I was thinking about my struggle to recover from depression and agoraphobia last night. This was not new to me; I ponder the meaning of my illness and the whys and wherefores frequently.
One of the toughest aspects of mental illness is getting past core beliefs and early imprinting (as Timothy Leary called it.) My early imprinting and core beliefs were formed within the bounds of an extremely conservative religion that corrupted that which is pure and purified that which is corrupt. Depression does the same thing.
Within MORMONISM, knowledge is a highly prized commodity...the right kind of knowledge, that is. An active MORMON can read all the MORMON books they want; they can devour the Ensign and The Deseret News and they are free to read anything written by an apostle or prophet. However, in the pursuit of pure knowledge, the LDS church has planted the seeds of corruption. MORMONS are told they must completely avoid "Anti-MORMON" literature. How will they know if it's anti-MORMON without reading it? Well, the church will tell them, of course. Plus, anything that disagrees with church teaching in even the smallest of ways is automatically anti-MORMON, even if it happens to be true. So, in members' pure seeking of knowledge, the church corrupts the journey with pitfalls and propaganda meant to control the thoughts and ideas of its members.
Depression does the same thing. With mental illness, not only is knowledge power, it is empowering. Knowing that so many women develop PPD is comforting, as is knowing that so many of them recover from it. On the flip side, having in depth (thanks, Google!) knowledge of the symptoms, manifestations and behaviours related to my blue plate crazy special can be dangerous. My disease corrupts this knowledge by planting seeds of doubt as I try to weed out the parasitic tendrils of depression that tell me lies and make me question my knowledge. I find myself thinking "Am I fixated on slicing up my thighs because I read that cutting is a common behaviour associated with PTSD?" and "Am I terrified to leave the house because I'm "labeled" as agoraphobic?" That devolves into hating myself for being "Stupid, weak, lazy, pathetic..."I doubt even my own real, terrifying emotions. Those kinds of questions are inherent to the nature of mental illness. Anything that makes me feel empowered, sane, reasonable is met with resistance from the disease in my brain. Depression, like any enemy wants to defeat me. The MORMON church paved the way for questioning my own knowledge and depression is happy to go down that road.
Another insidious aspect of MORMONISM and depression is purifying that which is corrupt. Sexism is inherently corrupt, as is homophobia. Yet, the LDS church teaches that these things are pure by assigning divine credence to each. It isn't sexist to deny women any real power in the church- Heavenly Father gave the men the Priesthood because women get to have babies. It isn't homophobic to campaign against equal rights for gay people, it's what Heavenly Father wants.
In the same vein, mental illness purifies that which is corrupt by muddying my thoughts and planting seeds of self-doubt, shame, worthlessness and self-loathing. Logically, I understand that if I were to commit suicide, it would devastate my family. It is reasonable to expect that my boys' lives would be MUCH harder if I made that choice. Suicide is inherently corrupt, borne of corrupt thinking made pure by the lies planted by illness. Yet, the lies are powerful. The depression is as smart as I am, being a creature of my own brain. It knows how to get at me. It whispers, "They would be better off without a crazy Mom." and "He only loves you because he's such a great guy he would never leave a sick woman." and "You'd do everyone a favour by ending this barrage of meltdowns, breakdowns and panic attacks." I KNOW those things are not true. I tell those thoughts to shut the fuck up, every time. I'm going on 2+ years of fighting those thoughts. One of these days, they actually will STFU.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Monday, June 8, 2009
Core Beliefs and Religion
I grew up in a MORMON family. Yes, they are so MORMON they get all caps. I gained a wealth of knowledge about self-reliance, standing up for your principles and valuing your heritage from these MORMONS, and others who were part of my "Ward Family."
Unfortunately, I also learned shame, worthlessness, guilt and self-doubt. I learned that I will never be good enough. I learned that my desires as a woman, be they sexual or professional, were sinful. I learned that a family isn't really a family without a priesthood holder. I learned that women shouldn't want self-determination or equality.
Well, you know what?
