Beyond Broken Thoughts
In my shame I was silent
by Noel Black
Prelude
There is a part of you that wants to live daily forgetting the past. Then there is the other inner most part of you that is drawn backwards to uncover and understand the deepest darkest inner most parts of your fears. When you can face and conquer that dark fear only then can you move forward. Moma says when I was born the doctor gleamed, I was born smiling and laughing. I am educated. I wanted and graduated Summa Cum Laud, top of my class. I have many awards, certificates and honors. I have been published. I have a thriving career in the healthcare field. I love and adore my family; with all our holidays, faults and wonderful childhood memories. My grandparents were wonderful life teachers. I have fantastic friends. Nonetheless the road to where I am now has been marked by severe Depression. Writing has been my solace since a very young age. Overall my life has been good. So how could anyone love me with all my broken parts? In my shame I was silent. There are parts of my story that are awkward, embarrassing and sad. Anyone whom has ever known me, will say I am one of the happiest people they know. And yet, at this point in my life, it is important for you the reader to fully understand my darkness, my brokenness, my depression. One day, during work, I shared my story and I did not fall apart and I did not break. I realized then I was no longer a victim to my depression, I was beyond my broken thoughts. And I was filled with hope and a compassionate love for others suffering in silence. I am finding my balance, my peace and myself, while surviving depression.
My Story
The darkness encroaches. Whether out in the sunlight or preparing for bed, I could never guess when the darkness would consume me. At times I lay in my bed praying to die, hoping the monster in my thoughts lurking in the shadows would devour me, the floor would swallow my sad existence or that I would quietly melt into oblivion. I call it the monster for the hole in my soul, that is what it feels like when it takes over. As a child growing up I can remember many times laying in the grass under the stars, with my eyes stretching to find the farthest star. I was hoping the star would just reach down and soak me into the sky. Then whatever this darkness in my heart would go away. As a pre-teenager I can remember climbing out of my window to ride my bicycle in the dark of night. I believed the night could claim me and the world would be a better place. And yet I tired and returned home only to start another day. Even after I graduated from high school I was afraid to sleep for the darkness held terror. I never saw my life past twenty. My vats of depression seemed infinite. Each time I woke up there was the drudgery of another day facing me full ahead, daring me to live.
My name is Noel, I am only 38 years old as I write this story. And I wish to share my story with you. As I am telling my story, I fear what you the reader will think of me. I fear how those who know me will change their opinion of me. “You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face… do the thing you think you cannot do” Eleanor Roosevelt. So I am facing my fears and sharing my story. I think too many professional people do not share bits of their personal experience that could make them better supporters. I have worked in the healthcare field for over fifteen years, a career I am extremely proud to claim. I have many life accomplishments, such as being published and working with top professors in behavioral training. I am also humbled by all my life experiences. I have a very loving family and support system. I am an exceptional worker because of, and in spite of, my depression but my life has taken a very interesting path. Around the age of twenty I was actually diagnosed with Depression. However I believe I suffered long before I was diagnosed.
Depression affects millions of people around the world and yet is still viewed as contagious and the stigma of mental illness rampant. Literature, reviews and case studies even suggests that everyone at some point experiences a depressive phase with life stressors. Possibly to understand how far I have come, one would need to know where I have come from. My story offers immense hope in the face of severe depression. I will do my best to put my darkness and depression to words although writing I still wonder if anyone can truly sense the profound darkness I suffered before treatment. A diagnosis does not define one, but refine a path. A diagnosis is not a sentence but a jumping off point to realize one’s potential. We can allow a diagnosis to squash our dreams or fuel our hopes that propel our dreams. A diagnosis is not an expiration date rather a chink in our armor merely to fight harder.
I am the firstborn of two great parents who remain married for forty plus years, not seen much in society today. I entered the world into a family wealthy with history and love. When I was born everyone says I came out smiling and laughing, I was a happy baby. I grew and was nurtured as a curious child. I was and am surrounded by loving and supportive family and friends. However, as I entered school, my curiosity was later viewed as a learning problem. I was placed in the ’special classes’ where I began to learn the sad reality of darkness and what ‘special‘ truly meant. Our special classes were usually in a basement of schools. As my classes would emerge from the dungeon, the other children taunted me continuously. As I barely progressed through the grades I was not expected to complete high school much less consider or succeed in college. My bubbly happy personality was cankered by discouragement, limits and low expectations. I do not share this for pity but merely to give you a better picture of the horrors I experienced.
