I’m struggling today, but not because of my own problems. 

I have a close friend who has their own issues with mental health, coping, stress, and living a life without pushing the self-destruct button just to see what happens. 

When I got out of the hospital nearly two years ago, my friend was there for me.  They told me all about their own issues, their own experiences with hospitalization and fighting depression.  Sometimes it feels like a huge uphill battle, and frankly, it’s a very tiring battle.  At that time, it was very helpful talking to someone who’d been inside the same walls I’d been, even though I knew it was incredibly difficult for my friend to share it with me. 

I’ve seen some warning signs in my friend’s behavior over the past few months.  On the outside, everything looks pretty. However, I’m too well-versed in how things look as opposed to how things are - and I can generally see through that facade without much difficulty.  I saw my friend recently and there are chinks in the armor.  Most people wouldn’t notice, but I did - and I was scared. 

Inevitably, people will ask my friend “WHY” be depressed, why now, when things are so good?  I got asked that question incessantly.  The fact is:  there is no WHY and no TIME that depression doesn’t find its way in.  That’s the difference between clinical and situational depression.  My friend’s life is great right now - really, better than I’ve ever seen it - but still the struggle continues and the depression is actually worse right now.  My theory is that because life can present itself as “great”, when your feelings don’t match your surroundings it’s almost worse.  I see my friend contemplating self-destruction.  I see my friend starting to expand the isolation; pushing people away has always been a skill. 

I remember the brilliant peak before I began my rapid descent into the rocks below.  I wasn’t sleeping much; when I was, it was at odd times of the day or a couple of hours here and there.  I wasn’t eating properly, or at all.  I was abusing exercise and people.  I couldn’t formulate a coherent thought to save my life, yet you couldn’t shut me up.  I know others around me, like my friend, could see it coming.  I have a new appreciation and sympathy for them now.  I don’t know what to do.  I’ve talked to my friend.  I’ve been direct, and gentle, and I’ve pleaded a bit too.  Their significant other has done the same thing.  My need to rescue others has been activated in a big way, even though I know I can’t save anyone and I certainly can’t save my friend. 

All I can do is hang on, and let my friend know I’m there with them.  I will give my opinion when I feel it’s necessary or that I am being heard.  I will let my friend know that their perception isn’t clear anymore.  When you are in the grips of depression, sometimes you forget to ask for help.  Down there at the bottom, it doesn’t really feel worth asking for it anyway.  I need to keep reminding my friend that we are here, and we all have our hands extended. Right now, my friend doesn’t care for themselves half as much as the people who love my friend do, and we need to keep reminding my friend we are here and we are present.

Depression and mental illness are still so stigmatized.  One is “weak” if they suffer from it.  Pull yourself up by the bootstraps.  Suck it up.  Man up.  Deal with it.  Just be happy.  I need my friend to remember that what is going on is chemical.  Just like any other condition, it requires treatment.  In my opinion, treatment is two-fold:  treating the chemical imbalance with medication, and treating the internal workings with therapy and support to learn how to best manage the condition.

It took me hitting rock bottom to finally get me to admit that I needed medication, and therapy, and healthy friends, and normal sleep patterns, and stability, and confidence, to truly live with what I have.  I would work a part-time job sweeping the streets if that was the only way I could afford my medication.  It is no longer a choice; it is something that has changed my life for the better and I try not to forget that.  It is something I have to live with the rest of my life, just like my friend John lives with diabetes - and it requires the same kind of vigilance. 

I’m hopeful that the people who love my friend can move my friend in the direction they need to go.  For me, it was a combination of gentle force and knowing that unless I did something drastic, I wasn’t going to make it for any length of time.  My friend might actually be more stubborn than me, which makes things interesting.  I guess I’m just holding out hope that I can be there for my friend like they were for me, and I can help before the pieces fall apart. 

My friend deserves so much more happiness and peace than what they are currently receiving. 

During the years of marriage, I was rarely in the situation we all call “a fight”.  We rarely “fought”.  Disagreed, yes.  Got on each other’s nerves, yeah, probably.  We used to take pride in the fact that we didn’t fight.  Later, it occurred to me that we weren’t arguing like other people because we weren’t really talking about the things that we really felt.  It was easier to ignore those things, let them roll off the proverbial duck’s back, play nice and be nice.  We were experts at playing nicely.  We were so good at it, I hardly noticed the silence between us. 