I'm not worthless, thank you very much. I can make a week's worth of meals from the random contents of a food box meant to last three days. I have a command of the English language that surpasses that of most of the English professors I had in college. I can organize any group of people into efficient, productive work crews who will complete ANY task in the time given. I can discuss Shakespeare with some of North America's most brilliant Shakespearean scholars and they respect my input and body of knowledge. I can call a show perfectly on my second try. I'm one smart cookie. Not only am I smart, well-read, well-educated and a kick ass Baker (oh yeah, Baker gets a capital 'B'!) I'm also loyal, compassionate, dedicated to MY beliefs and socially aware.
Constantly feeling guilty for not being the perfect MORMON wife sucks hairy donkey balls, I have to say. No matter what I do, the guilt prevails. The feelings of inadequacy and shame follow quickly on guilt's heels. I struggle more with these feelings than any other. In the MORMON community where I grew up, everyone was like Bree Van de Kamp from Desperate Housewives. The thing is, I was not privy to any of their struggles. Women whom I loved, admired and endeavored to emulate never let their cracks show. They never let anyone catch a glimpse of their imperfections. Their homes were spotless and they painted a picture of perfect lives that cannot possibly have been true. I think the pursuit of excellence and the constant pressure to be everything to everyone made it impossible for them to relinquish the facade of perfection. The truly sad thing is that I know I would have benefited greatly from knowing things weren't always perfect for them. I think my MORMON classmates, all young women, of course, would have, too. Instead of presenting us with a beautiful picture of what our lives could be like if we simply stayed close to the church, they set an unattainable goal of perfection that perpetuated the guilt, shame and worthlessness that was the underlying theme of every lesson, every Ensign article.
I never felt comfortable in the MORMON church. My family was far from the pretty, soft-lit pictures you see on the church's commercials. (And what the fuck is up with a church buying TV ads? Are there no hungry people you could feed with that money?) My family was poor, my father was absent and my siblings were inactive. We struggled to have the basic necessities of life; the idea of building up an extra year's supply of food when we were barely eating as it was became a source of great anxiety for me. You see, while I never really believed in their God, I did believe their fear-mongering. I was absolutely convinced that the end of the world would approach and my family would be starving and lost, while those around us feasted on the fruits of the garden the prophet told them to plant. My Mother was single and worked all the time. we lived in a crappy trailer that my uncle generously gave us. There was no way we could plant a garden- there was no space, no money for materials, no money for the water bills. The garden became yet another way in which I was inadequate. As the only active MORMON in my family for a long time, I took all of it to heart. To this day, I feel extreme anxiety when we are low on food, even though we don't have to worry about buying more.
I left the church in my early twenties. I had been inactive for years and I felt it was unfair of the church to include me in their constant reminders of how fast the church was growing. Sure, they claimed eight million members at that time, but I didn't want to be counted among them. Theatre became my religion. The ecstasy of a beautiful cue was my road to divinity. The catharsis of tragedy was my freedom to really FEEL something, not just pretend I was perfect and beyond emotion. There is a weird paradox in the LDS church wherein a grown man can sob openly at the pulpit whilst professing undying faith in the prophet/the principle of tithing/the blessings of temple work/the joy of being a Priesthood holder, etc. At the same time, the culture is dismissive of other emotions. MORMONS are commanded to pray for those who have wronged them. They are instructed to not "harden" their hearts, to turn away from anger. Those are all lovely sentiments. Sadly, they are more empty, unattainable sentiments. Normal people get angry. Normal people get disgusted. Normal people know other people whom they'd rather not know. None of that is allowed in the MORMON church. You have a beef with someone in the ward? Suck it up and pretend you like them...then talk about them in the car on the way home from church. Anything else is "contentious" and harmful to Zion. Fuck that. I'll take real, raw emotion over forced civility and empty relationships any day.
Sex will probably get an entry of its own soon. MORMONS have a very straight forward view of sex. DON'T DO IT UNTIL YOU'RE MARRIED. EVER. Further, when it is discussed, it is always in veiled terms of "immorality" and "personal sins." There are a lot of things that are immoral to MORMONS; however, if you hear "Sister Adams struggles with morality," everyone will know that it's not alcohol consumption, watching TV on Sunday or having a cup of coffee that Sister Adams struggles with- it's sex. Always sex, always discussed in euphemisms and hushed tones. There is not safe place to turn for information about sex as an unmarried MORMON. If you admit to pre-marital sex, you can face disfellowshipment or excommunication. As my beloved friend D says, "That's some fucked up shit, right there." Sex is a normal, natural part of life. People are biologically programmed to start wanting it in their teens. It is the ultimate insult to biology and God's design to condition people from birth onward to eschew sex. It's like poking God in the eye and saying "What the hell were you thinking when you gave us hormones?" I hereby renounce the view of sex as a re commitment of marriage. Henceforth, I embrace it as a joyous occasion to share myself with someone I love, who wishes to share, too. I will no longer feel guilty and shameful for enjoying sex.
