I have something to say.

Earlier this evening, George asked me for a list of Dos and Don'ts because he felt at a loss for how to deal with me right now (we had a major discussion this morning about all of my frustrations with him). I was frustrated by the task at first (I even had one of my inner tantrums….maybe I'll explain those later), but after putting Alex to bed and thinking a little (and also by some miracle), my heart opened up, and here's what came out. Some of it applies to anyone in my life, but for the most part, I thought I'd post it here because it is part of my truth for right now:

Everyday, tell me you love me. And mean it. Don't wait until you are leaving the house or on the phone. I know it's awful, but I automatically assume no one loves me.

Everyday, make an attempt to touch me. Hold my hand or give me a hug, or pat my back or stroke my arm- whatever. Don't expect it to lead to sex.

Everyday, remind me why I love you.

Everyday, tell me a joke, or try to make me laugh. I love that about you.

Every now and then, kiss me (not just a peck on the cheek). Don't expect it to lead to sex.

Every now and then, show me that you're glad I'm your wife. You will probably do this by telling me you love me and touching me, but there are other things, like saying you're glad I'm your wife or smiling at me, or reminding me that I'm more than your son's mother.

Every now and then, remind me why we're together. Help me remember the awesome things about our past and encourage me to think about the good things in our future. Make it clear that you believe there's going to be a future no matter what because I often can't even think about tomorrow.

Every now and then, acknowledge that you are working a lot, but that you would rather be home with me or with Alex.

Call if you're going to be late. For whatever reason, whenever you go anywhere. (So you need to have an idea of when you're going to be home.) But if you go out (either by yourself or with friends), after work, call me at least once so I know you're okay. I don't care when, and if I don't answer, leave a voicemail telling me where you are and when you think you'll be home. And please try to call before you start drinking, or while you're drinking, but before you get too drunk. I'm sorry I'm so demanding about this, but there have been too many times I've woken up and freaked out.

Every now and then, talk with me about the plans you have for us, or the thoughts you have about us. This will show me you actually think about us on your own without my prompting or my questions.

**I will make an effort to do these things more too. But some days, just breathing is a little overwhelming. So please keep doing them, even if I'm not doing my fair share. I am grateful in advance.**

On a more depression-specific note:

Please do not ask me what's wrong. I often don't know and the question ends up frustrating me because I feel like I should know. If you want to know something, try asking a specific question, like "Are you upset about _________?"

Please do not point out that things around the house are bad. I know the dishes haven't been done and the laundry hasn't been folded, and I feel terrible about it. Instead of saying anything, or announcing that you will take care of it (which makes me feel worse because I know I'm causing you extra work), encourage me to help you take care of things.

Please do not expect me to cook. Or make jokes about it. Same goes for exercising and eating and my weight and my hair…pretty much anything about my physical appearance. You can still encourage me to do these things, though.

Please be explicitly clear about how you feel, no matter how good or bad it is. Otherwise my very negative imagination will make things worse than they are. I'm probably going to cry, whether you say something bad or not. But that doesn't mean I'm going to fall apart or that you hurt me. If you feel like it, just sit with me or give me a hug until I stop crying. I usually hate that I cry so much. You are not a bad husband and it is often not your fault that I cry.

Please do not let me sleep too much. Be kind about getting me out of bed, though. Please don't suggest that I'm lazy. I already think I am.

Please understand that I will take care of Alex, but that some of the ways I go about it are completely unconventional. For instance, when I don't feel that I can fight with him, I let him stay up with me until he falls asleep on the couch or on our bed. Or he may not take a real bath every night because I'm so exhausted. But I tell him I love him every chance I get and I hold/cuddle him as much as he'll let me. And I do try to play/read with him several times a day. If you don't feel like Alex is getting something he needs, please don't get mad if I'm not doing it the way you would- but feel free to do it yourself. Please believe that I will never let him go hungry or get hurt (if I can help it, of course). Please trust me with our son, because when I feel that you don't trust me, it only proves my theory that he would be better off without me.

Please do not ever give up on me. I want desperately to feel better, but if you don't think I'll feel better, I'll believe you.

If I call you because I'm anxious or frustrated, please do not ask me what I want you to do. I don't have a clue; I called you because I thought you might help me feel better. Definitely never tell me there's nothing you can do to help me. Remind me that everything will be okay. I always believe you when you tell me, even if I don't seem like it right then.

**I know I'm asking a lot, and as I have said before, if you can't handle it, I will understand. I love you, and I believe that you are the most important person to help me feel better. You can't fix me, but you can help me fix myself.**

Love,
Darna

Ask and you shall receive; knock and it shall be opened unto you...

