True healing

I am well. Not all well, but really well. I am still seeing my counselor. I have grieved my mother's death and dealt with much of the fallout.

I thought my brother and I were getting closer after my mother's death, but when I made an off-hand reference to one of several times my mother admitted to her part in the abuse when I was growing up, he verbally attacked me in public. When one of my very good friends stood up for me, he attacked her as well.

I struggled for months with what to do. I tried to reconcile, but I did not go to the lengths I went to with my mother--lengths that left me far more hurt than before my attempts. He clearly wanted to blame me, not reconcile. I was finally able to chalk it up to his own grief and let it go.

With a great deal of help and support, and with--I strongly believe--no small amount of spiritual intervention (I am one of those people who believes G-d is at work in the world, though maybe not in ways we'd expect, or even hope), I have a sense of who I really am, an idea of maybe who G-d wants me to be.

My counselor offered this in her interpretation of kibud av v'em--honor your father and mother: "Parenting, at its root, means helping your child become the best person s/he can be. So the best way to honor your parents is to be true to yourself, and become the person you were meant to be, the person G-d created you to be." I needed to hear that, right then. It finally clicked.

I feel like I am finally accepting who I am--who I really am--even with my flaws, my mistakes, the possibility that severe anxiety and/or depression may once again visit. And I am okay. Yes, I can do better; there's always a place for introspection, evaluation, and improvement. But my core, my essence, my Yiddishe neshama, is accepted and loved, and I am worth loving and worth acceptance. I don't have to disappear from my makom kavua because someone else is more worthy than I am. I can sit in my fixed place (where I have sat for sixteen years now) and invite others to sit with me.

This is all a huge change in perception for me. And for the last 17 days (it's that new) it has stuck. I pray it sticks forever.

In fact I have felt so accepting of myself that I have toyed with the idea of dashing my anonymity (whatever of it I have left) and coming out, so to speak. I didn't when I set up this blog because I feared what others would think, that I would lose my credibility, my job, my friends, if I owned up to what was really going on inside of me: the depression, the anxiety, the fear, the hurt, the wounded child.

Now, I don't worry so much about what others think of me because my opinion of myself is the one I have to live with (did I just say that out loud?). And for the past several decades, it's been a pretty negative one. Perhaps because it is a more positive opinion now, I am going through a sort of honeymoon period. For that reason, I will give the idea of "coming out" some time. There still may be things I don't want to admit publicly, under any name other than Rivka.

Any advice?

Seeking

Now I must address the feeling I have been trying to avoid since the last post.

My mind wants to find easy origins: not enough sleep, going without Lunesta for one night, hormone changes, no view of the sun in the sky today. But none of these seem right because this is a pervasive, encompassing feeling. It led me to select certain books over others from the library this morning. It determined which articles and blogs I've read today. It has kept me from wanting to answer the phone when it rings, even when the caller is a friend.

I feel it in my shoulders and upper arms, like a physical longing for a hug or the need to cradle a baby. I feel it in my chest, tight and compressed like I know something is looming on the horizon but I can't see it yet. I feel it in my stomach, a sort of dread as if I know the truth is going to be dragged out of me one way or another but it will ultimately be a relief. I feel it in my legs, wanting to run from this but knowing there is nowhere to go.

It isn't a sadness, exactly, but I can feel tears nearby. It reminds me of the way I feel sometimes when I see a TV ad like this Hallmark commercial.

It isn't depression. There is definitely hope there, not hopelessness.

It isn't loss, I don't think. I haven't lost anything recently, big or small, but it does feel like I sometimes do when I remember someone close who is no longer living.

It isn't gratitude, but there is an element of thankfulness. I read today something my rabbi wrote recently (not to me specifically) about accepting each other's humanity--rabbis and congregants--and all that entails, and I was so overcome with this feeling that I momentarily felt weak.

It isn't fear, but there's definitely something there that I'm afraid of.

It is a feeling that flares up when I think about friendship and the sacrifices we make willingly--even eagerly--for those close to us. It is similar to how I feel when I hear about a police officer losing his life while protecting someone else.

It is how I sometimes feel--if I am lucky--in shul, davening and suddenly overcome with a need to convey through my prayers, Thank you, and I'm so sorry, and I miss you when I'm not paying attention.

I hear others around me, the whisper of silent prayers, and I know there are others here in pain and in mourning, those experiencing gratitude and relief and the realization of long-held dreams. And everyone has brought these parts of themselves to this one place on this one day to share, however privately or publicly, with G-d.

And I see glimpses of this humanity in action: one man trusting enough--or hurting enough--to weep openly and consoled by the man next to him. One woman surrounded by others, some of whom are offering comfort and others who are supporting her simply by being present. One exhausted mother relieved temporarily of her active children by a few teens who offered to help. One elder repsectfully helped to a seat. One rabbi passing by a congregant on his way to somewhere else, then stopping, returning to the congregant, and asking, are you okay?

I see this and I am humbled and moved beyond words. It occurs to me that this is what it's all about. Whatever it is, it is present here, now.

My husband called me as I was writing this post and I answered the phone and the display said CONNECTING before I put it to my ear.

What I am feeling has something to do with connection. Something deeper than community, more complex than love. It is seeing that connection, knowing that connection, having experienced that connection and also the loss of it when I needed it. It is wanting a constancy of that connection. It is recognizing that I need this connection in my life and knowing all too well what it's like to not feel it. It is hoping, struggling, craving, longing, physically and spiritually yearning.

I still don't know exactly what I'm feeling. But apparently it has something to do with seeking G-d.

What if you gave a party and nobody came?

Rabbi Without a Cause has a post up about birthday parties and I have not been able to stop thinking about my experiences with them.

I have already had my birthday for 2007. That narrows it down, doesn't it?

My next birthday is a big one for me. I would love to have a party. A big party. Maybe even a surprise party. But I am really, really scared about that.

Growing up, there was not a single birthday I remember--and I have a very good memory--that wasn't upstaged by a sibling. Usually a male sibling, for whatever that's worth. Extended family would come and ask me about school or whatever was new in my life, and I always had something going on that I was very excited about, and they'd be all ears until any of said siblings walked in the room. You could see all eyes turn to said sibling and I would be forgotten. Not for just a few seconds or minutes. For the whole rest of the evening. And it was my birthday party.

My sixteenth birthday I was certain everyone was planning a suprise party. None of my friends at school said anything and every previous year they had giftwrapped my locker door. This year nothing, so I was sure something was afoot. Some previous years my mom would offer to make me a special breakfast on my birthday. This year she'd stayed up late and slept in. My friends and I usually hung out for a while after school. This year they all had to go home right away.

