recovered?
by me
A new mom asked this in a forum:
“Is there really an end to this.. Like 100% healed? I feel like what I have is too disturbing and terrible to ever go away.”
My answer:
I went through an outpatient program at a hospital and they talked about accepting a “new normal”. Now, I refuse to accept that this means my new normal is misery. But I don’t think we can ever go back to the person we were before we had our birth/postpartum experience.
Like any trauma, it has left a mark on our psyche. And so we have a choice about what to do with that. I’ve tried wallowing, and that worked for a while, but it got in the way of joy. I’ve tried hiding from the world, but I missed out on living.
So I’m at a place in the middle between where I used to be and the pit I had dropped into. Sometimes I need to wallow, and I give myself space to do so. But I don’t move back in there. Sometimes I need to hide from the world, and I accept that, that I don’t have the stamina of the extrovert I used to be. But I also challenge myself, just a little, and over time I see progress towards a new me. Wiser, stronger, but also weaker in some ways, and accepting of that part of me too.
And my story, and yours too, becomes something we can share with others who are somewhere along that tough journey of losing yourself and trying to figure who you are now. We bring each other strength because we have compassion and empathy and help heal each other. Because we understand the pain. And we’re not alone anymore.
http://www.nimh.nih.gov/news/science-news/2014/rapid-agent-restores-pleasure-seeking-ahead-of-other-antidepressant-action.shtml
https://bbrfoundation.org/brain-matters-discoveries/fast-acting-antidepressant-restores-ability-to-experience-pleasure-in
MS Bare,
Please understand that this is not a casual “How are you doing” letter. It is from a troubled heart. Read with caution.
Thank you for writing again. When you do, I read every word and am always encouraged. As soon as I received your email, I wanted to write back, but I simply have not had the energy to do so.
I’ve attached a couple links above that I’ve stumbled upon regarding anhedonia. They may not say anything that you don’t already know. They primarily talk about the promise of ketamine.
When I can, I’ve been doing research on bipolar. Everyone talks about the highs and lows, but few talk about what’s left in the middle. What happened to my Life? Why can’t I read anymore? Why can’t I play piano, or even listen to a CD? Why can’t I go out the front door to get my mail? Why do I feel like death would be better than merely existing? What is this thing called anhedonia and why will it not go away?
One doctor I read said a depressive episode’s effect on the brain is similar to that of a minor concussion. That means, for me, that I have had what amounts to 400-500 minor concussions throughout my adult life, as well as several severe ones. And this does not even take into account the actual concussions I have had playing sports. And each one leaves scarring on the brain.
The body has an amazing ability to heal itself. However, the brain does not share that, at least not to the same extent. To the best of my knowledge, which is primarily subjective, this leaves me with anhedonia, lack of desire.
The one thing we know for sure about the brain, depression and bipolar is that we know very little. Having said that, I remain ever hopeful. Not to hope is to die. I will not. So for now, all I know to do is to press on. I have know idea what life has in store for me, but who does? So I press on. When I am anxious, I rest. When I am tired, I sleep. If I am over-extended, I hideout.
I have to be extremely careful about what I allow back into my realm of experience. There is very little of what I once did that I can do now. I have a life, but it is much, much smaller than it once was. But, this past Saturday, I played the piano. For five minutes. In public. Playing a medley of songs that I had written. It has been two years since my fingers have touched a keyboard. And this is what I used to DO all the time! But I want it, and I touched it. The next time will be easier. But will I ever be able to actually perform, to compose, to make others feel? I don’t know. So I press on. One note at a time.
Yes, I am, without question, a weaker vessel. And I am wiser, certainly more empathetic. I am more accepting of others’ faults. This is good, but is it worth the price? Hell, no! Let somebody else do this. I want to go outside and get wet walking in the rain with a friend. Instead, I’m about to get wet from my own pee in bed, because that is not a good enough reason to move.
Unfortunately, there is no anti-anhedonia pill. All I know to do is to reach for what I want. This is exhausting. At this point, I am doubtful that I will ever have the life I want. But to reach is to stretch. To stretch is to exercise, which is to promote life. To remain motionless is to slowly die. I refuse to die.
John S.
Date: Fri, 25 Mar 2016 02:55:27 +0000 To: johnwstarr@hotmail.com