MORMONS are big on the Priesthood. It isn't priesthood like in other churches. In the LDS church, only men can hold the priesthood. It also so happens that only priesthood holders can make meaningful decisions or hold any real positions of power in the church. I have be appalled by this obvious sexism since I was a child. It was always a major sticking point for me as a mormon (I was never MORMON). I was assured on countless occasions that what looked, acted and smelled like sexism really wasn't because women get to have babies. Oh, well, that makes up for two hundred years of second-class status, no problemo Bishop! Nevermiond that men get to have babies, too. You see, men can share their priesthood with their wives. Not that such sharing imparts any actual power or self-determination, just that having a priesthood holder in the house is such a blessing. I hardly know how my family survived with just a single mother who worked her ass off every day. How would we have managed without a priesthood holder if one of us became gravely ill? Oh, I know- we went to the doctor. When I was a junior in high school, I was kicked out of my seminary class over a lesson that I felt demeaned women. I, a sixteen year old GIRL, had the audacity to ask a couple of difficult question of my MALE, priesthood holding teacher. I should thank him. Brother A, thanks for pushing me out the door. It was the first step on a journey I've never regretted.
These core beliefs that I never had a choice about are killing me. So, I'm letting them go. Goodbye, perfect wifehood. Goodbye, shame for enjoying sex. Goodbye, guilt for not having thirty buckets of wheat and ten cases of tuna in my basement. Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.
Unfortunately, I also learned shame, worthlessness, guilt and self-doubt. I learned that I will never be good enough. I learned that my desires as a woman, be they sexual or professional, were sinful. I learned that a family isn't really a family without a priesthood holder. I learned that women shouldn't want self-determination or equality.
Well, you know what?
I'm not worthless, thank you very much. I can make a week's worth of meals from the random contents of a food box meant to last three days. I have a command of the English language that surpasses that of most of the English professors I had in college. I can organize any group of people into efficient, productive work crews who will complete ANY task in the time given. I can discuss Shakespeare with some of North America's most brilliant Shakespearean scholars and they respect my input and body of knowledge. I can call a show perfectly on my second try. I'm one smart cookie. Not only am I smart, well-read, well-educated and a kick ass Baker (oh yeah, Baker gets a capital 'B'!) I'm also loyal, compassionate, dedicated to MY beliefs and socially aware.
Constantly feeling guilty for not being the perfect MORMON wife sucks hairy donkey balls, I have to say. No matter what I do, the guilt prevails. The feelings of inadequacy and shame follow quickly on guilt's heels. I struggle more with these feelings than any other. In the MORMON community where I grew up, everyone was like Bree Van de Kamp from Desperate Housewives. The thing is, I was not privy to any of their struggles. Women whom I loved, admired and endeavored to emulate never let their cracks show. They never let anyone catch a glimpse of their imperfections. Their homes were spotless and they painted a picture of perfect lives that cannot possibly have been true. I think the pursuit of excellence and the constant pressure to be everything to everyone made it impossible for them to relinquish the facade of perfection. The truly sad thing is that I know I would have benefited greatly from knowing things weren't always perfect for them. I think my MORMON classmates, all young women, of course, would have, too. Instead of presenting us with a beautiful picture of what our lives could be like if we simply stayed close to the church, they set an unattainable goal of perfection that perpetuated the guilt, shame and worthlessness that was the underlying theme of every lesson, every Ensign article.