I went home laughing with joy that I'd figured it out and when I would get home all my friends and family would be there and it would be a dream come true.

I got home and silence. My mom was at the grocery store. Siblings were at their various other commitments. I waited. And waited.

My father came home from work. My mom asked what I wanted for my birthday dinner.

There was no party. The surprise was on me; when I asked my school friends the next day, they had all forgotten it was my birthday.

As an adult I have tried a few times to host a party. Free food, free cake, no gifts expected, a fun time for all. One year I invited everyone I knew at the time, sending out a couple dozen invitations. No one called to RSVP. No one showed up.

So I am wary about having another party, or asking for one. Because with my wacky brain chemistry the way it already is, this is the sort of repeated experience that fuels the belief that no one cares.

To my husband, a birthday party is just a birthday party, no big deal. To me it is much, much more than that.

Done and yet just beginning

I had my meeting with my rabbi. It was very good. He will help me.

He said this was the month to do this, to get my team together, to look ahead proactively. I think it is no accident that I should first talk to him about this at the beginning of Elul. Even when the world around me is ignorant of the Jewish calendar, something inside me is well aware of it and embraces it. It becomes my inner time.

My psychiatrist's assistant had said two of the things I should ask for are my rabbi's support and his understanding of what I go through. In fact, in my first post on what I'd want my rabbi to know, I said I wanted him to understand me, to understand my disorder.

I started to tell him about what depression feels like to me, the things I listed in my post about depression as adversary. I fear I was not doing a very good job at first, and then he said he throught of depression as attacking one's sense of legitimacy to simply be. It is a relief to know he understands. Only someone who understood could say that.

I told him I was not looking for therapy from him. I said only some things needed problem solving. Some of it I just felt a strong need to share and I had nowhere else to take it. Some of it involved shul and it seemed inappropriate to take it anywhere but to him.

My anxiety is a different issue and it sometimes stands in my way even when the depression does not. We talked about it a little bit. I feel I have a little clearer view of what is real and what is perceived. We will meet again just after the holidays and I feel reassured by that. I feel like I don't have to do this all alone.

My family has been invited to Shabbos dinner at a friend's house tomorrow. I feel so moved by that. It has been a year or more since we were invited anywhere for Shabbos. I have to try hard not to think of the past eight months, but to think of the promise for what the future holds, what tomorrow may bring.

The day has worn me out so please forgive me for any omissions. Adequate sleep is still a need I haven't yet met.

Giving until it hurts

As most of you know, my beautiful baby girl, may her memory be only for a blessing, died halfway through my pregnancy in May of this year. As many of you know, I have a small group of local women friends who are all moms of young children, though I am the only Jew.

These two facts are important to bear in mind during this post.

For lots of reasons, I am opposed to baby showers. In my case, for instance, had I had a shower just before finding out my baby had died? Or had to come home to a decorated nursery with empty arms? That pain can be avoided in most, but admittedly not all, situations. In a way I was fortunate; except for the memory book of the all too short time with our daughter and the pile of now unused maternity clothes, everything looks pretty much the same. (There are a few exceptions--a painted porch and a garden--but they are not important to this post.)

However, the mom friends I have wanted to have a party to celebrate the fact that there are so many babies being born among our friends. Five moms, me among them, were due between July and October. Now there are four.

Despite wanting to have a party--more a celebration of new life than a baby shower, I was assured--few were willing to volunteer to plan it. Isn't that the way it always is?

I didn't want to seem the resentful mom, especially because I never felt resentment toward the other pregnant moms. In fact, I struggled with my own fears for their babies' safety and safe deliveries. And I worried the moms would not want to be around me because it would remind them that pregnancy is risky and what happened to me could happen to them, too.

So I volunteered to help plan it. Now I am one of only three who are doing nearly all the work for a party early next week and I am conflicted.

I feel sad. The wounds of last May are being tugged at, scratched, irritated, and some I fear are beginning to weep. I was supposed to be pregnant at this party. I was supposed to be expecting my own baby in just over a month. G-d had other plans.

Yet it is hard for me to help plan a party celebrating new life when I so recently lost the new life I'd nurtured. We still hope, b'ezrat HaShem, to get pregnant again. But it is still too soon for that.

I sense my emotions being stuffed away, tucked into a dark corner somewhere until they eventually emerge and cry out in the light of day. My sadness is under the surface but each day I feel ambivalence growing stronger. I am distracted, distant.

I want this party to be over so I don't have to think about it anymore. I want to simply not go, but that seems so selfish. My loss shouldn't diminish the joy at those lives that have already been born or, G-d willing, will soon be within our group. My absence would be felt more palpably than my presence.

And still it hurts.

Rasslin with the rabbi issue

I went to shul last Shabbat. I was horribly anxious but I knew I needed to go for me. As it turned out, the (shul) rabbi was not there and another rabbi who is usually a fellow congregant (and whom I like very much) was leading services. This helped a lot.

While I was there, I talked with another woman who knows the rabbi better than I do. While I did not go into detail about how I felt or my recent struggles, I did ask in a very roundabout way about the prominent member's comments regarding the rabbi's commitment to the individual's Jewish life.

She rolled her eyes at that and said something unrepeatable about shul politics. But the bottom line is that I should take what that member had to say with an entire jar of kosher salt. She then said that the (shul) rabbi is very understated in how he supports people. To him, a great deal is communicated through a handshake or a hand on one's shoulder or greeting someone with a smile rather than a scowl. He is not overt in his support, but that does not mean he is not supportive.

She also said that he shows his satisfaction or delight in what someone has learned or accomplished by asking them to do more of it or to take on a responsibility that would use their new knowledge. The fact that he has, on quite a few occasions, asked me to teach a class or lead a minyan or write something for the shul to distribute should be, she said, interpreted to mean he is quite pleased.

This helped me feel a lot better.

I talked to another friend about being visibly Jewish versus not, meaning something like when I wear my Magen David necklace versus when I don't. She laughed and said that I was always visibly Jewish and that even she (a non-Jew) could recognize Jewish values and ethics and my commitment to Jewish law in the words I chose and how I dress and how I raise my children and even the friends I choose. I didn't think it was that obvious. She thinks it is glaring but in a good way. When I told her about feeling like maybe I wasn't Jewish enough yet, she said that just wasn't possible.

