Though I can't pinpoint the exact moment of my descent, I can say that February of 2011 is when I fell so far down I had difficulty spotting the sun's rays on a daily basis. By March, I was swimming with the angler fish and I think Grace was, too, for a period. Her month-long bout of Scarlet Fever combined with the severe allergic reaction to the penicillin left us both struggling for air and light--for hope and faith.
Grace--she bounces, she floats up, she swims to the top, she basks in the shimmering waters until she feels her wings growing back... and she flies. She can sink to the bottom and shoot up to the sky in one day--in one moment. She lives mostly in the now and I am so grateful for her ability to dance in the light even when shadows lurk in the corners. She seeks out the bright clarity of joy.
I pulled it out of her on October 2 that she has been bullied in school since day one by a particular girl who knows enough to always do it when no adults are within hearing range. Grace is naturally drawn to people. She loves all people, male/female isn't an issue for her as it seems to be for many of the girls in her class. But back on October 2, I had no idea, Grace really had no idea how rampant the possessiveness and jealousies ran in that room. When she first told me, I felt the blow from the sucker punch--what must she feel everyday when she goes to school? The problem with the first girl came to a climax by the next week when she and another girl ganged up on Grace and threatened to punch her in the face (because she was friends with a boy who "belongs to" another girl, a girl who we thought was Grace's friend, too). It was the first time her teacher was able to catch something without making it worse for Grace by letting the girl know she'd told someone.
The principal and a counselor were brought in to deal with it, parents were called, I am on top of it, her teacher is on top of it, and now even Grace is on top of it because she gets it: it's the mean girl syndrome and Grace is the target. Ironically, the first girl who wouldn't leave her alone until it came to that culmination hasn't been much of an issue at all, mostly now it is the girl who befriended her the second week of school. Her teacher says that Grace uplifts the classroom with her upbeat and happy personality. She says that Grace is helpful and friendly to her classmates, she says that she is "lovely." She says she has never had a class like this before: where the ties of possessiveness run so deeply among so many of the girls--even to include some of the boys, making them uncomfortable. (The boy who is friends with Grace and made to feel that it is wrong to talk to her, because he "belongs to" the other girl, for instance.)
Her teacher has said she feels like she has to protect Grace from a hornet's nest and little fires that these girls are starting everywhere with their gossip. Grace was seven until two weeks ago and these girls are nine and ten years old. They are fourth graders. Grace really is so innocent, was so innocent...yet so much more mature. She gets it now. It saddens me.
Okay, on November 8 when I originally wrote this in my journal, she was only just starting to grasp it and she was still seven, technically. I'm improvising on what I wrote earlier. I was more sad and hopeless then. Only 18 days ago. What I really wrote was:
I cry most nights for what she must endure, for the chipping away at her innocence by girls who obviously just need more love and better role models in their own lives. (One day, when I had to intervene to stop a fist fight between two girls in Gracie's class before the morning bell rang, I went home and cried for them, too. The words they used and the front they put up--Grace wouldn't even know about...and I know she is lucky in that--that she has love and support at home, even if school is a dicey social situation.) I cry because she deserves a break--I feel like the only person and thing she can count on is me. Her dad is too far away and her brother is gone so often...her true friends are now a forty minute drive away...
I cry because I have been down too long. That water is filling my lungs making me just want to give in to it and sleep and sleep. I'm drowning and no one gets it. Maybe Joel does. But he's in Arizona. My kids have an inkling because they live with me--though I fake it so often for them, I don't think they realize how bad it is. But they know. I can't fake it 24/7 on the weekends. The very chore of opening my eyes each morning is hardly bearable. But I do it. It has to be done. There is no one else, so I must. I must lift my head from the pillow. I must use those stomach muscles and make my body sit up. I must make my legs swing to the edge of the bed and I must make my feet stay planted on the ground. My kids need me, especially Grace, and I must stand.
(I started this on November 8, but could not finish or put it on this blog until the 26th, when again...I couldn't finish. Today is January 12, 2012, as I'm about to type these last few paragraphs from a boat, drifting mostly peacefully and breathing real air instead of those heavy, heavy waters.)
I went to the doctor finally, on a recommendation of a very dear, old friend who dropped by unexpectedly and told me I should. It had never once occurred to me, even though I'm a nurse and have passed a thousand antidepressant pills to a thousand different patients, I never thought once to go to a doctor. To make an already long story a bit shorter, I was diagnosed and prescribed meds, but I'm just not a pill person. They are wonderful for some who are in pain (emotional, physical) but not me. I waited till a Friday, took one pill and did not react well to it (difficulties talking and breathing, jittery-an allergic reaction, I'm sure). I was alone with Grace all weekend, so if things got worse...the pill was a 24 hour thing, but the effects lasted longer. They faded of course, but even on Sunday I was aware of the slight tightness in my throat each time I spoke.
So. I decided to create my own serotonin-boost. I know I could have done this all along--I'm not only a nurse, but a nurse with a B.S. in exercise science! I know the right thing to do to get the chemical imbalance in my brain righted from being down for so long, but the irony is that when anyone is depressed, we can't make ourselves do it...really, it just doesn't even come up in our thoughts. But that was a scary weekend and it was my wakeup call, and I just suddenly decided on an action plan that would help me climb out of the depression the natural way: Yoga. And writing.
As most everyone knows, exercise--any kind you enjoy--creates more of those feel-good chemicals and yoga is especially good because of the whole philosophy behind it. Letting go of what you don't need. Being in the now. Bre-e-e-a-t-h--e-. Just breathe. And writing because I love it. I told myself that I would MAKE myself do yoga and write every single day. I even thought I might blog on working through my 2 yoga DVDs, one of which has over 20 different routines on it, but you see that hasn't happened.
I've been keeping busy helping out at Grace's school and with Nathan's People to People fundraising. I slacked on the daily yoga but I'm coming up. Ironically, Jen noticed something was off about me that weekend I tried the antidepressant (I took Grace to her daughter's birthday party), she said SAM noticed and told her she better call me or do something. It was embarrassing, but also like a lifeline was tossed out. Thank you, friends.
In case you're wondering, my plan is working even though I'm not following it to a tee, or even to a tah. I never was one to plan-plan. I'm more of a take it as it comes. But having that plan, that idea, that sudden shock of realizing I need to DO something to get myself back up, has helped tremendously. It may not have happened if not for that very dear person in my life who first noticed (or verbalized it) that I needed help and that I should get to a doctor. Thank you.
