In my favorite poem by Robert Frost, Nothing Gold Can Stay, he reminds us that like the seasons of nature, life is one season melting into another, and quickly fading away. This is my attempt to document each season in my life and my family.


Filed under: Bloody Depression,Loss,Love,Me — Rachel at 7:31 pm on Thursday, June 27, 2013

I wish I could be sure about decisions that I have to make. Especially the ones that really hurt.

Uncertainty is my kryptonite. When I have to decide to take some action I try to be logical. I try to weigh all the information. I go back and forth in my mind…on and on…ad nauseum. I try to think of all the alternatives. All the ways it could blow up in my face. I want to make sure that I am doing the right thing.

Sometimes, I feel like there is no right thing. I feel like there is no choice that has a truly good outcome. I try to minimize collateral damage. If it’s going to hurt me, sometimes that feels worth it. But if it’s going to hurt someone else, it’s really hard for me to decide to do something. Sometimes I hurt myself more because I’m afraid to make a decision I know I need to make, out of fear of hurting someone. And sometimes I make the decision, and they turn out just fine. And sometimes I’m surprised to find out that I am the one I’ve hurt the most.

I generally feel confidant about a big decision if I have made it as far as deciding and acting on it. Unfortunately, I often have a confidence crash a few days later. I doubt myself. I feel like I tried so hard and still ended up doing something stupid. Does this happen to anyone else? Am I the only one?

I’m drowning in uncertainty right now. I feel like I made a bad decision. I feel like I messed something good up. I feel like a misunderstood set of circumstances skewed my judgement. I tried so hard, but I still hurt myself in the process.

I just wish I could know. Really know what the best thing for me would be. I just want to be certain. Or at least mostly certain.

But I’m not.

Wings Like A Dove

Filed under: Bloody Depression — Rachel at 7:09 pm on Thursday, January 5, 2012

Hi. My name is Rachel, and I am depressed.

If you’ve read my blog for very long, this is not news to you. I’ve dealt with depression for a very, very long time. I’ve had ups and downs. I’ve been depressed to the point of being suicidal, and I’ve had times where I was mostly pretty happy and it wasn’t much of an issue. I was probably around eleven or twelve when I first started dealing with depression. I spent hours in my room, hiding out, writing page upon page of self-hatred and death wishes in my journals. I started cutting when I was very young. I developed an eating disorder. Depression has been my Achilles heel. It still is.

There have been times when I could hide how I was feeling from others pretty well, and other times when everyone I saw asked me if I was okay. I would always say “yeah..I’m okay”, but it was always a lie. I’m not sure what makes it so hard to say, “I’m not okay.” It really is difficult, though. It’s hard to be vulnerable with people. It’s hard to expose your weaknesses when you have legitimate fears that some people will just take that opportunity to go for the throat. Sometimes, it’s just the fear that if you open up the floodgates, you won’t be able to stop. Always, I’m afraid of being a burden.

After I had Abby Jo, I fell into a serious depression. I had never been that depressed before. There were a lot of days when I could barely get myself out of bed. I was miserable. I would lie in bed crying because I wanted to die and I couldn’t take my own life because of  my kids. My kids have always been my saving grace. Even at my very lowest points, I never thought my kids would be better off without me. Everyone else, maybe. But not my kids. After several months of dealing with this level of depression, I finally faced my fear and talked to my doctor about it. She comforted me, in a way, by explaining the physiological part of depression. I already knew the facts that she presented to me, but it was different hearing my doctor tell me that my personal situation wasn’t my fault. I wasn’t crazy. She explained that, after having four kids one right after the other and nursing them each for an entire year or more, my hormones were probably bottomed out. She suggested an anti-depressant, and I began taking Zoloft. It took me a long time to get to the proper dosage that would make me feel better, but eventually I got there. She told me I might not have to take it forever. My hormones could get balanced again, and I would feel better without it. I know that there was definitely a hormonal factor in my depression, because, without fail, a couple of days before my period, I would start having a really hard time. I didn’t always recognize what was happening. More than once, Amy would point out to me that things weren’t as bad as they seemed to me but I was just fixing to start. I talked to my doctor, and she had me start taking more of the antidepressant for the days preceding my period. It worked. It made a big difference.

