Five Years

I've been feeling pretty sentimental as September has approached this year. Some of you know, some don't, but this September marks five years since my month long hospitalization and the start of ECT. Five whole years. It's hard to really wrap my head around that. I have a few things to say. What more could I possibly say that I haven't said a million times already? Perhaps nothing. But what I want to say I feel is so important I will repeat it as many times as I can for as long as I can. 

The other night I read, for the first time in years, some things I wrote here around September 2018. And I cried. I remember vividly the hollow emptiness inside and the void that was once any hope. More than anything, I was completely out of hope. Depression is a such a bitch. It steals. And lies. And it robs you of anything and everything beautiful life has to offer. It is darkness. It is suffocating. My world was collapsing, I was suffering and I was literally dying. I thought, no, I knew, my time on Earth was over. 

But you see, it wasn't. Because as strong and as powerful as depression is, inside of me was strength and power that was stronger. I didn't find it alone though. And now every single day for five years now, my gratitude overflows when I think of those who rallied for me and fought my fight when I lost the strength and will. The doctors, the nurses, the social workers, the therapists, the other hurting patients. My family, my friends... To Lismarie. Thank you for tying up my hospital gown for me in the ER. For doing that small act of kindness when I could barely move. And when we were checking into the ER I remember looking at you and saying "I don't want to do this." And you looked at me and said "I know." Your empathy very well saved life that day. Thank you. To Betsy. We were driving home over the bridge one day, I can't remember what from exactly... (Perhaps it was when I was released from the hospital on October 2...) Anyway we were talking about going to Seattle for ECTs and how it was no small deal, and yet it wasn't a big deal. I remember asking something to the effect of "then taking me to ECTs three times a week isn't a burden?" And you said "nope! It sure isn't!" I believed you. I knew it. You made me feel completely loved and I knew in that moment I wasn't a burden to you. And in that moment I felt a massive burden lifting off me. Thank you for literally showing me my worth. To Diana. You made ECTs fun. I loved our field trips in Seattle when the ferry was early. You would say how you just enjoyed spending time with me. You made me feel like I was the most important person in the world and there was nothing more you'd rather do than be with me in that moment. Thank you. I love being your Sariah. To Mike. You took me to several very early morning ECTs. I tried to thank you profusely. I know making a 6 a.m. ferry is no fun task. But as always, you just quietly served. You told me it really wasn't a big deal. It was a big deal though, at least to me. So thank you, again. To Zach. You took me to my last ECT. I'm so glad it was you who got to take me as I finished. There is power in that shared experience. I don't remember a whole lot of my stay at St. Joseph's. But I remember you visiting me and the smile you automatically put on my face. I didn't even feel like smiling. Thank you. And of course I have to thank Mr. Purrington, even though he isn't with us any longer. He was my true companion and waited for me and never left my side while I was hurting. I remember in 2014 when I was struggling one night, Mr. Purrington came onto the bed with me and layed next to my head. Then he put a paw on my shoulder and kept it there while I wept. He was my angel. And he was with me until I was okay. Then he left, and I was still okay. 

And I'm am still okay.

I got what far, far too many don't get. I got a second chance. Because ECT worked. It literally changed my life. And I will advocate for ECT the rest of my life. My depression isn't gone. But I am happy. I feel peace. I feel joy. I feel gratitude. Some things are really hard still. And it still, even right this second, scares me so much to think about depression. In particular, my depression. I can't have those feelings coming back. It scares me so much that someday I could be depressed again. And I am afraid of anything that reminds me of the past, including my little blog posts. I have to trust myself though, that I will be okay. I feel I am at a point in my life where I can be okay visiting the past a little. Not a lot. Not yet. But I can be powerful and remember and respect the power depression has without letting it get ahold of me. I can do that! 

I love this life I am building for myself. It isn't perfect and I do complain a lot, but it is good. There is joy. There is healing. In two years I will be a social worker myself. I am mighty proud of that. Where there was pain, now there is growth. Where there was no hope, now there is peace. 

Sometime life is really heavy still. There's no denying that. Life is difficult. But compassion exists. Hope thrives. I am living proof of the wonders of modern medicine. Even more than that though, I am living proof that the world, though not perfect, is still beautiful.

And life is beautiful.

I can't believe it's been five years.