My friend D called me after Shabbat and we talked for a while, too. D asked me how I was doing and how the medication was helping and about my anxiety, because that always shows up before the depression does. I told D about my anxiety around shul, around the rabbi, and D asked if any of the things I was afraid of had ever happened.

Once, I said. There is this woman at shul who, years ago, angrily told me that I'd never be truly Jewish because I'd converted. I was horrified then and a friend stepped in and defended me. But I never forgot it and that woman still glares at me when she sees me.

After saying this was clearly this woman's issues and not mine, D said if anyone at shul suggested something like that again, I should simply ask if they trust the rabbi, because if they do, accusing me is tantamount to questioning his judgment, since the rabbi is the one I learned with and he brought me before the beit din for my formal conversion. I felt not quite so alone then. I liked the idea of the rabbi's status backing up my claim to Jewishness.

D also suggested gently that much of my anxiety seemed to be as if others had very high expectations of me and I wasn't measuring up. When asked, I really couldn't point to anyone who has high expectations of me. Except me.

Might I be projecting my high expectations onto others, believing that's what they expect of me? Could this be a part of my anxiety? D knows this is certainly part of my history, my childhood. It is maybe a good topic to pick apart in therapy.

And then before I went to bed Saturday night, I picked up my book of Tehillim--Psalms--again. I thumbed through, skimming, and then stopped short. The words seemed to almost leap off the page at me.

Chapter 91:

4. With His wings He will cover you, and under His wings you will take refuge; His truth is an encompassing shield.
5. You will not fear the fright of night, the arrow that flies by day;
9. For you [said], "The Lord is my refuge"; the Most High you made your dwelling.
10. No harm will befall you, nor will a plague draw near to your tent.
11. For He will command His angels on your behalf to guard you in all your ways.
12. On [their] hands they will bear you, lest your foot stumble on a stone.

I hold onto this, the words of my friends, and the support for this blog. And I hold tight to my belief and trust in G-d, because that is my center and my foundation.

Taking risks

Yesterday I managed to get out of the house and together with some other moms and their children. I was able to laugh some. I was shaky and had to be driven; it wasn't safe for me to drive, but it was a nice couple of hours.

When I got home I was terribly tired and took a nap and when I woke I had several blips of hope for the future. I liked the happy hope but it also scared me. It meant getting out and being vulnerable. It meant taking risks.

Today I woke without any of the happy hopefulness. Just a heavy blanket that makes it hard to move and terrifying to leave my bedroom. I see my counselor again tomorrow. I know I am better than when I saw her last week but I am not all better yet. Meanwhile life goes on for everyone else and I have other responsibilities stacking up. It's all overwhelming and panic-inducing.

I am very touched that people I know, even some people who know of me but whom I've never met, have been providing meals this past week because of the efforts of one of my close friends who sent out email asking for volunteers. I keep reminding myself every day, every few hours if I need to, that people do care and they want me back to my normal self.

I also took the risk of telling a handful of moms yesterday about my diagnosis and my current depression. Not only were they not bothered by it, but one of them was looking for help for a friend who is bipolar (more mania than depression) and pregnant and untreated.

I talked to her about my experiences and recommended that her friend get a team together, her midwife, an OB or psychiatrist or other MD who is familiar with bipolar I, her partner, and write down a plan for what they'll do if she needs treatment before the baby is born, and also what they'll do if she needs treatment after the baby is born, and someone to check in on her periodically in case she is particularly predisposed to postpartum depression. I also gave her some other local resources for moms and for information on bipolar.

The mom who was looking for help for her friend said something about it being serendipity that I came that day. Maybe so.

One step back

I saw my medical doctor yesterday. She had no recommendations for a psychiatrist except to refer me to the behavioral health center within the HMO so I will continue to wait to see the psychiatrist's assistant at my counselor's clinic. She had no problem refilling my meds and said what I was taking now was still considered a low dose even though it's high to me.

My husband drove me to a meeting last night while a friend watched our children. It was very hard being around so many people but I really felt I needed to go because the speakers were talking about a topic that is important to my work. While I was there a few people I've known for a year or so asked what was wrong, if I was okay. I struggled with telling them and finally explained what was going on. They didn't even bat an eye. Well actually one said, you're doing everything you're doing and you're dealing with this? Now I'm even more impressed.

I may have overdone it though. I am so tired today and can't shake the feeling that nothing I say or do is worth much. My concentration is very bad. Last week I could still lose myself in a book or a movie, but today I can't concentrate on anything for more than about ten minutes. I just want to hide away.

I seem to remember this from last time, that it's two steps forward and one step back as I get better. For right now, I think I'll go take a nap.

Wow

I am a little overwhelmed and a little surprised and a little sad that this blog has apparently touched so many others. Overwhelmed and surprised because I didn't think people would be that interested in reading depressing posts or posts on depression. Sad because so very many people are struggling with the same thing or know someone who is or see that people in their communities need help with this and there's only so much that the individual can do.

In a moment of irony, I'm tempted to say that what I'm doing right now contributes to the problem. I'm typing words onto a computer screen instead of reaching out to others in my immediate community. Two close friends and members of my congregation have had a parent die in the past week. I need to get myself together enough to make another shiva call.

Others may argue that I'm making connections here even if it's through this electronic medium. That this still helps, and maybe eventually will help my congregation too. Perhaps that's the reason I said okay when D suggested starting this blog instead of haranguing me yet again to journal on paper. Certainly I do not want to just spew negativity into the universe. We have enough of that. I want to find a way to articulate the problems and find solutions. Even if the ultimate problem for my life lies in my own brain chemistry.

One commenter said something that is very true, but still bothers me. Maybe it's this lens through which I'm viewing everything. Anon identified him/herself as someone else who struggles with depression and said:

But part of the pact is that we have to be willing to help ourselves, otherwise this places a responsibility on others which they may not be emotionally equipped to handle. If someone is acting in a way that seems irrational and unstable, they can't realistically expect people around them to be lining up to hug and soothe them in any situation.

I need to respond to this, for me if not for the commenter. I do take issue with the description of "irrational and unstable." Those are loaded words that bring to my mind a break with reality, more descriptive of psychosis than depression. What people around me would have seen was me crying. They would not have known if I was irrational or not and I doubt that "unstable" would have been in the first five words they'd use to describe me. I could be wrong, but don't think I am. There is already enough stigma attached to depression. Irrational and unstable fuels that stigma. It doesn't lessen it.