Studying the root issues, causes and risk factors of depression; I have many theories on the progression of my own depression. As a child growing up I was hyper therefore I learned differently. But that was viewed as problematic. That began a long road of teachers degrading me, not taking time for me, not understanding me; while at the same time having no hope in my potential. This began the foundation of my depression. There were even darker days when the nights were filled with terror. Then during puberty I developed severe acne as most pubescents do. However no over the counter or initial dermatological treatments helped. Accutane was explored as a viable treatment. Since all others had failed, my acne was worsening and my self esteem continuing to toilet; my parents consented to the treatment. It was outwardly a success. However it would only be many many years later, that accrediting agencies would come to realize the long term harms of the treatment. Accutane caused depression and prompted suicide in adolescents. Quite possibly my downward spiral began there. A few years later as the school taunting and teasings persisted, I experimented with drugs for a short period. I found brief escape. All the while my darkness deepened. My thoughts were consumed with an ever growing darkness, internal sadness and death. I hid, I told no one, I tried conforming. But I could not think of anything alleviating my internal pain.
My parents had the forethought and compassion to keep me grounded with discipline, family dinners, church activities and Girl Scouts. Later, to all, be my saving graces, they each pulled me in positive directions. I also experienced a severe head trauma from a horse accident around the age of sixteen. Then along came High School, the final formative years of ones self esteem, self confidence, hopes, dreams and exposures to love. I desired to be popular but I was an ugly duckling. Masking my darkness, unpopularity and awkwardness; I hid among the misfits. That is what I called my merry band of friends. We were the low achievers, unexpected gifts of humanity, no one expected much from us and yet we have found greatness in our adult years. However, then I once hoped I would shine amongst low motivation. But their despair became my own. All the while this angry dark monster grew inside of me. So how could anyone love me with all my broken parts. Yet in my shame I was silent.
I am not sure when it happened. Somewhere between teen discomforts, working in hopes to purchase name brand jeans that I thought would make me popular, a very broken high school heartache and low self worth; I realized the world was cold, indifferent and hardhearted. Then the monster emerged. A dark sinister negative pit of depression that clouded all the good inside of me. And yet I masked my pain. The darkness crowded out my hopes, dreams, smashed love and tried to strangle my creativity. How could anyone love brokenness, a hideous monster, complicated darkness? I believed I was full of broken parts. Oddly enough, one of my English teachers gave a creative writing exercise. I found my escape. I have written some short stories as a kid but now writing was my release, my escape, my hiding place, where I could vent silently and secretly. Writing is and continues to be my scratch on society.
I did graduate high school. So, I made a decision. I decided to go to college to prove something to myself and the world around me. If I failed at college then what the world thought of me was true. I was expecting to fail. I was expecting to prove all that ugly right. I knew I was a failure. Definably, I flourished in college. I did fair initially in my studies. But I made lifelong friends that cared about me despite my quirks. And the more active I became, the longer hours I worked and the less I slept; the longer I warded of the monster inside. But as soon as I slowed, relaxed or even slept; the darkness crept in, enveloped me and the monster in my soul grew. Then I entered Psychology 101. I was smitten. Every Psychology class I took I really enjoyed. The words jumped from the pages; pathology made sense, psychology terms explained my mind, all the while my head was reeling with confusion. How could I have a mental disorder. I was healthy, active, working and in college. Yet in my shame I was silent.
Periodically when work, school or living became difficult; I would run back to the farm where my grandparents had partially raised me. I ran back to my roots. The air is always freshest, a soothing quiet embraces, hope envelopes me and I find true inner peace at the farm. A peace I rarely find anywhere else. Many times in my life while my Granny was alive, I would run to her for advice, love and encouragement. Sometimes we sat in silence while other times we talked well into the night. To this day I believe my Granny is really the only one who understands me. She knew things many times without me even telling her. And when it seemed she was at a loss for words she would often times say, “have you prayed about it my child?” Usually I had not. Yet in my silence I listened to her.
I do not remember exactly what prompted me, although I remember being tired of being tormented. So grounded in faith, I sought out a private therapist. I spoke with two secretaries at two different businesses and was turned off by their demeanor. Then I learned of a Christian Counselor connected with my church. I shyly made an appointment and purposefully missed the first session. I rescheduled. By then I was not sleeping and when I did night terrors flooded my sleep. I decided I would share the surface of my problems and figure out if she was any good. I had several sessions that were helpful, she gave me superb advice, she listened and seemed to understand me. All the while she had not scratched my darkness. And then it happened, my first severe depressive episode. I was working three jobs, paying my own tuition, rarely sleeping and thought about suicide. It was wee hours of the morning and I was driving home from a late catering job. I saw a semi-truck coming towards me and for a brief moment thought, ‘I could just turn the wheel and it would all be over’. I gripped the steering wheel. I kid you not, rather than turning into the truck, I began to cry and something made me turn the wheel the other way. I pulled over to the side of the road and sobbed for what seemed hours. Anger, darkness, racing thoughts flooded my mind. I banged the steering wheel, I fussed at God. Why was I still here? Why was I alive? What purpose did my life serve? I gathered my thoughts, wiped my face and drove on home. And in my shame, I remained silent.
