Out of Focus . . . Again: A Journey from Depression to Recovery Through Courage, Love and Commitment

Introduction

My name is Ann, and I am self-assured, outgoing and humorous. When depression is not present, I am articulate and my intelligence is apparent. I have tons of energy. I love every aspect of my life. Exercise, reading, walking my dog and writing bring me much joy. Having breakfast monthly with my son, Dave, and time with my daughter, Susan, are highlights of my life. I cherish my five grandchildren and spend time with them often.

I have been the best wife possible to my husband, Gary, whom I love with all my heart. Gary is easy-going and sensitive and also has a wonderful sense of humor. I admire him tremendously for his sense of ethics and his dedication to his profession. He is a great father and grandfather, and is loyal to his brothers and sisters as well as to all of our extended family. Best of all, he loves me.

We are both in the academic world. I earned a BS degree in history and elementary education from the University of Colorado in 1965. Gary went on to get a PhD in Business Administration after receiving a BS in electrical engineering and an MBA. I substitute taught when our children, Susan and Dave, were young; I then worked as a researcher and writer at Penn State once they were in school full time. Years later, when I returned to the classroom, I obtained a Masters in Education. I honestly loved going to work each day.

And when I hear the whir of the garage door opening each afternoon, I look forward to Gary’s return and talking with him about our day. Before we go upstairs each evening, we sit down to a glass of wine or a cup of hot tea and further discuss what’s on our minds.

But, in spite of the many blessings in my life, aside from the fact that I love my life and those with whom I share it, the darkness comes and goes. My days have been either wonderful or dreadful, unpredictably switching back and forth. It has been this way for more than thirty years.

I have never been able to adequately describe what it feels like to be depressed. I don’t think it’s possible. This illness is so many things. Sometimes many symptoms are present; other times, only a few. I might feel distraught, frustrated, anxious, self-defeated, guilty or scared. At times some of the feelings intensify until I think I am going to explode.

When depression is present, time is endless. Minutes seem like hours, hours like days; I think it’s because the only place I am is inside my head. The world seems to continue on around me, but I am no longer a part of it. I am robotic; I have no feelings, no desires and no hopes.

But most of all, depression is darkness—a deep, black hole into which I have plunged. As I fall, the speed of the descent is amazingly rapid.

This depression controls me; I disappear, and a different person emerges. The person who takes my place is nothing like me. She has no name because giving her one would make her more of an entity. I don’t want her to have more control over me than she has, so she remains nameless.

I dread her appearance, but am not able to prevent it. My replacement is weak. She is terrified. She is unable to put words together intelligently. I am not able to make her leave. I surrender because I have no other choice. The real me evaporates, gone in an instant.

My depression comes and goes, comes and goes. Each time it begins to reappear, the dominant feeling is that of defeat, made worse because I know what’s coming.

My external world is out of focus, virtually a blur; I am not able to focus on it because of all that is going on inside. Thoughts and fears rush around in my brain, moving in haphazard ways, bumping into one another before they are thrust away as the result of the impact. Mixed among all the emotions are questions I hear, but before I think of an answer, another question emerges. I don’t have time to think, and all of this creates panic…sheer panic. Anxiety is very much a part of my depression.

When I am experiencing depression, I awaken to a feeling of dread. A heavy sinking feeling tells me it is back. A weight presses on my chest; its pressure is so forceful that I can barely move. I am limp.

But I don’t exist in a vacuum. When I am around people, I feel they are judging me. I am convinced that they believe I am incapable of doing anything worthwhile. I know they think I am a terrible mother, an incompetent teacher. I find that I have difficulty speaking intelligently. Searching for words, I stammer. My voice is unfamiliar, weak, tired. I can’t wait to get away.

The pain is overwhelming, but it is a mental pain—at first. This pain inside my mind spreads throughout my body as my muscles ache, my arms tingle, my legs twitch. I become a person who can’t think, eat, sleep or laugh. At its worst, I can’t even cry. And then…I am no longer a person. I am just a useless body in incredible mental and physical anguish…and I want to die.

