The Wicked Witch of Depression

In my last post I think I mentioned that I was involved with our middle school’s play. I have been living and breathing The Wizard of Oz for the past several months as both the Artistic Producer and the mom of one of the Wicked Witches of the West (double cast role for those wondering).

Last night was opening night and after applying green face paint to my witch, and helping various other actors with makeup and costumes, I found my seat in the audience and prepared to sit back and enjoy the show (in between helping with costume changes).  Many of my family and friends were in attendance and in my mind it should have been an exhilarating, exciting night. Instead my mind was all over the place. Dissecting every minute detail and twisting my thinking to the worst case scenarios. I couldn’t sit still. I was up and down, up and down and think I sat in ten different seats during the 2 hour show (had we had a sellout I am not sure what I would have done). I was most comfortable in the corner seat in the last row of the theater, watching everything happen from a safe, dark corner, unseen.

I gave myself five minutes to sit there and let the tears come, then I wiped them and headed back into the action. And was ok for the next 12 hours or so.

And then this morning a friend asked me how I was doing and it came back - fast. And a few minutes later I realized the correlation between my depression and the Wicked Witch of the West.

Depression is ugly and mean and has no redeeming qualities. Just like the Wicked Witch, depression is an antagonist, a villain who tries to take control of creatures (or people). It appears without warning, threatening me, obscuring my view. Provoked or not - I know it is there waiting for me, looking for me. Depression throws different, horrible thoughts in my way - like flying monkeys. My depression is scary. And I have a hard time forgetting that it is always going to be out there because, unlike with the Wicked Witch, unfortunately I can’t throw a bucket of water on it and get it to go away.  

How I long to sing “Ding Dong my Depression’s Dead” and end my story of mental illness.  The only silver lining for me is that I, even now, feel like “there is no place like home” and love my family for holding me up and keeping me out of the witch’s grasp.