I thought I was the master of my own life. I self abused- overate, gorged on sweets, later on drank and did not care about my appearance all in hopes to ward off the ever growing darkness. I could not consider medications or confront issues that triggered my depression. And yet each day I proclaimed in my head- “this is it, my last day”. I can remember from about pre-teen on that I believed I would never life past twenty-one. An odd thought now, but then I felt my depression would consume me. It would not be till my depression was under control with treatments that I could hope, see the future, write again and allow my creativity to change and recharge my ideas.
The next few weeks were a blurr but I made some serious changes. I quit one of my jobs and dropped out of one college courses, because of the intense stress. Then I tried to be brutally honest with my therapist, about my darkness, my thoughts, my writings; I feared her truly knowing my broken parts and understanding my fears. Because, what if she too, rejected me as most others had. So I continued to see her, purposefully miss appointments and avoided the medications. Then one particular session she challenged me to be, ‘real honest with myself’. Boy was I gonna throw her a rope. I unloaded on my therapist. I told her all about my darkness, the fears, the terrors, things I have never told anyone since. And she sat. She pondered. She was quiet and yet a look of love came over her face I will never forget. She came to sit near me. She ask if she could put her arm around my shoulders. And I sobbed. That was one of the most honest days I remember having to date. Soon after that she helped me to understand my depression and self sabotaging behaviors. Therapy ended and I thought I was cured. I was genuinely happy, for one year.
A spiral of events would throw me into yet another episode of depression. In September of 1992 I completed a rewarding internship, I graduated from college with a Bachelors. Should be a happy time, but as I walked off the stage, reality hit like a ton of bricks. I realized, “My life has direction. I no longer could use my past as an excuse. I could accomplish anything I set my mind too. I was smart“. So I walked off that stage changed. Then I walked into my first professional job. At first I loved my job. But it was stressful, overwhelming and temporary. Several months into the job I began to abuse alcohol heavily. Oh, I was safe. I still lived at home with my parents; so I would purchase alcohol, drive home, sit in our driveway and drink. Then I would quietly enter the house and pass out in my room. For a time, the alcohol numbed all my pain, the darkness and I had no depression. Understand, many who suffer with a mental illness will use drugs to self medicate. I did not realize that is in fact what I was doing at the time. Shamefully my parents never knew, I did not want to suck them into my abyss of pain. Yet in my shame I was silent. But once again, I made a rash getaway to see my grandparents. I found solace, peace, unconditional love, a calmness my spirit needed and rediscovered my faith. The farm has a way of doing that for any who enters upon the land. I believe, to this day, my grandparents prayed it so.
Once again, I made important decisions. I immediately began looking for and found another professional job, stopped all my self destructive habits and started volunteering. But the year would end to be one of my hardest. in November of 1993, my beloved Granddaddy died. Although my dad and I are close, grandaddy and I had a tighter bond; he loved me without expectations. Parents have an unconscious way of placing their dreams onto kids. My grief was overwhelming and added new dimensions onto my darkness and depression. Although my faith had been restored, the darkness, the monster invaded. I spent the next few years numb, angry and meandering through my life. I lost touch with all my dearest friends, I feared falling in love and I closed my heart to life. Once again, in my shame I was silent.
But God had a plan for my life. He could see far ahead of my infantile mind. He could see I needed some healing if I was going to be an effective healthcare worker. In 1994 I met my soul mate, my husband. His love began and has healed my heart. He held me during the nights when I had night terrors, soothing my spirit. And then he listened to my life story. He heard the good and the bad. And he wanted to marry me anyway. But I realized soon after that my depression was continuing to worsen, no matter what I did, what healing took place, the darkness still invaded me. So I spent the next many months, with my doctors’ help, getting on a medication regimen. I personally understand the difficulties of side effects, hearing the doctor say ‘just hang in there till the medicine is in your system”, daily taking medications, noncompliance for normalcy sake and a lifetime message of, “you will need this the rest of your life”. Marriage, family, stress, work, no time for self only compounded the monster I felt I continued to wrestle. The darkness only crept in on occasional episodes. But when it did; the darkness was deeper, more profound, more terrorizing and more consuming. As I sit here and write I realize, there are just not enough words to describe the abyss depression spirals me into.
