How to Not Drown

I’m a water girl.  Maybe it comes with my January birthday.  I’m an Aquarian (is that the word?) - not that I’ve ever put any stock in astrology, but who knows!  Anyway, the ocean mesmerizes me.  I could stare at it for days.  I feel most connected to creation and the Spirit when I am dipping my toes in the wet sand and staring out at the deep blue horizon.  It’s my more than just my happy place.  Sailing, snorkeling, scuba diving, dolphin watching, fishing - I love ALL of it…..except swimming.  I know…weird, right?  But swimming in the ocean terrifies me.  Suddenly I am afraid of currents, the undertow, jellyfish, sharks, fire coral and all the underwater scary things you can imagine.  It’s interesting how the same body of water can bring a sense of peace or holy terror depending on the circumstance.  Life is the ocean, beautiful, breathtaking, awe-inspiring, serene at times, turbulent and destructive at others.  I have spent many beautiful days sailing across the surface, diving in turquoise blue waters, dancing with the Blue Tang and Sergeant Major.  I have been loved deeply,  cooled and refreshed by the blue, overwhelmed by a fiery sunset sparkling like diamonds on the gentle sway of the tides.  I have also been tossed and beaten by the waves, broken apart in the storm and left in shambles on the ocean floor.  I have drowned in the same sea that wooed me with its beauty.  It is from the deep, the darkest, most bitter isolated and tormented place, that I have learned the most valuable lessons.  

For my 35th birthday, Jon took me on a cruise.  Let me preface it by saying it was quite scandalous at the time.  Neither of our divorces were final.  Our families were all still hanging on to hopes that we would reunite with our ex-spouses. This is not an argument about the morality of the situation.  That may come another day, but for now I am simply relaying a story, so try to stick with me and save your judgement for later.  Suffice it to say, our relationship was not well-received initially.  In many ways it felt like it was us against the world.  The cruise was our chance to escape the throngs of pointing fingers and shaking heads and simply revel in our all-consuming love for one another.  One of the stops was Cozumel.  Again, desiring to escape the crowds, we rented a red jeep and headed off across the island, the opposite direction from the tourists.  It was a perfect day.  We found a quaint little palapa on the beach, serving margaritas, fresh guacamole and salsa with homemade chips.  We walked along the shore picking up shells.  Jon was more than adventurous when it came to water!  Unlike me, he was not afraid to swim in the ocean.  We found a secluded beach and he decided to head out into the waves.  I sat on the shore and watched.  He waved at me and beckoned me to come in with him.  “Look!  It’s so much fun!  Don’t worry….I’ll stay with you!”  I could never say no to him, so I went in.  The two of us were soon jumping in the waves, laughing and carrying on.  All of the sudden, I looked back at the shore and we had moved quite a bit.  There was a young surfer frantically waving both of his arms at us, and he was NOT saying hello.  It looked like he was trying to warn us.  The tide had gradually been towing us out, and without even realizing it, we were now dangerously close to a jagged coral rock formation.  No big deal, we’ll just start swimming back to shore, right?  Nope.  The undertow in this spot was wicked.  I was not strong enough to get out.  Fortunately the guy on the shore had hopped on his surfboard and started paddling towards us.  He reached me just in time as I was being continuously being pulled under and closer to the rocks.  He put me on his surfboard and began pushing me back to shore.  Suddenly a giant wave came, turning me completely upside down and slamming me against the ocean floor.  We finally made it to the shallows and I literally crawled up on the beach, spitting out water, cut up and stinging from the salt and sand.  What had started out as the perfect day in paradise ended in near disaster.  Jon and I relived that story many times, joking about how we nearly became shark food, and though we both laughed, we shared the poignant knowledge that we had narrowly escaped death that day.

You know there are times in life when we simply cannot help ourselves.  In spite of our best efforts, the undertow of life can be wicked and overpowering, and no matter how hard we work, we end up closer and closer to the rocks.  That is depression.  You are traveling along, enjoying the sunshine, laughing, bouncing in the waves, when suddenly, the very thing you were enjoying, the thing you managed with ease, now threatens to consume you.   It doesn’t happen all at once or overnight, but you look up and realize you have been sucked out to sea and though you swim with all your might, you can’t escape the undertow.  The shore now looks perilously distant as you fight harder just to keep your head above the water.  As Jon and I were in this literal scenario in Cozumel, what if we had waved off the guy on the surfboard?  What if we had said, “no, it’s ok, we got it,” and declined his assistance?  Well, I can tell you, I would not be sitting at this keyboard right now.  Of course nobody would wave off help when they are physically drowning, but we do this all the time when we are emotionally and mentally drowning!  

