Number Nine - 40 @ 40

Dealing with Death
Little did I know when I wrote my last blog post that I would be at a dear friend's wake on Friday. However, that is exactly what happened.  And even though this blog series is intended to be positive firsts, I believe I was able to find just that.

Shelly and I met through my piano lessons flier she found at Ford Credit.  At the time, she was not my only adult student.  However, she was my last lesson on Saturday afternoons and many times she would stay and visit afterwards.  Soon after taking lessons, she met Doug, and was immediately smitten. Jim and I had such fun going to see Doug's band and my relationship with Shelly became more of a friendship than a teacher/student one.

One of the highlights of our friendship was when Shelly asked if I would sing/play at her wedding. The morning of her wedding I found out we were expecting our second daughter, Eva. I was so sick at the wedding, but I know the music I performed was loved and appreciated. I couldn't drink at the reception, and we had to leave early because Zoe was not enjoying being put to bed by her grandparents. However, the love Shelly and Doug had for each other was reflected to beautifully on that day.

More recently Shelly and I hung out with my girls.  We most always went to Olga's for lunch and then came back to our home to watch crazy Sesame Street videos on YouTube. We had a blast listening to the different skits from our childhood, and our favorite by far was the Pinball Song.

Saying goodbye was very difficult, but it did lead to a first - recording a YouTube video of myself. I have uploaded videos of my girls playing instruments, or other family things. However, I never felt comfortable to record one of myself. I follow quite a few YouTubers who seem to be so confident when recording their videos. And I have no problem performing in public, what was so scary about YouTube? Most likely it was because I put myself out there for criticism. I hate people who are so rude and overtly unkind online. But I did it. Here are the finished results:

Number Eight - 40 @ 40

Accepting My Self

When I was diagnosed with general anxiety disorder almost 8 years ago, I had already struggled for many years with panic attacks and depression.  However, when Zoe began suffering from asthma, I started getting anxious when I was doing normal every day activities, especially if I was trying to relax. I tried to put logic to my emotional state, but logic was not going to help me in this situation. I even put off getting medicine and help, because I saw it as a weakness, one that I needed to fix myself. I am self reliant.  I was raised to do things on my own, and to not ask for help.  So admitting I could not do this alone was a huge step for me.  However, I was embarrassed that I needed medicine to keep myself afloat.  I mean, what did I expect would happen with both sides of my family having either anxieties, depression or both?

It was really remarkable how much my behavior changed, for the positive, after only a few days.  I felt like a person, rather than a shell of one with outbursts and chest pains.  I couldn't believe how long I put off feeling better, and I did feel better.  Of course after a month my meds were increased, and I once again felt like a failure.  Albeit, not as much of a failure as the initial diagnosis.

However, I have recently fallen into another bout of depression these last few weeks.  I thought it was illogical, but after deep thought this weekend I can pretty much state that the depression became obvious since a neighbor passed away suddenly.  She was the mother of a little girl my two Ladybugs played with almost on a daily basis.  And I was shocked, saddened and confused.  We were not close. I spoke to her on the phone often, checking in on her daughter and asking if I could watch her longer. I didn't go to the funeral, because I physically could not convince myself to go.  It was a crazy feeling.  A feeling of being paralyzed by fear.

My brain never truly stops thinking.  I over analyze EVERYTHING, to a fault.  Logically I can state that I just had a physical, including my first mammogram, and I'm healthy - physically.  I still need blood pressure meds, but that is genetic anyway, so I guess that's going to have to stay. I'm down 40 pounds since Christmas, and I am exercising almost everyday and eating healthier than I have in a long time. But shit happens, and that is where I cannot control my thoughts and feelings.

Unless one reads my blog posts, I have a good feeling they would not know of my illnesses. There...I wrote it.  I HAVE MENTAL ILLNESSES.  People probably would have no clue. I don't have anything that physically looks abnormal. Yes, I have gained weight from the depression during Ray's illness and passing, but I'm not grossly obese or morbidly disfigured (i.e. third breast, extra leg, etc.). I have always put on a good front. Played a part - the part I'm supposed to be. Because I quickly learned in elementary school that my authentic self was not good enough. I was not good enough for people to be my friend. So I became really good at pretending. So good, in fact, I believed it for a long LONG time.

I was born a giver, and one who could feel and relieve someone of their pain and hurt. I find great joy, but also great exhaustion from this gift.  I can successfully let conversation occur without revealing my pain and hurt and emotions.  I find myself living in a protective shell, and helping others with their problems as not to deal with my own.  I have known my friend, Jahna, for 24 years now. She admits to just recently realizing I suffer from these illnesses.  Can you believe it!?  24 freaking years I have been able to love her, and give to her, and be there for her.

But this year I'm done - this year I am 40 and I'm not going to feel sorry if I can't bring myself to attend family events, or have to cancel plans because I cannot bring myself to leave the house. I may not ever be able to eliminate my body from the meds I take for depression and anxiety, but that okay. This is me - take it or leave it.

My name is Michelle, and I have depression and anxiety.