Finally between dealing with stress, medications, vitamins, healthier eating and doing things for myself; I found peace. My life was in balance. My external families were growing, my husband and I were growing closer day by day. Life was good. I was taking my medications and vitamins; and felt the depression was once again conquered. Then my Granny went through a surgery that claimed her life. I say accurately so. She was in her 80’s, bright, spunky and cared for herself. Then she needed surgery. She required rehabilitative care, which she handled like a trooper. But then began to suffer with several infections. It is as if in trying to heal she lost her will. She never returned to her beloved farm or me.
In February of 2001 my precious Granny died. I can not begin to explain the sorrow I knew. My grief was deep, overwhelming, all consuming and stole my joy. My grief threw me into the worst depression I could ever imagine. My precious Granny was gone. My confidante, my friend, my love, my dear Granny. I sunk into and found myself in that same abyss I always knew. And yet this time; it was even darker, deeper, more profound than I could ever imagine. My depression nearly devoured me. Months after Granny died, the darkness, the abyss nearly claimed my life once again. One night during a bath, I remember just sitting in the tub frozen. My grief overwhelmed me and I sat there sobbing for what seemed forever. Thoughts of my own death plagued my mind. Then childhood memories flooded my mind. My emotions were a tornado of sorrow, memories and pain. I felt I could not come out of the storm alive. And then, I questioned if I even wanted too. Thoughts, followed by plans, followed by who I’d leave behind mixed with extreme tears; melted into shame. Shame I knew all to well. But I wondered, could I really take my own life? And would I see Granny right away?
As a Christian, taking my own life could lead to damnation and then I’d never see Granny. Time seemed to stand still and a black cloud engulfed me. I sat long enough in the tub that the water went cold and my fingers were so pruned they ached. How could grief and depression affect my emotions so strongly? How was I going to say goodbye to Granny and regain my sanity? Embarrassed with myself, I ended my bath. But now even angrier that I could contemplate such thoughts. However, at the time, it slipped right back into depression. I knew better. I had been raised better than to think any circumstance was bigger or stronger than my own willpower. But my sorrow was swallowing me up. I stumbled through life, with no reason and not caring. My depression deepened, I lost more and more interest in things, until one day someone said I looked depressed. Part of me did not care and the other part of me was spun back into an abyss of anger. Anger and depression make a nasty life cocktail. I entertained indulgent behaviors, thoughts and emotions; much darker than taking my own life. But something kept holding me back.
I want any reader of this story to understand the dark road sorrow and depression can lead. When suicidal thoughts occur, they can become overwhelming. Suicidal ideation is defined as considering or fantasizing about taking one’s own life. Ideation may range from vague or unformed urges to meticulously detailed plans, instructions to family followed by attempts. According to medical practice, severe suicidal ideation, is serious contemplation or planning of suicide, is a medical emergency and a condition requiring immediate emergency medical treatment. Suicide is often interpreted as a "cry for help" and attention, or to express despair and the wish to escape, rather than a genuine intent to die. Most suicides, for various reasons, do not succeed on a first attempt; those who later gain a history of repetitions are significantly more at risk of eventual completion. Nearly a million people worldwide die by suicide annually. It is a dark road no one needs to travel.
And yet I found myself on that vary road. My months of depression stretched into years. I tend to drive to escape, to think and early in my life even just to explore. But one particular day I was swallowed by my grief. I had gotten in my car with all intentions of dieing that day. Yes, I wanted to die. I drove, thought and planned. My mood darkened and my thoughts were not my own. Then half-heartedly flicking stations on the radio, I stopped on a song. Everybody has a seed to sow by a renowned artist was blaring out of the speakers. The children’s’ voices in the music touched a deep part of my heart and the message reeled me out of my own dangerous thoughts. The chorus sang out; “one thing I know, everybody has a seed to sow, all pieces have a part“. I kept listening while my heart began to melt and be healed. More of the words rang out; “God can use what I have to give, let your heart of hearts take you down the road, one thing I know, everybody’s got a seed to sow“. Once again in my life, I pulled to the side of the road. Allowing the tears, built up frustrations and anger to just flow. I don’t know how long I sat there that day or how long I cried. But those words saved my life and started me on a new path. Then I cried out to God.
