Rubik's cube and other things.  I use them to distract the depression - to give it an outlet besides bringing me down.

I'm not isolating.  I don't want to be with people so I'm trying to compromise without over doing it.  One of the people I see the most is my neighbor.  She has some serious cutting issues but will never do anything about it.

This time of the year is hard because she wears short sleeves.  Her arms are heavily covered with scars and the latest cuts from decades of self-injury.  When asked if she'll consider stopping, she replies, "No.  It's what I've always done and I have no plans on stopping.  You can't talk me out of it."

How sad that is to me.  And how quickly I become angry when I see it.  And how much I want to say to her, "For God's sake, put on long sleeves when you're out in public.  Nobody wants to see what you do to yourself, especially me."

I've already told her I won't take her to the hospital anymore.  She'll have to dial 911.  I can't stand the sight of all the blood nor all the open wounds.  It triggers me to cut and I don't need that in my life anymore.  She understood.  I don't ask about her cutting to draw attention to it and she doesn't talk about it with me.  I just can't go there.

Maybe being around her so much is difficult.  I know my anger has increased.  If I point the fingers back at me, I have to ask myself, "Why am I so angry at myself?  What am I doing or not doing that is causing this anger?"

I think I'm angry at mental illness.  All of it.  I have things I want to accomplish but now I'm struggling again.  I want to deep clean my bedroom but I can't do it yet.  I want to keep my house cleaner so I clean it and then it starts to get disorganized again.  I'm starting to get tired in the afternoon again.  And now the depression is starting.

I guess I'd like to have my cake and eat it, too.