Leave of Absence

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Disclaimer: SickNotWeak does not provide medical advice, diagnosis or treatment. This content contains explicit and sensitive information that may not be suitable for all ages.

“You need to get your heart pumping,” said my doctor, “Get some fresh blood to your brain.”

The last thing anyone with crippling depression wants to do is exercise. During the first few days of my leave of absence from work, it was an outright miracle if I made it from my bed to the couch.

After an emergency meeting with my psychiatrist, it was determined that my current onslaught of depression had likely been caused by a serious skin medication I was taking, and the only thing we could do at the moment was wait for it to leave my system. On the bright side, every time I cried all my makeup off, my skin still looked great. I did not appreciate the irony.

“Why does mental illness involve so much waiting?” I complained to my mom on the way home. “First you wait for a doctor. Then you wait for the right diagnosis. Then you wait to see if the treatment works – it doesn’t – and you repeat step three over and over again until you give up and go off your medication, which is also a bad idea. You can’t win.”

“The medication can only do so much, Leanne.”

“The medication can only do so much, Leanne,” she said patiently. “You need to do everything you can to help the doctor succeed. That means sleeping regularly, exercising, and – heaven forbid – eating properly.”

I decided not to mention how I had eaten Froot Loops for three meals that week.

“Go for a run when you get home. See how you feel.”

I felt like I was moving through molasses when I got back to my condo, prescription in hand. I decided to run it to the pharmacy and kill two birds with one stone. How hard could it be?

I wore my SickNotWeak hoodie because I figured I would need all the good vibes I could get. The first few steps were slow, then I found my rhythm. The cold air seeped into my lungs and it felt good, like I didn’t have a choice but to breathe. I was doing it.

I always forget how beautiful the city is at night. The lights of Yonge Street, the masses of people living their lives in the same place but never touching, like softly repelling magnets – it’s part of the comforting anonymity of living downtown.

I didn’t even notice I was crying until I couldn’t find air, my hands balled into fists and my body bent over my knees in the middle of Dundas Square. My runner’s high dissipated and was replaced with a familiar sinking feeling. I was so absorbed in my pain that I almost didn’t feel the soft tap on my shoulder.

A homeless man stood beside me, holding out a wad of napkins from Tim Horton’s. I smiled through my tears, and he gestured for me to take the tissues. “Did someone die?” he asked politely.

Depression is lonely.

“No,” I said, “Just a rough day. Thank you though.” He smiled and shuffled off.

Depression is lonely. It leaves you unable to ask for help, and numb when it’s offered to you. But every now and then, kindness can break the glass; make you remember that there’s still a big, beautiful world going on around you. There are always reasons to keep trying, even if you can’t see them. You just have to trust that they are enough.

I decided to throw everything I had at the wall – if running wasn’t the way I needed to get my blood pumping, maybe it was hot yoga. Maybe it was spin class (Michael is a big fan of that one!). Maybe I needed to join a metal band and start thrashing the drums twice a week. I tried all three, just in case.

It didn’t happen overnight. I didn’t just wake up wanting to go to yoga, or band practice, or even outside for that matter. But halfway through forcing myself out of my comfort zone, I started smiling again – not the smile of someone without depression, but a hard-earned, gritty smile. The waiting got easier until it wasn’t just waiting anymore; it was building a fresh start. Creating new routines for me to fall back on when things got tough.

Just to make a point, I ran to my next doctor’s appointment. Slow and steady wins the race.  

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Comments

Nana
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I cried reading this. I feel your pain. It is my pain. I am still not back to work since I ended up in fetus position with my head in fog grasping for air, and that was in April 2013. I can’t say I have not been trying to “pump” some blood and get things going as if nothing is wrong. Everything is wrong,though. Do not belive my smile. I am drowning inside.

anniem
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I teared up as well. I have had too many relapses to count. My big life crash came in 2010…it’s now 2017 and I feel like I have not gone very far. I know I have in many ways though. The most frustrating/annoying thing for me is my sleep. I either can’t fall or stay asleep – it’s been this way for years. I’m starting to despise the various advice I get about it. be it from a Dr or a friend. You name it, I’ve tried it. When I was working full time eons ago, the same problem. I’m just grateful that it doesn’t happen often. That was my rant. Thanks for listening everyone!!!!

Cher
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I totally get it that the last thing you want to do is curl up in bed and sleep but I have some friends at work who hold me accountable to exercising Monday to Friday.
If I did not have them I would be a lot worse.

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