I am a wife, mother, grandmother, sister, teacher, and friend…and there have been many, many times that I have desperately wanted to take my own life.

IF YOU ARE DEPRESSED…

This book is meant for everyone who suffers from depression, but my first concern is for those who are thinking about suicide. Thoughts of suicide are all too common in people with severe depression. I know.

The second reason for my book is to give family members and friends an accurate picture of what we deal with every moment. By educating themselves, they will be better equipped to help or at least understand.

Most people think depression is a transient thing—when the problem goes away, so does the depression. That is true for some people. Severe depression, however, is a lifetime battle. Two general types exist: Major depression includes an array of symptoms that interfere with the ability to function normally. Work, sleep and appetite are all affected, resulting in a loss of pleasure. A major depression—which can last a few weeks, many months or, for some people, years—might occur only once in a lifetime but, more often, occurs several times.

Bipolar disorder is another common form of depression. Also called manic-depression, this type is not as prevalent, but can be just as debilitating. Characterized by mood swings of feeling high and low, those who are manic-depressive typically switch between being very depressed to feeling euphoric. These mood changes are usually gradual, but can be exaggerated and rapid.

If you or someone you love has depression—of any type—you will find help in this book. But I also want to emphasize the importance of seeking help from a mental health professional. This illness is not something that can be helped without help. It is far too complicated.

A JOURNAL SPRINGS TO LIFE

This book began as a journal. I bought my first one in 1974 at McLanahan’s Drug Store on South Allen Street in State College, Pennsylvania. I vividly recall the notebook because it had a very unusual cover. Looking back, it is strange that I chose that particular one since I like bright colors and this cover was anything but. It had random lines crossing both horizontally and vertically. Where the lines intersected they formed geometric shapes against a black background. The triangles, circles and wavy lines were muted shades of gray, green and tan.

At that time I was doing a bit of what you might call reflective writing that conveyed my random thoughts. I had no symptoms of depression; they would begin to appear several months later, then disappear and reappear. At least I didn’t think I was depressed, but perhaps my choice of a somber-covered journal was a subconscious preference, a premonition of what was yet to come.

My first entry in the journal is dated September 17, 1974. I recall that it was written as I sat looking out a window of Lemont Elementary School on a crisp, chilly day.

That journal would be the first of nine, kept over the years during times I was burdened with an illness all too common to millions. The pages contain entries indicating times of sadness, despair, guilt and frustration. The words describe fears, but also hope and determination. Carefully dated, each entry provides a glance into specific moments within specific days; they echo emotions held deep inside. My journal was my refuge, a safe haven where I could talk about the complications and the contradictions of my life. It was my private confidante, holding my secret thoughts from everyone else.

Thankfully, I never tossed out those first journals—they helped me recall the out of focus years as I wrote this book. I have included some of my journal entries here. Along with them, you will find snapshots of my other remembrances. These serve as illustrations of living with depression in real time. Through them, I hope you will have a better sense of what it was like for me.

The first two sections of the book contain my story, and all of the ways I desperately tried to help myself. Section III is a full description of all of my coping mechanisms accumulated over thirty years. They are listed in the order in which they were most helpful to me. I relied on every one of them. I hope they help you. You also will hear from Gary, my husband, and my children, Susan and Dave, throughout the book.

If you are under severe depression now and would like some immediate help, please skip over to Part III.

--Ann Kochenberger

Part 1

IMPERFECTIONS OF A PERFECT LIFE

CHAPTER 1:

Happy Birthday

SNAPSHOT : Pueblo, Colorado March 4, 1952

The presents are neatly arranged on the buffet, just like always. They are perfectly wrapped in bright yellow birthday paper and I wonder what is inside each one. I think I can see the pink dots of a Storybook doll through the thin paper of the gift on top.

I am ten years old today. The large mirror above the wrapped packages reflects freckles around a tiny nose, straight chin-length dark hair with bangs that could use a trim. The large silver tea service sparkles on a silver tray. My beautifully decorated birthday cake has been placed in front of it and it is topped with eleven candles—one for each year and one to grow on.

