hiking the hill to recovery from depression

One of the most beautiful sounds among the many beautiful sounds in our world, is that of falling rain. However, when it is accompanied by snoring from the other side of the bed after my favorite football team lost their latest challenge, the rain has been muffled for me on this night.

I try to listen.

To block all the noise in my mind.

I feel lost and alone.

I’m wondering if being vulnerable while recovering from a depressive episode is the cause many slip back into depression. It’s a fine high wire I walk these days. I no longer hate myself, but I’m still struggling with what I’m calling the reconstruction after the war. There has been years of fallout…many years.

Every step I take is with trepidation. Recently, I lost another friend to cancer. I have been so panicked about whether or not I would fall apart should something like this happen, but other than the fact that I had to revisit my own cancer concerns, I made it through without much rumination.

An achievement, I suppose, but it has pushed me back a little.

I stand alone.

Because of what I destroyed while depressed, I am forced to stand alone. That is what I made others believe and that is what I have to live with. Hopefully, one day all the relationships I burned around the edges will be repaired.

I was strong. I didn’t want any help. I didn’t need reassurance. I didn’t need a hug just because. I was strong…pfft…I was guarded and didn’t trust myself to be so vulnerable.

Arms length was good enough for me.

Until it wasn’t.

And I stand alone.

In the rain.

The rain that should be lulling me to sleep in spite of the snoring. The thoughts of my lacking the skill to voice my needs, should be replaced with all that I have to be happy and grateful for.

Rain is beautiful to me, but tonight it’s nothing but gloomy.


About April

I'll come back to this when I find out who I really am. I've been through some extremely rough patches but they have made me a better person. I blog if my brain is functioning first thing in the morning.
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34 Responses to hiking the hill to recovery from depression

  1. Well Depression is like a hidden group of jelly beans just waiting for the right moment, lol

  2. You have reached out for help in here April and I have seen how much you do overcome. Don’t over charge yourself, you need to take good care of yourself 😉

  3. Gallivanta says:

    😦 I hope those relationships will be repaired but, sometimes, I think the most important relationship we must nurture is the one with ourselves.

    • April says:

      Thank you..I needed that reminder. I may be able to write what I’m feeling, but apparently I expecting those around me to read my mind and know what I need. I can correct that, it will just take some time.

      • Gallivanta says:

        Your comment reminds me of labels I have seen worn by hearing impaired check out staff. Something to the effect that they are hearing impaired and please speak clearly. I am sure some hearing impaired would hate wearing such a label but sometimes little outward tags like that can be useful.

  4. The side effect of being strong….you nailed it.

    • April says:

      It’s a struggle to let others take care of matters. I used to think I was controlling, but I have since discovered that isn’t the case. I will continue to soldier on.

      • It appears you are doing an amazing job April. But yeah, it kinds of struck me when you wrote that….being strong….others sometimes don’t think others ‘need’ when they see strength.

  5. meANXIETYme says:

    I totally agree with Irene. You reached out to people who may understand just a little better. That’s a stepping stone to being able to reach out to others. I deal with the same issue…it’s very difficult for me to reach out and make myself vulnerable to the people who love me the most (and who won’t judge me because they love me), but reaching out to other depression and anxiety sufferers via my blog is an easier step for me.

    I also know that feeling of being alone, standing alone. I’ve faked how “strong” I am for so long, that I feel like I need to keep up that charade or I might completely fall apart.

    On a separate note, I’m so sorry for your loss. That fear of falling apart when bad news (might) comes is something I struggle with, too. Just keep in mind that if we continue to hold these things in trying to be strong, that hurts us as well.

    Sending you good energies!

    • April says:

      Wow…your line about continuing to hold these thing in trying to be strong hurts as well…perfect. Thanks!

      • meANXIETYme says:

        Something else I’m working on, trying not to hold stuff in. It’s a form of avoidance for me, and I know that’s bad for my recovery process.

        Everything you’ve said in your post, along with ALL the comments, have really struck me today. Thank you for that.

        • April says:

          When I was young, my grandma told me I was ugly when I cried. (I know, not a very kind thing to say–but then again, she wasn’t the kindest person)

          I learned to act and keep things inside so that I wouldn’t cry. Unfortunately, I still do it. Something I have to continue to work on.

          • meANXIETYme says:

            I always feel miserable after I cry. My face hurts, I’m stuffed up, my nose runs, my eyes get red. I can never hide that I’ve been crying. Even if it’s a brief cry, I still feel like I have repercussions afterward. I think I’ve stopped myself from crying a lot of the time because I feel physically horrible afterward.
            It’s also about losing control for me. Again, I feel like if I let a little bit go, I’ll go bazooka nuts and not be able to regain myself.

  6. Glynis Jolly says:

    My husband told me about the game. Sorry that your team lost.

    I hope you’re making your best attempt to climb out of where you are right now. ❤

    • April says:

      Oh, I am. I haven’t been sleeping well because I was so excited about the Super Bowl. I think I need a really good night’s rest.

  7. reocochran says:

    So sorry about the loss of a friend to cancer. I cannot imagine that anyone would hold your depression or your mood swings against you .You probably feel that others have been ‘burned’ around the edges, but they may be open to rekindling friendship if you make the first move. You seem so nice to me, April!! I hope I don’t get you irritated trying to shed some sunshine on your gloomy thoughts… hugs to you from me

    • April says:

      Thanks Robin. The hardest part is answering the question, where have you been? Many don’t understand what depression is like, and it’s a little uncomfortable for me to explain. However, true friends will understand.

  8. inmycorner says:

    Your post sounds so sad. It is nonetheless beautiful. It also sounds like you have found the words that help you to process your emotions well? Bravo. Funny while you hear rain – I see snow.

    • April says:

      As much as I love snow, I am kind of glad we have lived in areas that don’t receive much. I’m pretty sure the beauty I see in snow would get rather tiring. Keep warm!

    • April says:

      By the way…I’m happy you came across my blog. I hopped over to yours, and we have some similar life experiences. My dad passed away at the age of 80 from Parkinson’s Disease with dementia. He was in WWII (Navy), but never really shared his experience. Dementia sufferers can often remember events from long ago, and my dad shared a story with my brother about something he witnessed. My dad broke down crying. The sad thing, my brother passed away three months before my dad, and he had a website with all our family history. We couldn’t access the website. I have boxes of his notes and I’m hoping to come across his findings.

      My mom, however, has filled pages and pages of her memories.

      • inmycorner says:

        Isn’t that interesting about our shared experiences? I am equally pleased to have found you, April. Nothing more frustrating I’ll bet that knowing your Dad’s memories are there – in limbo – somewhere.. I must write my passwords down for my family before surgery! I am so happy, though, you have your Mom. Moms are so very special – Dads are too – don’t get me wrong – they are each so different. I only got to know my Dad once my Mom passed away. I had a year and a half to “learn” who he was.

  9. suzjones says:

    You know where I am chickie babe. ❤

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