It is so very hard to ask for help.  Having experienced the worst of depression with Jon and knowing how imperative help is in times of dark depression, I have struggled most with admitting I am drowning and asking for a lifeline.  I am fortunate to have observant, loving family and friends who refuse to let me drown, but I understand now how easy it would be to do.  If you are more of an extrovert, like I am, and you find it easy to smile, even fake smile, to laugh, to show up, to be a team player, then people will find it implausible that you could ever be depressed.  I am a joyful person by nature and by the grace of God.  Even through days on end of sobbing, I could find a reason to smile.  But the past few months, something different has happened.  I started avoiding sleep, staying up for hours on the couch until I would pass out.  Even when I fell asleep, I would wake up at 2 or 3 in the morning, mind racing, catastrophic thinking, worry, anxiety.  I would finally fall back to sleep after a couple of hours, but it cast a shadow over my entire day.  Most days I try my hardest to just stay home, which is VERY unlike me.  I used to be the opposite - to a fault.   I would wake up early, get ready and be out the door, not to return all day.  Now I wake up late, sit in my pajamas on the couch for hours feeling frozen and guilty about not working more or doing more around the house.  I tell myself, “Get up, Jenn.  Today, you’re going to just organize all your jewelry making stuff (which is all over the apartment!).”  I begin the process, but within a few minutes, I am distracted by something else.  Before I realize it, hours have passed by and nothing looks any better.  It takes days, but I do muster up the energy for some income producing task, like posting pics of jewelry or conducting a facebook live training.  This one little thing usually requires all my mental and emotional energy and wipes me out for days.  This person who used to be such a self-starter, so full of confidence and drive is terrified to even get a job waiting tables.  I can’t focus.  I forget everything.  I’m certain I would be the worst waitress to ever hit the scene.  I sit down and try to make a list of the things I can do.  What skills do I have?  How can I use them to provide for my family?  (Silence). I sit there, cursor flashing for hours, typing, deleting, staring, typing, deleting, staring, typing, deleting, staring.  In addition to this, I find myself thinking about death….a lot.  Not that I would ever kill myself, but wishing I would get hit by a bus, or that there would be some freak natural disaster that would take us all out.  This is hard to talk about, but you know me, I have this incessant need for honesty these days.  Anyway, I did visit my doctor, and got some help.  I’m taking some meds, and hopefully it’s helping…hard to say so far, but I have promised myself one thing - as hard as it is, I will keep asking for help until it does get better.  

The biggest problem with the bipolar depression that took Jon down, is that he decided somewhere along the way that he could not talk about all the things going on in his mind.  I recently started using his phone, which is a treasure trove of pics, videos and notes.  I found in his notes, the month leading up to his death, that he was trying to encourage himself.  He was telling himself not to worry, trying to recognize his own irrational thinking, citing scriptures and more - all good things.  But there was another note that broke my heart.  He was listing triggers, things which he KNEW were a result of his depression and he said, “When you feel overwhelmed with catastrophic thinking, you must resist the urge to talk about it.  Be a man.”  Now, of course I know that THIS WAS irrational thinking, not Jon at all.  We usually talked about EVERYTHING, no secrets between us.  But as his depression grew, his irrational thinking increased, he distanced himself mentally and emotionally.  He didn’t want to worry anyone, wanted to handle it, to “be a man.”  Ugh!  This just makes me sick.  He accepted help from his doctor, encouragement from the people that loved him, etc., but because he was “resisting the urge” to give a voice to his catastrophic thinking, he was unable to get the help he needed and it ultimately took his life.

Why am I sharing all of this personal stuff with you?  It’s painful and somewhat shameful to talk about.  (Yes, I suppose I still battle that stigma, too.)  I know there are those sitting behind their computer screens casting blame my direction right now.  It would be easier not to talk about it, but I’m sharing this, on the very real chance that someone is reading this who thinks, “nobody understands,”  or has also been “resisting the urge” to talk about it.  Listen.  You need to hear this.  Depression is a disease - it’s messed up brain chemistry, just like diabetes is messed up blood sugar.  You didn’t ask for it.  It’s not your fault.  It will not heal itself.   Let’s use this analogy:  Say I cut my arm , so I do what is expected, I wash it out, put antibiotic cream on it and bandage it up.  After a few days, I notice it hasn’t gotten any better.  I continue the routine of putting on the antibiotic cream and bandages.  In a few more days there are red streaks up my arm, the cut looks much worse, and I am feverish.  Am I just going to keep on putting on the antibiotic cream and bandages, hoping it will eventually work?  No!!  I'm heading to the doctor to get some serious help!  Depression is the cut that won’t heal itself.  You must get help.  Our dialogue about this disease is becoming more open.  We are gaining understanding and people WANT to help.  There will always be those who don't get it, who don't understand.  Please don't let them keep you from getting the help you need.  Your life depends on it.  Much love. 

Oddly enough this pic was taken by a ship photographer about an hour after the near drowning incident. 
We both thought it was going to be a horrible pic, but it turned out to be one of our favorites!
 Today it sits on my nightstand, atop a blue velvet encased box of ashes.