Two sets of grandparents and Uncle Tim arrive for the celebration. After a special dinner, our fancy cake plates—stacked high—are placed next to the cake on the table. The lighted candles glow as I close my eyes to the musical sound of Happy Birthday. I blow them all out in one breath as I secretly make a wish.

Iremember making wishes like that when I was a little girl. I suppose I wished for something that was inside one of the brightly wrapped gifts. I didn’t think to wish that my life would remain as it was at that moment—full of comfort, security…and happiness.

CHAPTER 2:

Gray Clouds Intermingled With Sunny Skies

JOURNAL ENTRY

State College, Pennsylvania Early September 1974

Autumn has arrived and, with it, signs of change…in early morning chill to colors that represent varying shades of me, my thoughts and reflections of past and present.

To lack moods is to never know oneself. Changes cause us to ponder reasons for existence, our desires, what is important to us and what is not.

I am like a leaf whose colors slowly change, each result bringing an inner growth and, sometimes, more of a balance, but sometimes not.

To experience emptiness and failure is to appreciate all that gives us joy and fulfillment. Sometimes I welcome solitude and, now and then, a touch of sadness.

Ihad been substitute teaching at Lemont School in State College, Pennsylvania the day I bought my first journal. I couldn’t wait to write my first entry. My class was down the hall in art for an hour, so I sat alone in the teachers’ lounge looking out the window. The leaves had begun to change, the colors varied on each tree, and I put pencil to notebook paper and started to write. I always loved what I wrote and was inspired to write often.

I must admit I was surprised at the words that sprang from my head, but I believed they were the creative result of delving into my innermost thoughts. Perhaps they were. I considered my writing an honest assessment of my view of the world and rather smugly thought it was indicative of my ability to truly understand what I was all about.

In retrospect, I think that all of the reflecting that was to follow was my way of rationalizing my burgeoning discontent. Unhappiness was beginning to slowly filter into my life. Denial was becoming my constant demon…perhaps because I could not believe I could be unhappy about anything.

The joy in which I exulted when I was a child continued throughout my young adult years. Married right out of high school, Gary and I wanted to pursue our college goals before we had children. Our first years together consisted mainly of studying, but we managed to have fun as well. After obtaining our bachelors degrees from the University of Colorado, Gary went on to graduate school and I taught first grade in Boulder for several years.

Our Susan arrived in October of 1966 and three years later—the last year of Gary’s PhD program—we learned that Susan would have a sibling. About that time, Penn State University extended Gary a job offer. Accepting an assistant professor position, we eagerly embarked on a new chapter of our lives together. Giving away most of what we had (which was not much—remember those bookcases made of three stained boards and cinder blocks?), we packed a very small U-Haul and headed for State College in December of 1969. Three months later Dave was born.

Adjusting to life in the East, we quickly made new friends, enjoyed our comfortable apartment and began to feel very much a part of the small college-town community. I had no reason to believe that this wonderful life I was living would not continue. I found out differently.

My life started changing during the fall of 1974. I was 32 years old.

I have no specific day to point to, no firm starting date to say, here is when it all started. Instead, things began to slowly change. At that time, depression was the furthest thing from my mind. Weren’t we all feeling a little out of sorts? After all, it was right after the Vietnam War…when so many young people were questioning values and authority. Many were angry or unhappy. The Kent State shootings during the spring of 1970 and the anger that immediately followed brought disbelief to many of us. The fact that this was happening was horrifying and many of us were incredulous. What was happening to our country? Our values?

By 1973, Gary was settling into his career at Penn State. Our children, now ages three and seven, were enjoying their friends and all that our small rural town had to offer. We loved visiting the sheep barns, traveling to the nearby Amish markets to try the fresh produce and attending the Central Pennsylvania Festival of the Arts every year in July. In State College we could walk most anywhere we wanted to go, feeling safe leaving our doors unlocked while we were gone. The countryside was lush and enchanting.