When I was a kid, my mother would often drag Eara and me to funerals because attendance meant indulgences to keep us out of purgatory. We didn't always know the deceased (but I'm hoping my mom did). We participated in countless novenas and prayed the rosary together at our house and the houses of her friends. We went to mass in the mornings when we didn't have school. I can't fathom how many times I've heard the words, "…ask and you shall receive; seek and you shall find; knock and it shall be opened into you…" Let's just say I've heard them a lot, and spoken them in prayer many a time. There are some really good things that came from my mother, and the gift of God and prayer is one of them. God has answered so many of my prayers, and not answered just as many, and I'm grateful.

That said, I had a major revelation about God roughly four years ago, mostly because of the Catholic Church. It's one of the issues I deal with that makes my depression a little more…difficult. My close childhood friends can probably attest to the church time I logged in my early years; I sometimes attended two masses on Sundays because we were so early for the mass Mom wanted to attend that the previous mass was still happening. We went to church EVERY Sunday, because if I dared suggest to my mother that I didn't want to go, I was assured a seat in Hell. Now that I think about it, I feared God's and the Church's wrath and thought of myself as truly unworthy, mostly because my mother made every mistake, no matter how innocently made, seem like one that disappointed God and the Church. (That changed around the time I was 11, which also happens to be the age when I first attempted suicide. But that's not such an issue anymore because I finally dealt with the post-traumatic stress and accepted that it was something I'd done and…well, I've dealt with it and "embraced" it. It's actually a critical piece of my history and probably explains why even though I often think about suicide and ways to achieve it, I would really have to be out of my mind to do it. Life is bad sometimes and I feel such pain that I'd like it to be over, BUT there are people for whom I care so much that I don't want to be the reason for their distress.) When I met George and told my mom I thought he was the one, she asked if he was Catholic, to which I explained that his father was, but he'd converted to marry George's Mormon mother. She stared at me blankly, probably hoping it would go nowhere. When George came home and we lived together, my mother often lamented, claiming she'd failed as a mother because I was living in sin, and she was having to lie to my uncle, the Catholic priest (though I seriously doubt he would've cared too much). When I married George in a civil ceremony, she was crushed that it didn't happen in a Catholic church. And when Alex was born, she was devastated by George's and my decision to not baptize him in the Catholic church. As you have probably figured out, the Church and my mother are practically one and the same; she is still an avid novena participant who goes to mass every chance she gets and pushes for a homecoming between me (and thus, Alex) and the Catholic church.

I'm not sure if it's because I lived and breathed Catholicism for so long or if it's because I'm a natural mystic, but I believe strongly in the existence of that which cannot be explained with logic- so much so that I approach life with a heavy reliance on my intuitive and emotional feelings. I believe in magic, fate, destiny….all of those things, like religion, that aren't tangible and have little, if any, tangible proof to support their existence. And because of my childhood, I have no tolerance for knowingly allowing suffering to happen or going to great lengths to keep the suffering hidden. It's because of this (and the parade of child molesting Catholic priests) that The DaVinci Code by Dan Brown rocked my world, as I mentioned above. I realize that as a work of fiction, The DaVinci Code isn't a good reason to throw out all of your faith in your church and suffer a few years before you figure out what it is you REALLY believe in. But as a work of fiction with several compelling themes that happens to include factual items/places, the book prompted me to do research. It was what I learned through research that gave me lots of good reasons to lose faith in my church and suffer for a couple of years while I tried to decide what I believe in my heart.

There are some crazy concepts out there. But I have to point out that everyone thought Galileo and Columbus were insane for a while. That said, some people believe that because Jesus Christ was a human being, he could've been married to Mary Magdalene, or at the very least, romantically involved with her. Then there are ideas that Mary Magdalene is the Holy Grail, or she gave birth to a child who was the Holy Grail, or Mary Magdalene was the author of the 4th Gospel in the New Testament. I've read books, spoken with others, searched the Internet, and read scholarly articles- I really attacked this research project like my life depended on it. I asked and seeked and knocked. Here's what I received, found, and opened:

First, if we are all created in God's image, then who's to say that God is exclusively male? My belief is that God is an entity that cannot be humanized easily. God is me and you and the folks down the street…..each of us carries a piece of God, which is why there's power in numbers and "no man is an island." God is more than our father- God is mother and sister and brother. Since this is what I believe, I have made a conscious effort for the last couple of years to refrain from using masculine pronouns when referring to God- not always easy. I'm not saying that God cannot be a father figure- just pointing out that God is more than a human male, so when we talk about God, our speech should reflect that.

Second, I believe that Mary Magdalene is a very real part of the history of Christianity, if only because her presence provides proof that our male-dominated notions about Christianity are not necessarily true at face value, especially when we consider that through much of Western civilization's history, men have been so insecure that they have seen fit to eradicate women's contributions from the records. I do not know if Jesus and Mary Magdalene were married or involved, and it doesn't really matter to me. In fact, it's comforting to think that they were because it makes Jesus that much more human. There's a really good website that presents several perspectives on Mary Magdalene: www.magdalene.org, including a link to a well-written paper on why Mary Magdalene is in fact the author of the 4th Gospel, which is commonly attributed to John.

