Depression is Like Going Down the Rabbit Hole

I have suffered debilitating bouts of depression since I was at least 15 years old. This year I will turn 54. During these bouts I would tumble down a rabbit hole. Sometimes the rabbit hole felt safe and secure. On other occasions no matter how far down I burrowed the rabbit hole felt anything but safe.  In those instances, depression would twist my mind into a chokehold. It would then plead, push, and dare me to end my life. Fortunately, these debilitating bouts never lasted long enough to completely bury me in the rabbit hole. As a result, for many years I was able to climb out of the rabbit hole without the aid of medication or any other support that is until February 2006.  

In February 2006, my marriage was over and I found myself walking a long, cracked path towards divorce. This major life shift caused me to regurgitate the pain, poor self-esteem, betrayal, and worthlessness that I held inside for fourteen years all over the cracked path that I had to walk. In that moment, I also realized that I had been deeply depressed for nearly my entire marriage without knowing it. In short, I had spent almost fourteen years in a rabbit hole and did not know how I got there.

Looking back, I can pinpoint the day that I tumbled back down the rabbit hole. At the time, I had only one child who was only 18 months old. The rabbit hole was dark with smooth muddy walls and floors.  Instead of climbing out within a few weeks I burrowed further and further down in search of a space that felt safe. Intellectually, I knew that the safety I craved could not actually be found in the rabbit hole. However, once I found that safe space, I snuggled inside its warmth. So, I had another child. I bought furniture, redecorated, added rooms for my children, and brought them to live in the rabbit hole with me. The rabbit hole became my fortress against the pain and loneliness I felt from years of having my love repeatedly misused, balled up, and thrown back in my face. Inside my fortress no one could get close enough to harm me again. With each passing year, the rabbit hole became my new normal and gave me permission to remain stuck.

As time passed, it became increasingly apparent that depression’s vice grip on my mind was so strong that, for the first time, I needed medication to treat it. Accepting my need for medication to treat my depression has not been easy. In my case, finding the right medication regime was a process made all the more complicated because I was uninsured. After finding the right combination of medications, I started what became a highly destructive cycle of taking depression medication as prescribed and then stopping abruptly because I felt “better.” This practice proved disastrous. Repeating this cycle caused me to return to the rabbit hole again and again.  

The last ten years have been a long and arduous climb out of my rabbit hole called depression. Sometimes I still tumble back in and do not want to leave the safety, albeit false, of the fortress I built. The difference is I know when I have fallen back down and immediately get the help needed to climb back out.  Today I am a work in progress. I don’t want to keep returning to a place that holds so much of my brokenness and desperately want to stop engaging in behavior that only feeds my depression. Instead I do the following:

1. Take my medication as prescribed and participate in treatment.
2. Practice regular self-care without apology.
3. Resist the urge to numb my feelings with excess food and weight.
4. Fill my mind with beauty instead of the ugliness associated with my mental illness.
5. Meditate on that which is authentic, compelling, and gracious.
6. Remain mindfully present in my recovery and treatment.
7. Set firm boundaries with unsafe people and situations.   
8. Refuse to return to who and what broke me.
9. Remind myself that I am not a victim because I live with depression.  I am more than a conqueror.  I am an overcomer.
10. I tell my story.

My new mantra #noapology #nosurrender #noretreat. As always be emboldened, empowered and engaged.

Stephanie Mitchell Hughes

Originally published in The Good Men Project