I never felt comfortable in the MORMON church. My family was far from the pretty, soft-lit pictures you see on the church's commercials. (And what the fuck is up with a church buying TV ads? Are there no hungry people you could feed with that money?) My family was poor, my father was absent and my siblings were inactive. We struggled to have the basic necessities of life; the idea of building up an extra year's supply of food when we were barely eating as it was became a source of great anxiety for me. You see, while I never really believed in their God, I did believe their fear-mongering. I was absolutely convinced that the end of the world would approach and my family would be starving and lost, while those around us feasted on the fruits of the garden the prophet told them to plant. My Mother was single and worked all the time. we lived in a crappy trailer that my uncle generously gave us. There was no way we could plant a garden- there was no space, no money for materials, no money for the water bills. The garden became yet another way in which I was inadequate. As the only active MORMON in my family for a long time, I took all of it to heart. To this day, I feel extreme anxiety when we are low on food, even though we don't have to worry about buying more.
I left the church in my early twenties. I had been inactive for years and I felt it was unfair of the church to include me in their constant reminders of how fast the church was growing. Sure, they claimed eight million members at that time, but I didn't want to be counted among them. Theatre became my religion. The ecstasy of a beautiful cue was my road to divinity. The catharsis of tragedy was my freedom to really FEEL something, not just pretend I was perfect and beyond emotion. There is a weird paradox in the LDS church wherein a grown man can sob openly at the pulpit whilst professing undying faith in the prophet/the principle of tithing/the blessings of temple work/the joy of being a Priesthood holder, etc. At the same time, the culture is dismissive of other emotions. MORMONS are commanded to pray for those who have wronged them. They are instructed to not "harden" their hearts, to turn away from anger. Those are all lovely sentiments. Sadly, they are more empty, unattainable sentiments. Normal people get angry. Normal people get disgusted. Normal people know other people whom they'd rather not know. None of that is allowed in the MORMON church. You have a beef with someone in the ward? Suck it up and pretend you like them...then talk about them in the car on the way home from church. Anything else is "contentious" and harmful to Zion. Fuck that. I'll take real, raw emotion over forced civility and empty relationships any day.
Sex will probably get an entry of its own soon. MORMONS have a very straight forward view of sex. DON'T DO IT UNTIL YOU'RE MARRIED. EVER. Further, when it is discussed, it is always in veiled terms of "immorality" and "personal sins." There are a lot of things that are immoral to MORMONS; however, if you hear "Sister Adams struggles with morality," everyone will know that it's not alcohol consumption, watching TV on Sunday or having a cup of coffee that Sister Adams struggles with- it's sex. Always sex, always discussed in euphemisms and hushed tones. There is not safe place to turn for information about sex as an unmarried MORMON. If you admit to pre-marital sex, you can face disfellowshipment or excommunication. As my beloved friend D says, "That's some fucked up shit, right there." Sex is a normal, natural part of life. People are biologically programmed to start wanting it in their teens. It is the ultimate insult to biology and God's design to condition people from birth onward to eschew sex. It's like poking God in the eye and saying "What the hell were you thinking when you gave us hormones?" I hereby renounce the view of sex as a re commitment of marriage. Henceforth, I embrace it as a joyous occasion to share myself with someone I love, who wishes to share, too. I will no longer feel guilty and shameful for enjoying sex.
MORMONS are big on the Priesthood. It isn't priesthood like in other churches. In the LDS church, only men can hold the priesthood. It also so happens that only priesthood holders can make meaningful decisions or hold any real positions of power in the church. I have be appalled by this obvious sexism since I was a child. It was always a major sticking point for me as a mormon (I was never MORMON). I was assured on countless occasions that what looked, acted and smelled like sexism really wasn't because women get to have babies. Oh, well, that makes up for two hundred years of second-class status, no problemo Bishop! Nevermiond that men get to have babies, too. You see, men can share their priesthood with their wives. Not that such sharing imparts any actual power or self-determination, just that having a priesthood holder in the house is such a blessing. I hardly know how my family survived with just a single mother who worked her ass off every day. How would we have managed without a priesthood holder if one of us became gravely ill? Oh, I know- we went to the doctor. When I was a junior in high school, I was kicked out of my seminary class over a lesson that I felt demeaned women. I, a sixteen year old GIRL, had the audacity to ask a couple of difficult question of my MALE, priesthood holding teacher. I should thank him. Brother A, thanks for pushing me out the door. It was the first step on a journey I've never regretted.