Anon does have a point, however. I would never suggest that I or anyone else ought to simply do nothing and expect the community to pick up the slack. I don't know if that's what he/she had in mind or not. It could be read that way or it could be read simply that support needs to come from professional sources and not from one's faith community.

It reminds me of Benjamin Franklin's quotation that "G-d helps those who help themselves." From what research I've attempted, Franklin was predominantly a Deist and believed that G-d did not have a hand in human affairs. This, to me, could easily be turned into help yourself because no one else is going to.

Is that what we want? It's not what I want, not for me and not for my congregation. Yes, we each need to take responsibility for ourselves, for our care and our safety. This is why I am in therapy and have been for a very, very long time. It is why I have been diligent about taking my medication for almost four years since it was prescribed. While it now needs adjustment, I cannot be considered negligent in this area.

The fact that I do not have a psychiatrist is an unfortunate intersection of managed health care and a clinic more focused on policy than people. It is not because I expected others to care for me instead of helping myself.

I don't work outside the home so I do not have friends or a support network through work. I used to have a support network of other stay at home mothers but our group grew and gained many new and enthusiastic Christian members. It was wonderful for the group, but as the only Jew, I became something of a non-entity. I'm not sure if I still have that support. I have little contact with my biological family. I do have a handful of close friends. And I have my shul, which is very important to me. It seems natural to me that I should look to my faith community as a support network.

Every professional--doctor, counselor, psychiatrist, psychologist, rabbi, social worker--has stressed the need for a support network. We all need people to turn to when we are in need, people we can give to when they are in need. Perhaps the Internet and iPods and handheld video games have eroded support networks and we are far more alone than we think we are. Perhaps, but I have hope for my congregation.

I should post the good things my congregation does. Unfortunately, much of it would risk my anonymity. I don't believe they are "heartless and self-involved" as the same Anon wrote, though I can see why he/she might read that into what I've written. I do believe we have some problems, some tendencies to stick to old cliques and not be as welcoming or outgoing or receptive to those in pain as we could be.

Some time ago a congregant who also suffered from depression and who had been open about it with those he felt he could trust was in such pain from his depression that there seemed only one way out. After his death and the subsequent shock to the community, the rabbi sent out information to every congregant about helping the surviving family to reintegrate into shul life. What to say, what to do, what not to expect. It was extremely helpful and informative to me as a congregant who didn't know the family well.

We used to have a committee that looked at how to provide the opportunity for further connections within the shul. But that committee went through some turnover and changes and now focuses almost entirely on new members. We have another committee that focuses on the needs of those just out of the hospital, new mothers, bereaved families. Needs are attended to by volunteers. People volunteer to cook meals, bring a Shabbos meal, whatever they can help with. It depends on a coordinator and those volunteers. How to contact that committee remains somewhat of a mystery. Most of the names on their need list are supplied by the rabbi.

I have honestly done everything I can think of within the time and financial and legal limits I have to ask for help in the past two weeks short of screaming, I need help! from the bima. I've come to believe that the response from those in the congregation who saw me and said nothing to me or my husband or the rabbi has more to do with them simply not knowing what to do, what to say. That's something I want to change.

Jewish culture versus personal comfort

I saw my counselor today and things are underway to get me in to see the physician's assistant who is supervised by a psychiatrist. It could be a few weeks, but it's a good recommendation from my counselor who has known me for four years, and the two of them can work together to make sure my treatment is appropriate. I do believe my counselor is an excellent advocate for me.

I talked to her some about being Unseen at shul and about my hopes for our shul's future. While she is not Jewish, she had a perspective I had not considered.

She suggested that it may be cultural. Not like Jewish culture versus Christian culture, but like geographic culture, how people are socially different in New England than they are in the Pacific Northwest than they are in the South than they are in America's heartland. She said it sounded like it had a lot to do with their comfort level.

This is my personal space, she said making a kind of boundary around her. I immediately thought of the Talmud's concept of a personal courtyard. Then she said, people believe anything outside of their space has nothing to do with them. They are focused on what is immediate and in their comfort zone.

This would explain the shul kiddush turned high school cafeteria. People see someone crying, think oh, that's not comfortable, let's go back over here to people I know who are happy and up. It's comfortable, I know them, and they can be in my personal space/courtyard.

I personally do not believe this is what Jewish community is all about. I actually do not believe this is what my rabbi thinks Jewish community is all about, though I cannot speak for him. My observations of his behavior and the issues he is passionate about and the words he speaks from the bima tell me that he would prefer we care a little more for one another. I have no idea why I never heard back from him about meeting last Friday, but I do know it was a very busy week and a lot of unanticipated demands of his time and maybe he didn't even get that last email. Or maybe he was just overwhelmed with everything else going on and I slipped through the cracks again. I don't know.

Although I have thought more than once about making Aliyah, it is not something my family can do right now. Maybe in the future. So I do not have the different sort of community in Israel. I am limited to the Jewish community in which I live, and if it is a cultural behavior then people are probably going to have to want to work hard to attain a different level of comfort and community that is within their personal space.

But the alternative is that people like me continue to cry for help and wonder if anyone other than G-d hears them.

Tell us what more we can be doing

My rabbi said that yesterday. At the time I didn't know how to answer.

I talked with my husband at greath length this morning about yesterday. We talked about whether expecting true community, people caring about one another, was unrealistic. We talked about the fact that this was not an isolated incident, for me or for others.

We know people who have left the shul entirely because they did not feel supported. We know people who no longer stay for the kiddush luncheon because no one talks to them unless they initiate it. We know people who never receive invitations to Shabbos dinner or a Seder.

I don't know if the rabbi knows this or not. I don't know if he knows that new members are welcomed and embraced in proportion to the amount of money they make, what they can offer the shul, or their ties to long-established members of the shul. We have been members here for almost twelve years and we would not be considered long-established members.

I don't know if he knows that during the kiddush luncheon or any other social time, people gravitate toward their own social circles and tend to ignore everyone else. I don't know if he knows that if you are not wealthy or not politically connected or not related to someone popular in the shul, it is easy to be marginalized.

I don't know if he realizes that social events, including after shul on Shabbos, is just like high school all over again. But whether he knows it or not, I think he needs to hear it from us. I think we owe it to him, to the congregation, to all those who have left, are considering leaving, and those who have yet to be disappointed and cast aside, to tell him.

He cannot legislate community. He cannot force others to care. No one can. But I am sure there are ways, inexpensive easy ways to drive home the point that we all have an obligation to one another. Even if we ourselves are not in a position to help right now, we have an obligation to find someone who can.