Then I made a big mistake. I felt better. I wasn’t depressed all the time. So, I decided that I was better, and I stopped taking the medication. I had some major ups and downs while I was coming off of it, but I eventually started doing okay. Then, my life started crumbling around me, and I was just as depressed as I had ever been. I made a really big mistake when I stopped taking anti-depressants. I feel like I am going through hell right now, and it would have been much easier if I was still on Zoloft. When I stopped taking it, though, I gained weight. I guess it is because of the hormonal change, but I gained close to fifteen pounds. I didn’t change my eating habits. I just started putting on weight. I know this is pathetic, but that is why I haven’t went back to the doctor and asked her to put me back on the medication. I’m afraid of being fat.

So, all of that to say…I am very depressed. I don’t want to be, but I am. Sometimes, like I said, it gets better. Right now, though, I am in a dark place. I didn’t know what to write on my blog today, because I didn’t feel like writing anything positive or happy. I had been doing a bit better, but this morning I just plummeted. I went to the gym, but came home and went to bed for five hours. When I get to a certain level of despair, I start to feel physically ill. Like I just can’t do anything. I imagine all sorts of creative ways to bring about my own demise. It’s like Eeyore on steroids. It really, really sucks.

I feel like I need to see my doctor about it, regardless of any effects on my weight. I’m tired of feeling this way. I’ve been seeing a psychologist regularly for about a year. This helps me a lot in having an outlet and working through problems, but it doesn’t really help me not feel depressed.

I’m not sure what my point in writing this post is. Maybe just to say, “I’m not okay.” Because I’m not. But I hope to be someday.

My heart is greatly pained within me: and the terrors of death are fallen upon me.

Fearfulness and trembling are come upon me, and horror has overwhelmed me.

And I said, Oh that I had wings like a dove! for then would I fly away, and be at rest.

Lo, then would I wander far off, and remain in the wilderness. Selah.

I would hasten my escape from the windy storm and tempest.          Psalm 55:4-8

You Again?

Filed under: Bloody Depression — Rachel at 11:41 pm on Tuesday, November 29, 2011

I guess I should have been expecting you. Or maybe you never left? I don’t think you did. You just retreated enough for me to stop thinking about you. Like an annoying relative who is about to be asked to leave, you take your drink and sit quietly in the corner, staring at the football game, waiting for me to forget my irritation.

I knew you were there. Of course I did. I can’t quite enjoy myself when you’re around. When you sit quietly for a while, I can kind of loosen up…smile a bit. I laugh at people’s jokes and comment that, yes, after all, the weather is quite nice. When you stay in the background, I can ignore you…pretend you’re not here.

But you are here. You’re always here. I hate your freaking guts, you know. I wish you would go away. I wish you would go away and never speak to me again. I don’t want to feel you watching me. Waiting for everyone to leave…for your chance. I don’t want to hear your voice. That voice that makes me want to take a thousand pills and wash it down with gallons of something strong just to make you shut up. Just be quiet! No one likes you. You ruin everything.

I don’t know why I didn’t realize you were just waiting for things to calm down. For people to fall away and life to get back to a normal enough existence for the adrenaline to seep away so you could worm your way back in. Maybe I just wasn’t thinking. Or noticing. Didn’t realize it was you that made me feel so tired. That the book after book after nap and the growing laundry pile was not just a goal or a bug but…you.

I hate you. I’d kill you if I could. I thought I did. I tried. Fed you pill after pill. You tricked me. I thought you were dead.

But, of course, you’re not. Because you’re right here. Killing me slowly.