Third, it makes total sense to me that the Catholic Church would make every effort to cut Mary Magdalene (or any other woman) out of its dogma. Mary, the mother of God, is revered, but mostly because Catholics feel she will put a good word in for us with her son and his father (and honestly, when the Church was pushing the Magdalene-as-prostitute agenda, it created a striking contrast to the purity of the Virgin Mary, emphasizing "purity" all the more). The Church is now notorious for keeping things hush-hush (how anyone could willingly keep the actions of child molesters secret is BEYOND me!), and I personally have witnessed suffering because of the Church's law. That's nothing compared to the grand-scale suffering the Church has caused historically- think Spanish Inquisition, etc. The Catholic religion came at a time when a way to control the masses was necessary for empires to be successful- and also, I might add, at a time when a common Greco-Roman belief was that pure love could only exist between men, since women were just for breeding. As a result, I'm pretty wary of any organized religion, though I find myself missing the predictable flow of a Catholic mass every now and then. I just don't think it's a good idea to sit in mass angry and think angry thoughts.

All of this makes my depression more difficult because I'm a heretic, essentially, and that feels a bit isolating given my background. I sometimes wonder if God is mad at me for not staying true to my Catholic faith, and that's why I suffer from time to time. And most significantly, if I can realize that the Catholic Church isn't for me, can I do that with my mother? I'm asking, but I don't necessarily want to receive. All I know is that the idea of disappointing God, the Catholic Church AND my mother is a huge pill to swallow (and I have a strong gag reflex).

Rating: 5 (sooooooooo tired today)

Amazing Grace....and Nicole and Teresa and Lyndsey and Loretta and Eara and........

I've felt good the past two days- definitely an 8 yesterday (except for a few minutes when I was upset and couldn't get over it easily), and more of a 7 today. Something is going on with my hormones because I've noticed a major change in my ability to fall asleep and I'm breaking out more than usual- so I attribute the feeling well to that, since I have my hormones to thank for my bad days. It's only fair….

Anyway, this particular entry is written to send heartfelt gratitude to my friends, and especially my friends who I didn't realize were such good friends until now, when it really matters (interestingly, I have also learned that some people really do not care about other people's well-being and they don't ever consider that someone's "problem" could be helped by a kind word or two….reminds me of another quote I've read somewhere- something to the effect of being kind to everyone you meet because he or she could be fighting a major battle).  It is an endless source of comfort to know that there are people in the world who care about me- and it makes it impossible to say that no one would notice if I wasn't around.

I've made it out of my maze before and seen the light, so I know I can do this. And when I forget, I thank you for reminding me.

An Analogy

It has not been a good day. But I came up with one way to help people understand what I'm going through. Visualize as you read:

You've been placed in a poorly lit maze- a labyrinth, if you will. You've been given simple instructions to follow the arrows, as they tell you exactly where to go, and they will lead you out of the darkness. No one mentioned how long the maze is, but they made it sound like it should be easy and take no time. But you are tired, and the walking makes you more tired, so you have to stop to sit a lot. You're wearing the wrong shoes and your clothes don't fit well. You forgot a flashlight and sometimes your glasses fall off, so you can't always see clearly. Even when you do walk and follow the arrows, sometimes you misunderstand the arrows (even though they're simple) or they seem to disappear, and you end up off the right path. The tangent paths are sometimes very short, or they can be long and it takes a while to find your way back, so you get frustrated easily. Sometimes you seem to know exactly where you're going and you can even see the light at the end of the maze, but that clarity doesn't always last. There are arrows and you should be able to follow them, but you can't always, and it makes you feel dumb and inept. You sometimes lose hope of ever making it out to the end, and you sometimes think it would be better to just quit walking.

As you walk in the maze, a soundtrack of people saying things to you and/or about you plays on loudspeakers. Oddly, everything nice or encouraging is said very quietly, and it seems like those pleasant thoughts aren't played as often as the put-downs and discouraging thoughts that blare constantly. Even when you go on a tangent path, you can hear the loudspeakers clearly. You strain to hear the positive words and when they're gone, you try really hard to remember what they are and to believe that they are true, but the bad words and ideas are so much louder and constant, and they're mostly in your own voice, so you get tired of trying to remember. Sometimes you just can't remember, or the loud, mean messages are all you can concentrate on- and you really start to believe that maybe they're the loudest because they're true.  You'd like some quiet so you can think, but it never comes, so you're jumpy and anxious. Every now and then, there are mirrors on the walls. Sometimes you stop to take a look, but mostly you shut your eyes as you pass them. You don't want to see how tired or frustrated you are, and even when you do look, you don't recognize what you see. You marvel at how someone who looks perfectly fine on the outside can be suffering so much on the inside. But then you focus on your eyes, and you see the sadness and the anger and the confusion.

You wish you didn't feel so alone in the maze. You really want someone to hold your hand. But then again, they might want to talk, and you don't want the talking to take away from your journey. Besides, you don't have anything interesting or intelligent to say.