One of the basic fundamentals of Judaism is that Kol Yisrael arevim zeh lazeh. A Jew does not live isolated from the rest of the world, nor can he be concerned merely with his own existence and survival. Jews must reach out and give of themselves to their fellow Jews.

From: http://www.ou.org/chagim/articles/light.htm

A commenter asked, Do you usually stop to comfort someone who is crying and upset? The answer is yes, I do. And if for some reason I am hurting too much myself, I will--and have--found others who I know can do something. I am not particularly extroverted, even in the best of times. I find it very hard to trust people. But I know what it's like to be in pain and be Unseen. So I do my best to See people.

I see people who want to join a conversation but don't know how and so I ask them a question to include them. I see women nursing their infants in a special sitting area next to the women's restroom and looking like they need something but don't want to bother anyone. I always ask and in particular offer to get them a glass of water. I know how thirsty I got when I was nursing. I see people who are sitting by themselves at a table and I ask if they would like some company. I make a point of looking for new faces, people who are not already engaged in conversation, people who are looking a little lost, and I ask if they are visiting or new members. I often offer to introduce them to a dozen other people I know.

Even as shy as I am, it is not hard to do this. The questions are easy: can I get you something? Would you like some company? Are you new here? But one has to See these people first.

The same commenter said that a more likely reason for not saying anything is not knowing how to proceed and how to offer comfort. This is a problem that has a solution. This is something more that the shul can be doing. We have offered classes in bikkur cholim, how to visit the sick. Why could we not offer information, even from the bima, about how to care for one another? How to ask? What to ask?

If the congregation simply does not know, we can fix that. If they do not care or do not want to see, then we have a bigger problem.

My husband and I are going to try to see our rabbi about this in the next week. This is bigger than just my not being seen. This is about much more than me. This affects all of us. It may not be me who is Unseen next time. I want to spare them the pain I am going through now.

What would I want my congregation to know? Part III

An anonymous letter to my congregation:

I write to you today as one of the Unseen. It hurts to not be seen. It hurts even more to suffer alone and in silence.

I have a mental illness, depression in particular. I hide it well most of the time.

Today I did not hide it. I cried openly in shul. I trembled from the sheer pain of it, surrounded by some two hundred people, during the kiddush luncheon that followed, and still you did not see me. I stumbled out of the social hall, blinded by tears I could not control and sobs that left me unable to breathe, and still no one saw me.

I took refuge in the chapel and sobbed aloud. In the past I would hide in the bathroom, taking great pains to silence my tears when anyone came in. Today I did not. I sought solace, but I did not hide. People came into the chapel for various reasons: to look for a lost tallis, read the newspaper, find a book in the library. Even still, I remained Unseen.

When my sobs exhausted themselves and I found my peace in emotional numbness, I rose to leave the chapel, falling onto a chair in my weakened state. One man remained in the chapel, facing me. He did not even bother to look up. I left the chapel, Unseen.

I made my way to a class. At one point I was standing in the middle of a crowd. Two dozen or more people were close enough to me that accidental contact was inevitable. I was crying, wiping tears, choking through my breaths. I was in your midst, and still I remained Unseen.

Two women who already know me and know I've been struggling with this for the better part of a month did stop me on my way and expressed concern. After being surrounded by my congregation for four hours by then, I was finally seen. But only by those who already knew of my condition. And as a side note, every single of one of those are converts. What does that say?

My rabbi called after me. I was shaking and doing everything possible to hold back the tears. I was not successful. He said while hospitalization was not an attractive option, the results I could get were positive. He said a misheberach for me. He mis-remembered my Hebrew name, leaving off part of it. I didn't know if that invalidated it, but I was too shaky to correct him.

I entered late to the class, which was populated by people I know. You know me. But you did not see me. The teacher asked my opinion on the topic, and I somehow managed to push my brain into something resembling coherent thought. My voice as I answered was clearly one that had been crying. My eyes were red; my hands still grasped a damp tissue just in case.

The teacher was quite pleased with my answer and the discussion continued. I didn't trust my voice to contribute further. When the class ended, people left. No one said anything to me about my demeanor. You who were in the class with me have known me for a dozen years. You are part of the lay leadership of the shul. I respect you and your learning and your commitment to the congregation. Why did you not see me?

Perhaps all of you in the congregation had too much going on in your own lives today. Perhaps you saw only what you wanted to see. Perhaps you saw me and thought to yourself, it's not my business.

On behalf of the Unseen, it is your business. If we are not sensitive to the pain and needs of each other in the congregation, what business do we have even being there? You may not be able to fix the problem. But you can show that you care. You can ask if I'm okay, if I need help, if I need to talk to someone, if I need to be alone.

But silence only tells me that you do not care. You do not see me. I am less than unimportant; I do not even exist.

My congregation, my Jewish community, my adopted family has let me down. That the only people who saw me other than my rabbi are all converts says nothing good about the Jewish community.

I do not understand why you will not see me. It hurts as much as my depression attacks my spirit. I am left only with the hope that you will hear me now. Do not assume that a fellow Jew in obvious pain is none of your business. Do not keep your blinders on in shul. If you cannot attend to someone yourself, find someone who can. Go get the rabbi if necessary. Do not walk away and assume someone else will come along.

Good questions to ask include: Do you need help? Are you safe? Do you need to be alone (if safety is not a concern)? Do you want to talk? Can I get someone for you?

Use your common sense. Depression kills. It kills the spirit, but it is also a leading cause of suicide, either intentional or by accident when someone with depression cuts himself or herself to relieve the pain, to be seen, and accidentally cuts too deep or the wrong thing and can't get help in time.

Taking one small minute out of your day, out of your life, to see someone in obvious pain could literally save a life. And it is the only Jewish thing to do.

Holding pattern

I write this from bed while watching bad daytime t.v. at 1:30 in the afternoon. Right now it is just background noise. I am trying another meds adjustment for the next few days, to see if it can get me over this patch. Usually increasing from my usual 5mg a day to 10mg a day for a week or so works. But this time I started on 10mg a day back on January 10, and it is now almost a month later and I'm no better off. I've been on 15mg a day before and not had even a hint of mania, only sleep disturbances. I hope that an increase will lift me out of this, because if it doesn't, hospitalization is the only option left. Even I see that.

