My butt goes numb when I sit for too long,  and my fingers and toes tingle and go numb from neuropathy, but I want to talk about a different kind of numb today. I’ve talked about it before when I talk about depression and feeling numb inside. That feeling where nothing is wrong but not a goddamned thing is right, so you sit and stare at a wall and hope it gets better before it gets too much worse. Numb. That kinda empty inside feeling that you can’t control, and there’s nothing that makes it better.

I read someone say, when they were diagnosed with CTEPH like what I have, they cried for days. Is that what a normal person does? I just stared at the wall and wondered what else could go wrong. I’d been given the future cause of my death, and I couldn’t even feel that pain because I was so numb. I’m lucky to still be alive–a true miracle of science if there is such a thing–and I can’t even feel that joy because I’m so numb.

I love my family but I can’t even express that properly because I am so numb.

When they told me I had ankylosing spondylitis, I just shook my head and swallowed down a big lump of numbness. This is a condition that will eventually cripple me even more than I already am (I’m in a wheelchair and can’t walk–how much worse can it get?)….but instead of feeling any sadness, I just felt numb.

Numb. Empty. Blank. Devoid.

And it all feels so final like it’s impossible to lift it. I don’t want to live like this, but it’s the lot I’ve been given.

I take an antidepressant, Cymbalta. I take Abilify with it, which is an antipsychotic, but it’s used to help people who have lingering depression when anti-depressants aren’t enough. Major depression disorder they call it, axis I, and axis II and all that jazz. I understand all the reasons I feel this way. I understand that it’s a medical condition, and there is no shame. I am too numb to feel shame anyway. I’ve never been ashamed of depression. I don’t fear what people will think of me. They’ll either understand or they won’t.

If you’ve never felt clinical depression, you don’t understand. I don’t care how sad you have been or how depressed you think you’ve been in a situation; if you don’t have clinical depression, you don’t understand. I repeat: you do not understand. It isn’t a matter of being sad. It can be crying all the time to not being able to cry at all.  It can be feeling every negative emotion all at once to not being able to feel anything at all, which is so much worse. I’d rather cry my eyes out than be numb. In fact, I usually know I’m getting better when I go UP to crying. Yes, crying my eyes out is a step up from numb.

The worst part used to be when people would ask me, “What do you have to be depressed about? You’ve got a great life!” But now I get, “Well, of course, you’re depressed. Look at all you have to deal with!” I don’t know which I hate more! I don’t want to be depressed, and I’m certainly not happy about it.

Depression is a medical condition, like diabetes or pancreatitis. It’s not something you control. It’s a chemical imbalance in the brain–and some people have it and some people don’t. You can feel depressed without having ‘depression’ as a medical condition. You can even have situational depression that is longstanding due to circumstances, but not have clinical depression. I’m lucky — I get both. You actually can be depressed (mood) for so long that you can develop a chemical imbalance (disorder) called depression too.

I also find it tough when people say they understand, too, because you can’t. You can’t understand someone else’s depression. It’s unique to each person. I can’t understand someone else’s pain. I can empathize, but understanding is harder, and I want to scream sometimes, “You can’t possibly understand me!”

It’s not an insult to the person meaning all the best when they try to empathize, but if you’ve ever been there when someone says they understand, and you know they can’t… it’s frustrating.

Why am I discussing all this? Because people don’t talk about depression honestly enough. We hide it and try to smile and be what everyone thinks we should be — happy, or at least functional. I try to joke and smile when I’m depressed in a classic case of overcompensation. I become so joking and happy that no person could possibly honestly feel as happy as I act. It feels dishonest, and yet, it also feels like it’s what’s expected of me. If I don’t do that, I have to constantly answer the hail of questions, what’s wrong? Are you okay? You feeling all right? and so on and so on.

Sometimes, I just need to sit with my silence, and so I pull inside, and it’s then I discover who my true friends are, the people who notice when I go silent. Rissa is one of those who regularly reaches out to me when I go dark. She knows when something isn’t right. There are others who notice sometimes, too. They comment or message me, email, send me a note to let me know they are there. This creates a conundrum. It creates a situation where I have to respond when I’m not in any mood to be worth talking to anyone. I worry I’ll say something in my numbness that will hurt someone else. I care, but when I’m numb, I can’t feel it. It comes back to me when I’m not numb anymore. So I hesitate to interact when I’m in moods like this. But at the same time, I  need and even crave that interaction. The dichotomy of wanting to be left the hell alone and needing to know that someone’s there. Crazy.

Not that I’m saying I’m crazy, though I probably am. People with depression are not insane–I am, but not because of the depression. I just choose to be crazy in order to deal with a crazy world. To cure me, you’d have to convince me the world is sane, and I don’t think anyone can do that. It’s not.

So let’s talk about depression and numbness and pain and feelings. This is not shameful. We do better when we’re forced to interact, but there needs to be some compassion and understanding for what this condition can do — it changes you. I am a completely different person when I’m depressed than when I’m having a good day. I fight the darkness every day. I wake up and choose to make it through another day, every single morning. Kathy once told me she knows the darkness I’m in… she reached out to me and told me I was necessary and special and important, on a day I really needed to hear all those things. I don’t believe them, but maybe it sinks in just a little bit because she made me cry. And remember, for me, crying is a step above numbness–it’s better. LOL I know, I told you I was crazy.

But that’s the main thing: I just wanted to talk about how I felt a little bit and let you know if you feel similarly, or if you feel something completely different, that you’re normal, and it’s all right to feel however you do feel. It’s okay not to be okay. Just know that it does get better, even though my son told me when he was suicidal that this phrase made him angry, but I told him if he was angry he was despondent, and then unlikely to kill himself, so I’ll take angry over dead. We talk that honestly about it, because suicidal ideation is hard on everyone, and suicide kills more than just a person. Read this post about suicide and my son, posted there with his permission.

So know that it does get better, and if that makes you angry, scream at me in the comments. I can take–I’m numb most of the time, anyway (I’ll just store it up for later when I can feel). But know this–if you need me to save your life, I’m here, to talk, to call you, to get help to you somehow. I will do everything in my power to make sure you wake up –however depressed– tomorrow morning and the next and the next…. stick around. I can’t do this life thing alone.

I love and need you all–thanks for letting me ramble about my depression that is kicking my butt right now.

Love and stuff,

Michy