In the days following my friend’s stepson’s suicide, I felt a growing uneasiness within me. Fear for myself gripped me, and I could not explain why. I mean, like I said in my last post, I likened the incident to being cut by flying shrapnel, not taking a direct hit. Still, the trepidation began to build.
I thought about the talk I had with my primary care physician just a week prior. I wanted to get off my anti-anxiety medication and we discussed how to safely ween off the medication. Now, I was afraid I made a hasty decision. After all, I had not talked with my therapist about my plan.
Then, there is the other thing I did not mention in the last post but that I mentioned in my sermon. I ate an entire gallon of Blue Bell ice cream over the weekend. For me, when this kind of behavior starts, it could be the beginning of a slippery slope. Even as I pulled into the Walmart parking lot, a voice inside my head reminded me of what addicts are told in AA – phone a friend.
Even before I pulled into the lot, I heard a song called Turn by Ben Fuller. I had been talking to God, telling him that if he didn’t want me to do this, then he better put a stumbling block in front of me. I knew the song was it, but I ignored the warning because it wasn’t strong enough. Or, rather, I was not strong enough.
I reasoned that it’s just ice cream. It’s not like I’m going to get wasted on drugs or alcohol. Typical addict reasoning. Or, as my therapist later pointed out, one of Renee’s coping mechanisms – a warning sign that something is not quite right.
Tuesday morning, what was happening finally hit me.
I opened up my prayer journal and saw that the last entry was June 16, the day after the 5-year anniversary of Brad’s death. In that entry, I discussed how happy I was that, for the first time, I did not think about him on the anniversary. I felt like I had achieved something wonderful – and I had – but the question that came was – then why I have I been spiraling ever since? What is going on?
My therapist later reminded me that the body keeps score. I may be emotionally fine, but my body remembers. This was likely the beginning of the slippery slope which led to Dysthymia – a fancy way of saying minor, general depression.
Here’s what scared me. When I feel really bad, I don’t have an appetite at all. I have to force myself to eat, and it is easy to stay away from unhealthy treats. When I am feeling really good, I crave it but have the willpower to stay away because I know it will not make me feel good later.
It is when I am emotionally numb that I begin to make these poor choices. I stop working out regularly. I give in to any and all cravings. I stop doing things I enjoy doing. I sleep more and watch more television. I numb out.
The thing I have learned through years of therapy is that it’s the times of numbing out that are the most alarming. It is not that I am suicidal. I am not. I simply feel nothing – which means I am likely not dealing with something.
My therapist and I even came up with a self-soothing list for times I felt like reaching for the unhealthy coping options. I even have the list stuck to my fridge. Ironically, one of the items listed is phone a friend. I see that list multiple times a day, but when I need it most, I often forget all about it.
Confessing this to my church family was huge.
Confessing it to myself was even bigger.
Reaching out to my therapist and asking for an unscheduled appointment was a significant step forward.
At first, I simply needed to know that I was not being selfish in my feelings. I did not want to take anything away from my friend and her family and what they are going through. His death has nothing to do with me – but I am having feelings that I cannot explain.
I need to know this, too, is normal.
As another therapist I once had told me about a different situation: What you are feeling/experiencing is very normal for a very abnormal situation.
And, as my current therapist pointed out, I am seeing things up close. Looking at it from a distance, it makes sense that I would have, in my own words, overreacted. It was a snowball effect – Brad’s death anniversary, continuous stress from my job, then the tragic Kerrville flood, and then . . . I was on emotional overload.
My reaction was normal.
I also needed to understand the fear. Why does this scare me so much (especially since I do not feel suicidal) when things in the world, like those World War III rumors, don’t faze me?
Like my fear of snakes, it’s not the big, abstract things that make me afraid. It’s the internal, personal things that consume my fears.
I realized that what scared me wasn’t that I thought I was next or that I, too, am suicidal. I’m not. What scared me is how sneaky depression can be and how overwhelming it becomes without me even realizing it.
It made me realize the extreme importance of having safeguards in place before we need them. I have used the athlete metaphor before because it’s true. Athletes don’t just go play the game. They work out and practice. They have scrimmages and preseason games. Their preparation matters. The same must be true for those of us living with mental illness.
What scared me, as I mentioned above, was that I almost stopped taking my medication BEFORE talking to my therapist. It’s not that I cannot come off of it. I have before and my therapist and I even discussed this being a temporary thing again as well. But to do it without her input is scary.
A lot of people do that. They begin to feel better, think they no longer need it, and stop taking their meds. Then they relapse, and sometimes the relapse is worse than the first.
This scared me because it wasn’t as if there was some tell-tale sign that something was wrong. It wasn’t as if my doctor told me the cancer came back or one of my beloved pets died.
Nothing. Nothing bad happened – at least not directly to me.
And that is what scares me.
And I am also very appreciative of the anchors I do have; my faith being number one, my therapist, my friends, my colleagues, people I can talk to and with whom I trust.
And I am proud of myself for recognizing all those years ago the need for it and for doing the work to get to where I am now.
And I realize it’s not a one-and-done thing. It never will be. This is a lifelong journey. I will have ups and downs as long as I live. It’s a process – a never-ending, life-long process.
I shared in my last post about the darkness and pinprick of light I experienced when my therapist challenged me to sit with my feelings.
What I did not share is how we decided to handle similar moments moving forward. Because that incident scared me so profoundly, we decided that the next time I felt that way, I would wait and walk through it with her. That way, if things got too scary, she would be there to help me through the other side or end things safely.
So, Tuesday morning, once I realized something was going on, I reached out to my therapist and that has made all the difference.
We discussed my feelings and my fears. As she often does, she normalized what I was experiencing and helped me see things from a different perspective.
Having someone I trust to talk with, someone who is also a Christian and who understands and appreciates my beliefs and who prays for me at the end of the session is invaluable.
Talking with a therapist is very different than talking with a friend or family member. They have the knowledge and skills to help. They listen without interruption. And there is no concern about what they will think of me afterwards. I am free to be fully me and fully vulnerable and fully real. No judgement. And lots of personalized help.
I am fortunate enough that my denomination offered this service for free to start and that she continued on a very affordable sliding scale basis. Those without the financial means still have options. Below are just a few.
Never be too afraid to reach out for help. It just may save your life. I know it saved mine.
988 Lifeline – If you need emotional support, reach out to the national mental health hotline: 988.
TRA.Perspective 
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