These core beliefs that I never had a choice about are killing me. So, I'm letting them go. Goodbye, perfect wifehood. Goodbye, shame for enjoying sex. Goodbye, guilt for not having thirty buckets of wheat and ten cases of tuna in my basement. Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
I'm "crazy."
I'm a psycho, schizoid, crazy, mental, batshit, insane (insert derogatory term for "mentally ill" here). I have a "very persistent and difficult cluster," according to my doctor...alphabet soup of PPD, OCD, PTSD, and a couple of entrees: Agoraphobia and Panic Disorder.
What does this mean?
PPD: Post Partum Depression. It affects about twenty percent of women within the first year of childbirth. At least, that's what the statistics show. In reality, far too many women feel shame, fear and worthlessness that prevent them from getting help.
OCD: Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. People have a messed up idea about OCD. They seem to think that the extreme cases showcased on Jerry Springer and early-eighties Oprah are representative of all of us. They're not. People with OCD have obsessive thoughts that compel them to some action. I have obsessive thoughts about the germs on elevator buttons and escalator handrails. This compels me to pull my shirt over my hand or finger before touching wither one. It compels me to bark, far too frequently, "Don't touch that!" when one of my boys reaches for one. I also obsess about plenty of other things; I'm sure I'll get to them in the future.
PTSD: Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Commonly called "shell shock" because it was first diagnosed in soldiers who had battlefield experience. Anyone can develop PTSD. All it takes is one significantly traumatic event during which the person has legitimate fear for the life or physical well-being of themselves or a close loved one. People with PTSD have a primary triggering incident (the one that causes it in the first place) and can have multiple secondary, tertiary etc. incidents. In my case, there are a plethora of childhood traumas, any one of which could have been the primary incident. If it was not one of those, the birth of my first child absolutely qualifies. PTSD is a far-reaching, all-encompassing disorder that affects every aspect of the my person's life. I have the some of the classic symptoms of low self-esteem, mistrust of authority and heightened awareness in safe situations.
Agoraphobia: Translated, it means "fear of the marketplace." Agoraphobia's main symptoms are mortal fear of embarrassment and fear of having public panic attacks. Most people with agoraphobia avoid public places in order to avoid embarrassment and scrutiny. No, I am not afraid to go outside. Some people with agoraphobia are; however, more of us are afraid of public places. I can sit on my porch with a friend and watch the kids play for hours. If my porch becomes public in any way, for example, if my neighbour comes out, THEN I feel increased anxiety because of the potential for scrutiny. There are two kinds of agoraphobia; the symptoms are the same but the root is different. There is Post-Partum agoraphobia and Standard agoraphobia. In therapy, I have realized that I have had agoraphobia for most of my life- since adolescence, at least. I managed it well, for the most part. Two years ago, when I had my second child, it went out of control. There have been times in the past two years when I would go a month or more without ever leaving my house and backyard. Medical professionals consider agoraphobia to be amongst the most difficult disorders to treat. It's very nature makes it difficult for us to get any kind of help. Before we can get help, we have to get past it enough to go to a doctor, cope with the scrutiny and embarrassment of describing our symptoms to said doctor AND, usually, go to a pharmacy and get a prescription filled. That seems run of the mill to most people. To someone with agoraphobia, it's like running a triathlon.
Panic Disorder: This is an umbrella term that can include Social Anxiety Disorder, agoraphobia, PTSD or any other anxiety disorder that causes panic attacks. There are as many potential triggers for panic attacks as there are people who have them. There have been times in the past two years when the phone ringing would make me panic. I still almost never answer it. Other triggers for me include my son's public meltdowns, dealing with medical people other than my regular doctor and having anyone knock on the door unexpectedly.
So, if I've had all this shit (oh yes, there WILL be swearing in this blog.) for two years, why start talking about it now? Honestly? Because I want to be well. because I cannot live like this anymore. Because spending three hours crying in my bedroom is not my favourite way to kill an afternoon. Because I'm tired of the fleeting thoughts of jumping off the bridge. Because I realized a couple of days ago that I have to kick depression's stupid ass before it kicks mine.