My seed was I had to write. Write about my Granny, my grief, my life, my depression, what I have learned to this point and maybe figure out my darkness. Upon that day, I had a profound determination, almost like a new lease on life. I decided I would give myself a break. My Granny was precious and she deserves to be remembered. I am precious and I have a voice. So, I decided I would allow myself to reminisce about all my memories with anyone who would listen. I would cry out when I felt like crying. I would no longer allow others to shut me up when I had something important to say, needed to cry or share. And most of all I would journal till my fingers could no longer write, even when my fingers were not strong enough. And during this time I cried out to God asking only one question, Why?
Understand that not just major life stressors triggered my episodes of depression. There were times when I thought “I no longer needed medications” or “I can handle things on my own” or “I have this whipped“. And each time those self destructive thoughts hit, wham, depression reared its ugly head. The truth in the matter, I have a chemical imbalance. Something is amiss in my brain. Therefore I experience depression. So my emotions at times are that of a dark frightening roller coaster. I have periods of near normalcy, while other times I experience tormenting depression.
I have a new found happiness with humble realization that depression is a mere door within my being. I have to daily get up. Immediately be grateful for everything I am blessed with and that is around me. Immerse myself in positive thoughts and readings and focus on positive, goodness and hope. And then be active, work and play. So what have I learned so far? A balanced life is finding harmony between self, spiritual, learning, family, eating, activity, exercise, sleep, health, fun, goal setting, quiet or meditation time and work. This is my view on all avenues of balanced life. I spent years trying to fill an internal emotional hole that only seemed to get wider, darker and deeper. I have to love me. God loves me so who am I not to love myself. I accept me, all my quirks, strange thoughts and opinions. I also accept that you, me, everyone has some bag of despairs we carry around. But it is in finding balance in our lives we begin to conquer the monster, the darkness, the demons, depression and sorrows.
What have I learned so far? Every day is precious! Whether you have one day or too many to count, each and every day, hour, moment is a precious jewel of memory. Time is not about if your dinner party is perfect, when in reality the quiche will probably not taste good to someone. Or if one dish is broken, look how many others are still in the cabinet unused. Every day is precious! When was the last time you memorized the lines in a loved ones face, hands or profile? Quite possibly my deep memories of loved ones are there because unconsciously I memorized without realization, each day is precious. But as I journey in this hectic thing called life I treasure more the value of each friend, wrinkle, freckle, loved one, happy memory and simply try to forget the bad ones. Every moment is precious!
Every day is precious! Every memory you make is precious! Every person in your life is precious! But God is not done with me just yet. At the end of the day, it’s okay to be upset, emotional even angry about something. But I am stronger when I deal with it right away. I am stronger when I let things go. I am stronger when I simply forgive. What good does it do to hold onto any negative or angry thought. Every moment is precious. Even the thoughts you hold onto, the memories you tuck away or the person you shouted at because your buttons were pushed.
I have new passions as I learn to live my life. I am learning every day, its okay to share the broken parts of ourselves. Especially if it helps someone find their way. Learn to work through the shame. From the words of my Grandaddy, a self sufficient farmer, I have expanded on his ideology, "take care of and love people and they in turn learn to love themselves and the world around them". I am learning to be a whole person, in spite of my depression. I am an encourager, practical, genuine, hopeful, lovely, compassionate, experienced, work at being nonjudgmental, creative, a problem solver, a team player and I am alive. I can say all of that now. Based on my inner strength and deep values- I am who I am suppose to be, where I am suppose to be, doing what I am suppose to be doing, at this very point in my life. All of the ugly broken parts fuel my creativity and writings. Depression will not conquer me. And yet it is part of my life story, but only a part. It is my hope and prayer that the tenacity, strength and unfailing grace which God has built into each of us was sparked in you through reading my story. We each must encourage the other.
Recovery is one step at a time. My Grandaddy once said-“even a broken rubber band is useful”. I never knew what he meant. Now I get it! I believe Life is about living a journey. So I tell my story from that of a survivor, a thriver, but also a person working in the healthcare field that truly ‘gets it’, the other side of mental illness but also as a child of God. Hopefully this story empowered you to find your voice, share your story or find strength in understanding your own despairs. Do not be ashamed of who you are and the many wonderful parts that make up you. You are not defined by your mental illness. My newest motto- “Live. Live your life. And if you don’t know how, try. Do something. Even if you fail, you lived. Sitting by letting life pass you by is not living. So get up and LIVE”. Seek treatment, explore treatment options with an open mind, surround yourself with positive and healthy supports, be honest with others about what you are experiencing, be open about problems, push past your fears, write it all down and know that there are professionals who truly do understand what you are experiencing. Many may never tell you. But if you look deep into the eyes of the professional trying to aide you, you may find hope staring back at you.
Editors Note: Edited by Heather King; names and dates have been changed to protect those involved. Facts and recollections are true accounts.