In the past two years, I’ve learned how normal arguments can be.  At first I was taken off guard - if I was fighting with someone (and by fighting, I mean talking passionately about whatever the major drama of the moment is), then it must mean we weren’t compatible and something was seriously wrong with both of us.  Even worse were the disagreements where my feelings would get hurt, or someone would hurl something mean at me.  I’d actually cry real tears.  The ex would have died before he let something out, knowing it would hurt my feelings, even if it meant we weren’t going to fix the real problems. 

Those few times I had a bruised ego or my feelings had been wiped with dirty feet, after the initial sucker punch feelings wore off I felt something strange:  I was feeling.  I had hurt feelings because my feelings were awake, and I was engaging enough with the other person to allow myself to see and be seen.  Some of these disagreements were the answer to any question I had about the longevity of the relationship.  Others either brought me closer to the arguer; on the best occasions, I learned something about myself or discovered yet another flaw or chink in my armor I hadn’t noticed previously. 

Now that I’ve set the scene, I have to say that Running Boy and I rarely argue.  This is mostly because if he irritates me (and he does, often), I let him know it immediately, usually as it’s happening.  When I get on his nerves (and I do, often), all it takes is a strained sigh or eyeball roll to let me know I’ve stepped over the line.  His honesty can be refreshing because unlike most men, he’s not scared of me in the slightest.  His honesty can also be pretty hard to hear because I’m not always right there ready to drink what he’s been mixing up for me.  Even the things he’s said that have hurt my feelings the most have become the stuff of legend; if he’d let me, I’d love to post what led up to me explaining to him what you can and can’t say to girls in general, but alas, I’d like to stay with him a bit longer. 

We’ve had a couple of serious miscommunications.  I think I’m being obvious - it’s not obvious enough to Captain Oblivious, and we end up sparring until he finally gets crabby and says, “OK out with it, what the hell is up with you?”  It’s that kind of in-your-face directness that is attractive to me.  There’s no point in being coy when your cover has been blown. 

We had our first major argument on Thursday night, and like most arguments, what caused it is really quite minor and insignificant.  I’ve always held that the things that make me angry aren’t usually directly related to what sets me off.  I hold a lot in, believe it or not, and try to go with the flow as long as possible.  The problem is, I don’t always know when my uncorking is going to happen, so something small may happen and good lord, watch out - Ima Gonna Break Bad on YOU.  We have an underlying disagreement about something and we butt heads on it occasionally, but this time I felt like I’d spoken many, many times and I was tired of what appeared to me as not being heard.  He was tired and cranky and feeling like he had no other options, and he was frankly annoyed by what appeared to him as me not being understanding. We got into it.  I was stormily folding laundry and he was talking, trying to get me to talk back, and finally he just demanded I stop being a quiet bitch and bring on the loud bitch. 

It was one of the best arguments of my life.  Although my feelings got hurt once again, and I almost grabbed my stuff and left his house because he was being a butthead, the entire time we argued and went back and forth over the issues we were both alternating between laughter and insistence.  I never thought, “This fight is going to end us.”  I knew he’d get over it and I knew I would too.  That kind of security allows you to talk without too much fear.

I wasn’t being heard, so I talked more loudly - more emphatically - and probably stopped folding laundry to show him how MAD I was.  He started to smile and I glared at him.  “WHAT is so FUNNY???” I shouted.  He laughed then, a big belly laugh.  “We’re totally fighting!  It’s our first fight!”  This made him laugh even harder and made me start to smile, as well.  Later, when the smiles had faded and we were back into it again, he was raising his voice and I giggled.  We were both just so tired, and frustrated, and we knew it was a stupid argument to be having any way.  At some point, we gave up on the laundry and the discussion and arm wrestled.  And that is not a euphemism for something else. 

I’m not sure he gets what I was mad about, and I’m pretty sure we’re going to have this same “discussion” again, probably on another upcoming Thursday night.  It’s one of those things I’ve realized about being in a relationship again.  The same things are going to drive each other crazy.  It’s more a matter of being able to say it outright, and know that you’re going to try to fix it but will probably not be successful and the other person is just going to have to suck it up and live with your quirks and weirdness.  I know that our future arguments might not include the laughing and pointing this one had, but if they can be similar, I think we can overcome a large majority of crap. 