I ran out of medication mid-week even though I called in a refill last week. But the pharmacy couldn't get a hold of my doctor to get a refill authorized. Finally my husband called the doctor's office and they said they never got the request. My doctor authorized 15 pills (10mg each) but wants to see me for a physical before she authorizes more. I can't get in to see her in the next week because she has no appointments available, and if I'm taking 15-20mg a day for a week, I will run out of medication again. I only got this far because the pharmacy gave my husband two pills to tide me over until the refill could be approved.

I don't have a psychiatrist. I used to, but the last one I had didn't want to listen to me and my experience and what worked and didn't work for me. She wanted me to wean my baby at four months old and take a powerful anti-psychotic drug that would leave me an emotional zombie. I refused to wean my baby to take a medication I didn't want when there were other viable alternatives available. The antidepressant was working well but she wouldn't accept that. When I refused, she flagged my file at the clinic as a troublemaker and no other psychiatrist at the clinic would see me. My insurance wouldn't cover any other clinic that was accepting new patients. I am on my own.

I have different insurance now but I don't want a psychiatrist who thinks he or she knows me better than I know myself. I have lived with this illness for most of my life. I am intelligent and introspective. I know my warning signs. I am honest with my caregivers and my husband. I should have a say in my treatment. I am the one who has to live with myself.

Yesterday my rabbi e-mailed that he had some time today to talk. I wrote back minutes later and said whatever worked for him was okay and could my husband join us. I don't know what happened, but I haven't heard from him since and Shabbos begins in three hours so I don't think we are meeting today after all. Tomorrow he is teaching after shul. It's hard not to be disappointed, to wonder what happened, to think about what I need from my rabbi. It's hard not to take it personally, that I'm not important after all.

Now I feel like my meds are being held hostage, or that I'll run out again before I can get in for a physical. Or that medical beaurocracy will drive me to the hospital just for medication management. I feel like the universe is conspiring against me.

Still I trust that things will work out. I trust that G-d knows what is best for me. I trust that what is meant to happen will happen.

I took a single Tylenol PM last night to help me sleep. This morning when I looked at myself in the mirror, my eyes were sunken, deep dark circles all the way around my eyes. My skin looked grayish and pasty, my mouth in a relaxed frown that hurt to smile. I went back to bed, which is where I remain, resting, watching bad daytime t.v. and just holding on.

Update: still no word from the rabbi. However my doctor's office called and said they had a cancellation for next Wednesday morning, so I will see her then. My counselor called today and said she blocked off an hour on Monday and I could see her again then. I know it's her lunch hour.

She is also working to get me an appointment with a physician's assistant who is supervised by a psychiatrist. She has really good things to say about this PA, and I could schedule counseling and med checks in consecutive appointments in the same building.

One of my friends that I e-mailed sent a card that I received in yesterday's mail, and another one today. She's also been sending me daily e-mail. Another of the four friends I e-mailed is coordinating with my husband to help as she can.

I wish my Jewish community were here for me, but I am very appreciative for the support I am feeling now from others.

What would I want my congregation to know? Part II

If there's a book called The Care and Feeding of Your Depressed Friend, this should be a chapter. The following are taken directly from my experience. Unfortunately.

What not to say to someone who is depressed or bipolar:

1. Snap out of it / get over it
   Believe me, if I could, I would. In a heartbeat. Or less.
   
2. You're too sensitive
   Maybe, but that doesn't change the fact that I'm struggling with an emotional disorder.
   
3. Everyone gets depressed
   Everyone can have situational depressions; far fewer have chemical depressions when nothing is wrong in their lives.
   
4. What's wrong? What do you have to be depressed about?
   Nothing, and that's the point. I endure terribly low depressions even when life is quite good.
   
5. Stop whining. Nobody likes to be around someone who is sad/cries/complains all the time
   Which is exactly why I don't want to tell my friends or ask for support. And then it's even harder to get better.
   
6. Lighten up / you need to toughen up
   Thicker skin will not change how I feel inside.
   
7. Get over yourself already / Why is it always about you? / You're just trying to get attention
   There are far less painful ways to get attention, if that's what I wanted. I withdraw and isolate because I don't want attention. And it's about me because this is what's going on with me. This is my reality. Comments like this also contribute to my not wanting to ask for support.
   
8. This again? Didn't we go through this a month/year/whenever ago? / I'm not your therapist
   That's the problem with episodic, cycling depression, the problem with bipolar: it always comes back, no matter what I do. I can find tools to cope, control the worst of it with medication, but it will always be there. Many people are happy to help--once. But for those of us with cycling depression or bipolar once usually isn't enough. I know that I may need extra support as often as 2-4 times a year. And when people ask, this again? it further reduces my willingness to ask for the support I need.
   
9. It's not Jewish to be depressed / It's a mitzvah to be happy
   Believe me, if I could, I would. I'd much rather be happy. But being happy is not one of the 613 mitzvot, and calling on G-d for help from the depths of despair seems to me to be exceptionally Jewish. Besides, where or when--ever--in our history were Jews always happy?
   
10. You owe it to your family/husband/children to ignore this; they need you more than you need to be depressed / You could feel better if you only tried hard enough
    Again, it's not a choice. It's not something I can ignore or put behind me. It's not something I can control any more than someone can ignore their asthma or diabetes or irritable bowel syndrome. It is my reality and I have to work within it. And sometimes that means I have to take care of myself before I can take care of my family.
    
11. I know what you mean / I've been depressed, too
    I don't know how to take this. Lots of people have had situational depression, feeling down because of a trauma, unemployment, death, financial problems, divorce, infertility, terminal diagnosis, war, etc. Far fewer really know what it's like to have a chemical imbalance: major depressive disorder, bipolar disorder. How do I know you really know what I mean? Until I do, I'm more likely to see this as patroizing, even if it's entirely well-intentioned.
    
12. This too, shall pass
    Yes, that's true. And I remind myself that in a few days or weeks or months, provided I don't harm myself, it will eventually get better. But eventually doesn't help me now. And now is when I need help.
    
13. What can I do to help? ** See comments, please. I will be writing more about this.
    This may be the most-asked question and the hardest to answer. If I'm already in a depression, I won't know what you can do. I simply can't think. It's better to find a time when I'm stable and create a written plan for the next depression: this is what you can do, this is how you can help, this is what I need. Maybe it's child care for a few hours or going to the grocery store for me or making some telephone calls or helping me to clean my kitchen or maybe it's just sitting with me while I bawl my eyes out.
    
    I know people who have done training in bikkur cholim, visiting the sick. One of the things they learned is not to ask, what can I do to help? because quite often the sick person doesn't know.
    Instead, offer something you know you can do: run errands, babysit, cook a meal (beware of kashrut issues), help clean, visit, make phone calls, enlist other support, walk the dog, check out books from the library. Think about things you would want help with when you're sick.
    