Starting today, I am officially kicking depression's ass. Fuck you, depression. Fuck you, agoraphobia. Fuck you, PTSD. Fuck you, OCD. Fuck you, Panic attacks. Go fuck yourselves in a big ol' , nasty, sweaty orgy of mental illness and anguish. I am done with you. I will scratch and claw my way out of your grasp. I WILL win. You picked the wrong redhead, bitches.
What does this mean?
PPD: Post Partum Depression. It affects about twenty percent of women within the first year of childbirth. At least, that's what the statistics show. In reality, far too many women feel shame, fear and worthlessness that prevent them from getting help.
OCD: Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. People have a messed up idea about OCD. They seem to think that the extreme cases showcased on Jerry Springer and early-eighties Oprah are representative of all of us. They're not. People with OCD have obsessive thoughts that compel them to some action. I have obsessive thoughts about the germs on elevator buttons and escalator handrails. This compels me to pull my shirt over my hand or finger before touching wither one. It compels me to bark, far too frequently, "Don't touch that!" when one of my boys reaches for one. I also obsess about plenty of other things; I'm sure I'll get to them in the future.
PTSD: Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Commonly called "shell shock" because it was first diagnosed in soldiers who had battlefield experience. Anyone can develop PTSD. All it takes is one significantly traumatic event during which the person has legitimate fear for the life or physical well-being of themselves or a close loved one. People with PTSD have a primary triggering incident (the one that causes it in the first place) and can have multiple secondary, tertiary etc. incidents. In my case, there are a plethora of childhood traumas, any one of which could have been the primary incident. If it was not one of those, the birth of my first child absolutely qualifies. PTSD is a far-reaching, all-encompassing disorder that affects every aspect of the my person's life. I have the some of the classic symptoms of low self-esteem, mistrust of authority and heightened awareness in safe situations.
Agoraphobia: Translated, it means "fear of the marketplace." Agoraphobia's main symptoms are mortal fear of embarrassment and fear of having public panic attacks. Most people with agoraphobia avoid public places in order to avoid embarrassment and scrutiny. No, I am not afraid to go outside. Some people with agoraphobia are; however, more of us are afraid of public places. I can sit on my porch with a friend and watch the kids play for hours. If my porch becomes public in any way, for example, if my neighbour comes out, THEN I feel increased anxiety because of the potential for scrutiny. There are two kinds of agoraphobia; the symptoms are the same but the root is different. There is Post-Partum agoraphobia and Standard agoraphobia. In therapy, I have realized that I have had agoraphobia for most of my life- since adolescence, at least. I managed it well, for the most part. Two years ago, when I had my second child, it went out of control. There have been times in the past two years when I would go a month or more without ever leaving my house and backyard. Medical professionals consider agoraphobia to be amongst the most difficult disorders to treat. It's very nature makes it difficult for us to get any kind of help. Before we can get help, we have to get past it enough to go to a doctor, cope with the scrutiny and embarrassment of describing our symptoms to said doctor AND, usually, go to a pharmacy and get a prescription filled. That seems run of the mill to most people. To someone with agoraphobia, it's like running a triathlon.
Panic Disorder: This is an umbrella term that can include Social Anxiety Disorder, agoraphobia, PTSD or any other anxiety disorder that causes panic attacks. There are as many potential triggers for panic attacks as there are people who have them. There have been times in the past two years when the phone ringing would make me panic. I still almost never answer it. Other triggers for me include my son's public meltdowns, dealing with medical people other than my regular doctor and having anyone knock on the door unexpectedly.
So, if I've had all this shit (oh yes, there WILL be swearing in this blog.) for two years, why start talking about it now? Honestly? Because I want to be well. because I cannot live like this anymore. Because spending three hours crying in my bedroom is not my favourite way to kill an afternoon. Because I'm tired of the fleeting thoughts of jumping off the bridge. Because I realized a couple of days ago that I have to kick depression's stupid ass before it kicks mine.
Starting today, I am officially kicking depression's ass. Fuck you, depression. Fuck you, agoraphobia. Fuck you, PTSD. Fuck you, OCD. Fuck you, Panic attacks. Go fuck yourselves in a big ol' , nasty, sweaty orgy of mental illness and anguish. I am done with you. I will scratch and claw my way out of your grasp. I WILL win. You picked the wrong redhead, bitches.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)