Between my two jobs, motherhood and summer, my blog has suffered greatly.  Much as I think that everyone is hanging on every word, desperately refreshing their RSS feeds to see if a new post has emerged, you’re probably surviving without my lame updates. 

I’ve been busy with having fun, training for a triathlon, going to strange places throughout Virginia, and oh yes, working a bunch.  My nap mat season got off to a slow start, and thankfully a friend of mine needed a temporary admin person to get them through the summer.  It’s worked out well for all of us (at least I think so). 

The tri training has been rough. I feel woefully underprepared, but I have about a month to kick it in high gear.  Theresa has promised to help me with transitions and I am committed to doing more bike followed by runs; last time I tried that, my legs felt like they were glued to the ground.  It was misery, but it was also incredibly hot.  I’m slowly getting over my fear of cycling alone; this after a number of falls and being stung in the face while riding by some large black hornet thing (on a happy note, I managed to stay upright during the stinging incident).  1/2 Marathon training team starts August 6 so I’m going to chill out on any long runs until then.  I need to focus on other things and frankly my hip needs a break. 

Speaking of running, I was in Galax this past weekend.  I had the pleasure of running on a heavenly (read: flat) trail that paralleled the New River - hence the name the New River Trail.  Stretching 57 miles, I ran 12 of them over the course of 2 days.  I got to see horses, deer, rabbits, and thankfully, no black bears (Running Boy’s dad had told me I might).  We were also able to meet up with friends from his childhood running days and did a group run this morning.  We spent a large portion of the weekend at the Smoke on the Mountain BBQ Festival.  I learned a lot about southern culture, including how to flat foot.  It was strange to see a lot of older men dancing while the women held back; apparently flat footing appeals mostly to large white men wearing overalls or suspenders, jamming out in the middle of a street.  It was a lot of fun. 

Unfortunately I missed the overalls in this picture.  The band had switched from a rockin’ tune to something called “All That’s Left To Do Is Leave”, which had a lot of lyrics about taking your car keys and gettin’ the hell out.  It was actually really good. 

We stayed in Running Boy’s childhood home, which is a mix of old and new and full of antiques and random things (a spinning wheel next to a grand piano, a million books on bookshelves, large tomato plants ready to eat you as you exit the front door).  It was a little strange for me (and probably his parents) being in the same spaces he used to inhabit with his wife, but I soon forgot about most of that weirdness and embraced the joy of small town living. 

Although southwestern Virginia is a far cry from Northern Michigan, his home town and mine are very similar.  Walmart is the place to hang out on Saturday nights (just as Meijer is the happening place in Traverse City), the water plays a big role in the town (a large river as compared to one of the Great Lakes, but still wet and freakishly cold), you can’t walk down the street without running into someone you went to school with or knows your parents or god forbid, used to date you when you a.) had hair (in Running Boy’s case) or b.) had bad hair (in my case).  Most everything is family owned (or used to be), and a handful of industries supports the majority of the town.  Up until this morning I thought I could definitely live in Small Town Virginia; then I tried to get coffee after my long run.  Nope.  It’s Sunday.  Everyone’s in church.  Running Boy warned me about this and said everyone goes to church.  My retort?  “Well, shee-yit (getting my southern on) . . . even churchgoers need coffee!”  I was wrong; when God said rest, he also forbid coffee. 

We did things like soaking swollen and tired feet in icy evil creek water:

nearly kill ourselves on moss-covered rocks at Elk Creek:

And eating badly at the BBQ competition and a coffee shop specializing in ganache-covered brownies.

2 weeks ago, we spent some time in Waynesboro, a favorite place of mine since first visiting it in 1994 when I still worked for Artrain.  Dan surprised Nicole by dragging her out and surprising her with the gift that keeps on giving (me of course!).  They stayed at a B&B down the road from ours and we spent a lot of time walking and yakking and practicing cannonballs in our B&B’s pool.  (Sorry about that, B&B owners)

Next weekend I’ll be in Blacksburg again visiting Dan and Nicole, but this time I’m taking the girls tubing with our hosts in Radford.  They are very excited.  The following weekend I’ll be in Wintergreen for a partial girl’s/spa weekend and some much needed time with Andrea and Joe.  In between these things I’ll be training and working and trying to squeeze in some sleep. 

All of this travel has reminded me:  travel can be inexpensive, and I can have fun doing just about anything.  I love road trips and I love seeing new places; it’s really nice to have someone who enjoys these things as much (or maybe more) than I do. 