    Finally, please be understanding. I may be too embarrassed for you to see my house after a week or more of depression where I can't clean. I may not want to impose. When you offer to do something, I often see it as a trade, even if you don't. You'll do this for me and then when you need something, you'll call in the favor. Of course, I would do everything I can for my friends, if I'm able. But I can't guarantee when I'll be able, and I dislike feeling that I owe someone something. So I may say no because I want to avoid the debt. If you offer, and if you mean it, make sure you offer with no strings attached.
    
14. I know your plate is full, but can you help us with this / We could really use your help / I helped you when you were depressed, now it's your turn
    When I'm depressed, I can't. I simply can not. And guilt trips will breed resentment. Besides, I self-guilt myself better than anyone else can. When I'm hypomanic, I will absolutely help, but at a cost, because I tend to overcommit when I'm hypomanic. And my emotional cycles work such that at the height of my hypomania, something insignificant will happen and trigger a crash. Within literally minutes, I can go from laughing extrovert to sobbing negative self-worth. I do my best to hide it. If I'm in public, I find a restroom and ride out the initial crash there. If you know I have a lot going on, please consider not asking me to do something more. Or ask me to do it when I'm in a better emotional state.

Four more hours

I'm shaking. My hands are trembling and my legs feel weak and it's hard to think. Facing the day seems so huge, so difficult. I've barely slept the past few nights, a few hours here and there, and the anxiety that comes with my depression sometimes reaches the point of being unbearable.

Yesterday my husband worked from home while I somehow made it through the day. I read a lot and thought a lot about my Depression as adversary post, if that would work as well in practice as it seemed to in theory. I still like the theory, but it seems I still need tools to fight the adversary. The perspective itself is not enough.

Today my husband is back at work and offered to come home early to run some errands so I don't have to leave home. I am grateful to him for that. I just need to breathe and calm myself through the next four hours.

I sent email to four friends yesterday. It was a big step. I summarized what was going on. I said this particular depressive episode was probably the worst one in three years, which my husband originally observed. I said I was slowly climbing out but not ready to be social yet. I didn't talk about my diagnosis or get into any more detail other than going through a depression. I didn't ask them for anything. I'm not sure what I would ask for.

One friend who knows me very well replied and was sympathetic. I haven't yet heard from the other three.

Torah, depression, sensitivity and blog rolls

One of my commenters has a really cool site with lots of references and links to others writing about depression and related mental health issues. He added my blog to his blog roll and I thank him.

I know others have added my blog as well, and I can't say how grateful I am for their support. It really does make a difference to get that reality check from others, like when I pull out a 2000 year old theological world view and attempt to apply it to depression and wonder if I'm the only person on the planet to whom this makes sense.

It helps when others validate hurts and reject fears I'm equally afraid to claim. It helps to know people care.

I do read others' blogs, sometimes for an escape from my own inner battles, sometimes looking to see if and what others are blogging about depression, sometimes because I'm intrigued by a comment I see on my or someone else's blog.

I'd love to start a blog roll of all the blogs I find consistently interesting or funny or helpful or reflecting my own pain in different words. I've read blogs that brought me from tears to laughter, blogs that make me feel like everyone else is just as messed up as I am or I'm no more messed up than the rest of the world, blogs in which women try to protect their children from the harsh realities of war just beyond their doorstep, blogs where men teach themselves to cry and in doing so find their full humanity, blogs in which men and women argue respectfully about Jewish legal issues that will likely never be resolved in my lifetime.

I'd love to start a blog roll of these but I can't. I'd love to start a blog roll of all those who have linked to me or comment frequently but I can't. I know many bloggers have blog rolls and it's entirely appropriate for them on their blog. I don't think it's appropriate on my blog. The reason is how I live this:

"You shall not wrong a stranger or oppress him, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt. You shall not ill-treat any widow or orphan."
(Sh'mot 22:20-21)

"You shall not oppress a stranger, for you know the feelings (soul) of the stranger, having yourselves been strangers in the land of Egypt."
(Sh'mot 23:9)

I was one of those kids that all of the other kids liked to pick on. I was frequently picked last for sports teams unless some other poor soul was more reviled than I was. By high school when my depression became a life-threatening force, I was at the height of unpopularity. I know how it feels to be left out, passed over, forgotten, invisible.

Because I know how it feels, especially because this is the sort of thing that depression exacerbates to an infinite degree, I try very hard never to cause someone else to feel that way because of my choices, my words or my actions.

And because this is a blog about depression, about the bad feelings as well as the good, about how life's experiences can become twisted and viciously self-belittling through a depressive lens, I'm even more aware than ever of the possibilities should I start a blog roll of some blogs but not others.

I never want someone to feel hurt or left out because I didn't add them to my blog roll. And while many of those reading here may not be the type of people to care or be hurt, I have no way of knowing that.

There's one other thing. Emotional disorders are sadly a stigmatized reality. Many, including me, don't feel safe going public with it (ergo the anonymity). Some commenters who may maintain blogs of their own having nothing to do with depression and therfore post anonymously could not be added to a blog roll without violating their need for safety.

As a result, I have decided not to create a blog roll. I have a few links to (American) national organizations and I might expand that list, but it will remain with organizations and not individual blogs.

I will continue to post links to individual posts on others' blogs that I believe are appropriate here, and I continue to appreciate all of your very welcome support on this blog and your understanding of my position on this topic.

Please help me think rationally

I read something recently about reasons to dissuade potential converts and money was one of the reasons. If someone couldn't afford what it would cost to be Jewish (ritual items, shul dues, donations, schools, clothing, mikvah, Pesach food, etc) then they shouldn't convert no matter how much they may want to be Jewish or how much they love Judaism and Jews. Because the community has enough of "their own" to support financially.

I'm afraid to think this could apply to emotional needs as well.

Assuming an acceptable, halachically valid conversion, no matter that the convert is supposed to be now accepted as if he or she were born Jewish, are converts still sort of like second-class citizens when it comes to their needs because the community has enough of "their own" (born Jewish) to support, even emotionally?

Even given my history (my maternal grandmother was born and initially raised Jewish, yet through a convoluted family history involving a mysterious death, betrayal, adoption, and antisemitism, she was later baptized and rasied Christian), I fear that I have no right to ask the community for help, for support. They have enough of "their own" to worry about.

