Menopausal Mother

Preventive lifestyle measures

    I'll admit it. I've lost my funny bone. It went on vacation to Maui and left me here staring at a blank computer screen with nary an entertaining thought in my head. Oh sure, I can give you all sorts of excuses.... I'm always tired and drawn to the seductive song of my Memory Foam mattress; Menopause has robbed me of any creativity because it's damn hard to be funny when you're sweating at your desk despite the thermostat being set at sub zero temps. And no, I don't care that everyone else in this house is wearing sweaters and complaining through chattering teeth. I've lost my creativity because lately it feels as if the world has gone mad, whether it's over Trump policies or a gorilla shot at a zoo for grabbing a child who fell over a barricade. Social media and the news are full of stories that are quickly making me lose my faith in humanity.

     It's also difficult for me to be funny lately because my Mum is no longer here to bounce my silly ideas off of. She encouraged and inspired me to be the best I could be. She played a huge part in my journey as an author, but now she's gone, and I need to find my voice again without her.

     The other day when I was feeling a bit sorry for myself, I ended up spending time with someone close to my heart who struggles every single day with a debilitating health issue that robs him of living a normal life. It was an eye opener, and made me realize I have no right to complain about my circumstances. I really don't want to wallow in grief and self pity, but depression is a sneaky thief that loves to steal my thunder. It's a ghastly reminder that I'm balancing on a tightrope between sanity and the urge to free-fall into a rocky pit of nothingness. What's the answer here? There is no quick fix. I just need to move from day to day and focus on the small things that are usually the most profound things in this crazy life I live.

     The simplicity of these events is what brings me the most pleasure----that first sip of coffee in the morning when I'm still in my pajamas, a pug softly snoring in my lap; the sweet tang of fresh strawberries from the farmer's market; watching the bluejays in my yard as they gobble up peanuts left in the feeder by my back door; the way sunlight glints off the pavement after a rain storm; my granddaughter's contagious laughter when I alter my voice to sound like the characters in the books I read to her; the way my muscles burn during Zumba class and the afterglow that leaves me feeling exhausted yet empowered; the little kisses my husband sneaks on the nape of my neck when I least expect them; a text from my children telling me that I am loved.

     Yes, I know I'm lucky. Even blessed, as some would say. But knowing this only fuels the guilt that  surfaces whenever I feel myself sliding into that damn rocky pit of despair. I want to turn a blind eye to all the the things that are wrong in the universe and simply focus on what's right. This is why I need humor. It's my therapy in an otherwise scary world. Laughter makes me forget my fears and helps me cheer others who need it as badly as I do. But when that laughter dries up, I feel vulnerable and unsteady on the tightrope. I need that safety net beneath me as much as the next person.

     I'll keep working at humor----it's what Mum would want me to do. But I also have to learn to write for myself, and not just for my readers. It's the only cure I know for beating back a defeatist attitude. I'll find my funny bone again one day. It's out there somewhere, enjoying the surf and sand while I'm drinking lukewarm coffee and praying for a miracle in front of my computer screen. That's okay, though, because the bluejays are out this morning, the dogs are playing in the yard and my granddaughter is reading Dr Seuss to me.

     And for today, it's enough.  



 

    Most people are familiar with the "Five Stages Of Grief" made popular by Elisabeth Kubler-Ross in the early 70's. Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and Acceptance are all part of the grieving process.

     While battling a nasty head cold this past week, I realized that these five stages are applicable to what I'm feeling as I trudge through my coughing-sniffling-sneezing phase. I sound like a barking seal and have been holed up in my house for days because the cough is as loud as an air raid siren. No one needs to see me in my ratty bathrobe that has pockets bulging with used tissues. If I didn't know any better, I'd swear this is how a zombie apocalypse begins.

     I've also been taking that "feed a cold, starve a fever" saying way too far. I don't have a fever, so I feel justified in stuffing my miserable, aching self with a stack of pancakes and a warm bowl of mac & cheese. There's a reason these gastronomic pleasures are called "comfort foods." This is also why I'm living in my bathrobe lately….because chances are my jeans won't fit.

     If you've already been slammed with this season's new illnesses, I'm sure you'll relate to these five stages of a head cold:

DENIAL:  "I don't have a cold. It's just my allergies acting up. And the only reason my body aches is because I overdid it at the gym yesterday. There's no way I'm getting sick right now---only two days before my vacation begins. I'll just drink a gallon of orange juice, pop some throat lozenges , and go to bed early. I'm sure I'll be fine in the morning."

ANGER: "Who the hell gave me this cold?!? No one else in my family has been sick. I'll bet it was that guy hacking up a lung behind me in the 10-Items-Or-Less line at the grocery store. This is all his fault. How dare he set foot in public. He may have started a flu pandemic! If this coughing gets any worse, I'm going to put myself in an isolation tank for two weeks. At least it will get me out of doing housework for awhile. I'm far too weak to push a vacuum."