By the way, I’m blogging from the passenger seat of my car.  I love Running Boy’s Verizon hotspot.  Now even my work can follow me in the car; I just processed an order while going 80 through the Blacksburg area. 

I’m starting a new blog category called “Things Thora Eats”.  It’s just too frustrating so I have to make it funny.  It will probably be fairly regular because Thora eats a lot.  Especially things she shouldn’t. 

When I remember, I’ll take pictures too. 

Today: 

A brand new, unopened extra large bottle of low-sodium soy sauce (which is good, because she’s watching her salt intake).  She ate the plastic bottle until she broke the top.  Soy sauce flowed like a brown river onto the carpet.  I’m now on round 3 of steam cleaning. 

Wish me luck. 

A short, incomplete, and not well-thought-out list of areas I need to improve.  Or could improve. 

1. I suck at asking for what I want.  I expect people to read my mind.  When they are incapable of penetrating the dark, smoggy forests of my brain, I dislike them for their inability to figure me out.  I mean, REALLY.  Why are things that are so obvious to me so difficult for others to discern?  If it’s clear in my head, it should be clear in others.  Unfortunately, I’m deluded, and the things that are clear to me are almost never clear to others.  I think this is because my brain is wired backwards.  If I were a car, I’d go sideways instead of forward or back. 

2.  When I do ask for what I want, I suck at dealing with the response.  See, here’s the rub in asking.  When I drop all pretense of coolness or humility, and I ask for what I want or need, the end result is usually the same as if I hadn’t asked in the first place.  We are all sort of selfish, and we do what we want and what makes us feel good.  It is not other people’s fault that I give more than I have to give or put my personal needs aside because theirs seem suddenly so much more important.  My reaction to being turned down is disproportionate in their mind because really, I asked them, they answered, and now I’m having a full-blown hissy fit.  Hey man.  Don’t ask the question if you fear the answer. 

3.  Staying upright on my bike.  I may just bite the bullet and invest in the egg beater thingies that Julie recommended.  I think I might have figured out my problem with the clips on my bike but I’ve been too nervous to ride on my own lest I fall in front of a Mac truck again. 

4.  Time management.  Now that I have a GIN-YEW-WHINE job, I’m trying to find time to train for a triathlon, run my normal amount of miles, be a good mother, stay on top of the laundry (normally impossible anyway), attempt to have a relationship with someone, and not lose my patience every 5 seconds. 

5.  Friendship. I hate talking on the phone.  This is problematic when 85% of my friends are not within a day’s driving distance of Richmond. 

6.  Being patient.  I find the thinner I am stretched, the crankier I become.  My crappy refrigerator doesn’t like being opened without something inside breaking.  Tonight, one of the shelves fell open onto my foot.  This is the same foot that is going to carry me 8 miles tomorrow morning.  Grape jelly and an old bottle of wine landed on me.  I cursed and tried not to scream.  Simultaneously Lily started chanting “Mommy!!!! Mommy!!! Mommy!”  Turns out she just wanted to inform me that she’d put something in my room, but at that moment, I needed everything quiet to prevent myself from losing it.  Poor thing.  I apologized later. Patience, it is a virtue.  It is one I do not possess.

7.  Properly medicating.  I’m starting to think I’m way under-medicated.  I hate taking medication so the least amount I can get away with is what I take.  Perhaps I should start listening to my doctor and taking what she says I should take. 

8.  Letting go.  When things don’t go my way, no matter how much that may suck, I really need to learn to how look for the chocolate-lining in that cloud.  I’m really, really bad at this.  It’s almost as if letting go of the disappointment means I’m cool with being disappointed.  Yeah, it makes no sense because I’m the only one suffering. 

9.  Taking Care.  Some people in my life love to think I’m selfish because I do things for myself occasionally (like hiring babysitters so I can run on Saturday mornings).  In some ways, I’m good at taking care of myself.  In important ways, though, I totally miss the mark.  See item number 1. 

10.  Being nice to myself.  I’m still so harsh on my inner-workings.  Every time I think I’ve stopped abusing myself from the inside out, I find a new way to do it without noticing it.  Maybe I’m worse now because I haven’t had therapy in months and I have no one calling me on my crap besides Running Boy.  Maybe I’m worse now because I’m generally dissatisfied (and concerned) about the direction of my life at the moment.  Whatever the reason, I need to give it a rest already.