Is this the depression talking? Is this irrational thinking that's all twisted? Or is it true and I have no one? Who do I turn to? Where do I go for help?

What happened II

(Continued from What happened I)

I stayed through Mother's Day. When I'd planned the trip, it seemed like an appropriate thing to do, to be with my mom on the first Mother's Day without her husband, my father.

But I was invisible. The entire time I was with my mom, from the time I arrived on the flight until I left to go home, not one single person acknowledged that I was in mourning. It was all about how much my mom hurt, how close my brother had been to my dad and how my brother was taking it really hard. My mom gave my brother things of my father's. She gave me nothing. No one at any point offered to care for my children so I could take a nap or cry or even shower. I was on my own and alone, surrounded by people who didn't see me.

On Mother's Day, no one there wished me a Happy Mother's Day. My husband sent me a text message. My brother paid the check for dinner, saying, well, you are a mother too. My own mother, my mother-in-law, my two aunts and two uncles who were there, my cousin, never acknowledged that I was a mother, and I had my children with me there at dinner.

My children and I flew home. I had arranged with my rabbi to have a minyan at shul to mark the end of shloshim, thirty days after my father's death. Especially since I couldn't have a shiva minyan earlier. A couple of friends said they'd make phone calls to announce it. It didn't happen quite that way. For whatever reason, people didn't get called. When the prearranged time came, there were four of us.

I felt horribly let down, even more unseen. I felt like no one cared, though I found out later people were sad they didn't know or they would have come. It hurt, to have gone through everything with my mom and then not be supported by my own community. It still hurts.

I told my husband last night through my sobbing that if I don't tell anyone about my depression, there's still an illusion that people would help if they knew. I could console myself with that illusion. But if I tell people and they leave, then I don't even have that illusion anymore.

I think talking with my friend, who was one of the four at the would-be-minyan, brought all this up again. Now I just need to figure out how to fix it.

What happened I

I don't want to whine or complain. I do want to explain. I want to put words to this so I can maybe get through it and leave it behind me.

I am not much better than I was last night but I think I know what happened. The friend I visited who had just lost her father was in a similar horrible position as I was almost three years ago. Father not Jewish, funeral planned for a week or more away, at loose ends and shiva won't start until after the funeral. What's a Jewish mourner to do?

I think talking with her brought up so much of what I experienced when my father (alav hashalom) died. Please indulge me while I offer a summary of what happened.

My father died suddenly and unexpectedly from a massive heart attack half a country away. He was alone and outside, working on a piece of machinery. I had talked to him only the day before, planning his and my mom's visit to see their second grandchild for the first time since birth. My husband, my children and I all had walking pneumonia. The doctor forbade us from flying for at least a week, but my mom said that was okay. Family was scattered all across the country; she planned a memorial service for three weeks away, to give everyone time to arrive.

Three weeks of mourning before the memorial service. All I could think of was Tisha b'Av. There was no actual funeral; he was cremated. Ergo, no way to know when shiva would begin. I couldn't bear to wait three weeks to begin shiva. There's a technical term for this, my rabbi said, for the time between knowing about the death and waiting for the funeral. I can't remember it. I just know it's a horrible limbo sort of feeling.

I flew out with my children as soon as the doctor allowed. I had been in daily contact with my mom all this time, helping her through losing her life partner of almost half a century. As much as I disliked it, I helped her plan the memorial service that would take place in her church. She asked me to write a eulogy, which I did. I used words from Yizkor toward the end.

When I arrived, I was met with instant hostility. None of this Jewish stuff, my mom warned me. I even had to hide the Magen David necklace that I almost never take off. The children and I stayed with my mother-in-law for several days. I thought maybe it would be a chance for us to bond a bit more. But she was busy with her own life and when we were in the house together, she was more interested in playing with her three dogs and watching TV. I developed severe allergies to literally inches of dog hair on every surface and had to go stay with my mom, a woman who'd been a legitimate threat to my physical person during my childhood and teen years.

Minutes after she picked the children and me up, she lit into me. She would not stand for my "picky" eating habits. If I didn't want to eat what she had in her house, I could go starve for all she cared. She was in mourning, and was not in the mood to deal with my insistence on keeping kosher. She didn't want to hear anything that sounded even vaguely like Hebrew. If her Christian prayers weren't good enough for me, then I should keep my mouth shut. And if she saw my star necklace, she'd rip it off my neck and destroy it.

I had no choice. I had no money, no place to stay. I withdrew into myself and focused on my children. Aunts, uncles, other family were equally hostile and made public derrogatory comments about my being Jewish. Some of it was just ignorance. Some of it was clearly malicious. I wanted more than anything to just fly home. But we weren't even to the memorial service yet.

My mom and brother and I had to meet with the pastor of the church the morning of the memorial service. He wanted us to hold hands and bow our heads and say a prayer. I refused. He didn't understand. I was going to tell him the truth. I can't participate in your prayers because I'm Jewish. I have my own prayers. But my mom interrupted and told him to continue without me. At the end of his prayer, when he made the sign of the cross for all participants, I turned away. I didn't want a cross.

After we left his office, she said horrible things to me, how I'd humiliated her in front of her pastor, how I was being selfish and ungrateful and maybe it would have been better if I'd never flown out.

I don't know what happened

This afternoon went okay; I was fine, my friend is coping as well as can be expected. I spent some time this evening cursing tweaking my computer. Things were good so long as I stayed out of my emotions. And then something happened and I don't know what and it all came out. I wanted so badly to do harmful things to myself. I didn't. But I wanted to so bad.

I got one of those animated e-cards from a friend today saying she missed me and was here for me. I saw so clearly that she cares, that there are wonderful, loving, caring people out there and all I can think is WHY?? People are not supposed to care about me, that's what I learned years ago over and over again. I want to be witty and warm and thoughtful and generous and intelligent and helpful and maybe even a tiny bit wise and humble, of course humble, but I can't when I have this black cloud over my head or in my head and I can't see.

I can't tell people I have this thing because when it breaks me down and consumes me and spits out what's left, I'm afraid no one wants to see that or be near it. I want to tell my friend of the e-card but she's one of the few close local friends I have and if she knew, really knew, then I might not have that friendship anymore.

...... yeesh, now I'm getting all self-critical and I hate this post and I just want to tear it down and pretend tonight didn't happen but I promised myself I'd give this a try, be honest with what I'm really feeling and stop hiding it from everyone and I can't do that if I'm hiding it from here too. I just want the hurting to stop.