BARGAINING:  "Dear God, if you wipe away these cold symptoms right now, I promise to stop cursing so much at bad drivers. I'll even build a habitat for all the ferrel cats in the neighborhood. Better yet, I'll make dentures for all the elderly crocodiles living in the Everglades. I promise to do anything you ask, if you just make this head cold disappear."

DEPRESSION: "10 days and I still can't get out of bed. According to Web MD, I have a rare disease that comes from exposure to the dust on a rhino's horn. Although I have not been to a zoo in five years and as far as I know, no one on the block has a rhino stashed in their backyard. I'm exhausted and drowning in nasal spray. My gawd, I'm going to die right here in my recliner….in my ratty bathrobe, with two Vick's Inhalers shoved up my nostrils. If I die tonight, the mortician won't need to embalm me because I'll have enough cold medicine in my system to keep my body preserved for years."

ACCEPTANCE: "Okay, I'm not dying, even though I look and sound like I have the Black Plague. I just need to adjust to breathing out of my mouth and having a head that feels like it has been filled with sand bags. At this point, I'd be willing to convert to Scientology if it meant having one phlegm-free day.

     Now that I've been through the five stages of a head cold, I've forgiven the stranger who shared his germs with me at the grocery store, bargained my way into a larger size pair of jeans and decided that there will be no more trips to the rhino exhibit at the zoo.

   
While the country is reeling from the loss of Robin Williams, we find ourselves asking the same question over and over---what would drive one of America's most beloved comedians to end his life? On the surface he had everything: a unique brand of humor that brought him fame, a loving family and a multitude of adoring fans. How could he have been so unhappy?
   
Only those who have a personal experience with depression can understand the scope of pain from this form of mental illness. It is a debilitating disease that robs a person of the simplest joys in life. It carves a hole too deep to fill in the hearts of those who wrestle with the inner demons of this acute, medical condition.
   
Depression is a nondiscriminatory disease that strikes every age, race, gender and class. It manifests itself in the form of physical pain, lack of self-worth, shame, helplessness and hopelessness. It is an invisible wound that is often misdiagnosed and in some cases, difficult to treat.
   
Those afflicted with the disease view the world through a warped lens where everything is distorted and emotions are muted. Even when surrounded by a loving family, they feel utterly alone. And while others marvel at the sun's glorious rays as it rises over the ocean, they can only feel the weight of their emptiness. It's not as simple as choosing to be happy. Depression traps people under a numbing layer of ice and leaves them gasping for air.
   
How do I know this? Depression has shadowed me since childhood. I never felt comfortable in my own skin, but I was too young to understand what caused me to feel that way. I only knew that I was different. No one ever said that it was unhealthy for a six-year-old to wake each day with a sense of dread, because they never had the chance. I was too ashamed to tell anyone how I felt.
   
There was a negative stigma attached to depression when I was growing up, and I learned to mask what I considered my "abnormality" with humor. It went beyond hiding what was tearing me up inside.  The shame I felt was carefully concealed under the long-sleeved shirts I wore to cover the self-inflicted wounds on my arms. Cutting was the coping mechanism of choice for the unexplainable, inner turmoil that plagued my life.
   
It took decades of battling depression before I realized I needed help in waging the war against losing my sanity. The onset of menopause only intensified the depressive symptoms I felt, stranding me  in a bleak landscape of hopelessness. Thankfully, I was able to find a treatment that worked for me, but not everyone is as fortunate.
   
There is no quick fix for depression, as each case is unique. It is a dark and frightening disease that cannot be cured with alcohol, drug abuse, or sex. In some cases, intense therapy and even love can't save a patient from the inner demons that haunt them. Antidepressants work successfully for some, while for others, it functions as a temporary patch over a leaky valve that threatens to burst. Once the seal is broken, a storm of uncontrollable emotions is unleashed, driving many to the brink of desperation.
   
In the aftermath of Robin Williams' apparent suicide, there will be critics who view his death as a selfish act of cowardice that has inflicted unimaginable pain on his family. This is an unfair assessment of a disease that society still knows so little of.  Depression is not a choice. It's a mental illness associated with an immeasurable depth of despair that leads far too many people down the dark path to suicide. From their perspective, it's the last option left after trying all other forms of treatment to escape the intolerable pain of living. They mistakenly believe they're a burden to their loved ones and view the finality of suicide as an answer to end all suffering.
   
The irony of William's death is that it took the loss of a comedic genius to shed light on our inability to recognize the difference between sadness and major depression. Society as a whole needs to be educated on these differences and set aside any preconceived notions of depression.
   
Our job is not to judge or blame. It's time we promote awareness and help those suffering from depression find the inner peace they deserve. Compassion and understanding are the gateway to hope and finding the courage to change. Only then can the people we love begin to heal.

***Please share this post and this number if you know someone battling depression : National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255   SAVE A LIFE!


Want More Meno Mama? "The Face Of Depression" is also featured on The Huffington Post here: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/marcia-kester-doyle-/the-face-of-depression_b_5675699.html. If you want something funny to read, check out my featured post this week on Midlife Boulevard here: http://midlifeboulevard.com/food-baby/