Wanting to stay at home with Susan and Dave, I chose not to work when they were young. But I remained active and social. Our apartment was right behind six tennis courts so I played tennis with one friend or another most every day while the kids played on an adjacent court. I had wonderful friends whom I saw on a regular basis. We had play dates for our children, shared coffee in the mornings and often met for lunch. During the summer we would pack up lunches and kids and head for the outdoor Olympic-sized pool on campus. Sometimes we would travel to Walnut Acres, an early version of today’s health food stores, where we purchased many natural products. I felt fortunate to be able to stay at home with my kids. I basked in the happiness I felt each day and, yes, counted my blessings often.

But over the course of a year, my confidence and joie de vivre slowly began to slip. I started agonizing over decisions that needed to be made, often second-guessing myself after the fact. This was definitely not characteristic of me. The indecision was usually about small things—should I wear the white blouse or the blue one, should I get my hair cut, should I let the kids have a friend over to play? This by itself would have been no cause for alarm, but more bizarre behavior followed. At least, for me it was bizarre. I began to have negative thoughts about my children, comparing them to their peers and regretting what they did not do well, rather than celebrating their strengths as I had always done before.

For example, Susan had always been careful about choosing friends, and I had always felt good about the fact that she was not easily swept into becoming one of the group. Now, I found myself wishing she was more like her brother, who was outgoing and made friends every chance he got.

But it wasn’t only Susan with whom I was disappointed. I obsessed about characteristics of Dave that bothered me…he often befriended kids who misbehaved or were not accepted by others. Rather than seeing this as a good characteristic, that is, reaching out to those who needed friends, I was upset about it. This new side of me was puzzling, but I chose not to dwell on it.

YOU MUST BE MISTAKEN…NOT MY CHILD

But I found it strange that, while I inwardly was disappointed with Susan and Dave, I outwardly became very defensive of them. I didn’t want to believe that either one could do anything wrong or have trouble with schoolwork. The reason behind this, I now think, was that I took their misbehaviors and mistakes personally. If they were doing something wrong, it must be I who had caused it. I hadn’t raised them right or I wasn’t spending enough time with them.

To prevent this negativity from affecting me so severely, my solution (I see now how mistaken I’d been) was to insist they always do the right thing, always make top scores, and always play a great game. If someone let me know that one of them was having trouble with a peer, I knew it must have been the other child who had done something wrong rather than my child.

This kind of thinking was not at all me. I am a realist. Sure, my kids will screw up. It’s part of growing up. Consequences must be imposed so that they can carefully consider choices they make in the future. Because we all learn from our mistakes, not making good choices has a good side. Dave will attest to that; when he was into wrestling for many years, he always maintained that he learned more from his losses than he did from his wins. I believed it was a good way to learn.

CLOUDS ROLL IN

Along with these feelings about my children, I started wishing I led a life that was more exciting. The days were too monotonous. I was itching for something. But what? Should I get a graduate degree? Should I visit a friend or relative in another state? A teaching job might be the answer. Wishing for more individuality (ah, those seventies!), I wouldn’t always wear my wedding ring so I could be Ann Kochenberger and not just an extension of Gary. You see, in those days women were pretty much a mere appendage of their husbands. When at a cocktail party or someone’s home for the evening, people would come up to you and ask, Who is your husband or Do you have any children?

It was all about being a wife and a mother rather than being just you…an individual who had her own aspirations. That was the way it was and I didn’t like it, so I removed the wedding ring, not because I didn’t love my husband and children but because I believed that I was much more than a wife and mother.

My head was always full of questions for which I had no answers.

Then, very slowly, over the course of months, the happiness began to erode. The brightness that had surrounded me began to dim. Little by little, first gray, then black clouds covered the sun that had shone down on me all my life. Eventually it would turn to pitch, and all that surrounded me would dramatically change.

CHAPTER 3:

Inner Uncertainty

JOURNAL ENTRY

State College, Pennsylvania November 19, 1974

Have had many urgings to release my thoughts…but no time to do so. It should not be so, but remains a fact. Time seems to dominate. What must life be like for those who allow it to do so completely?

The past few months have left me feeling depressed; dull days filled with rain and clouds seem to adequately reflect all that is in my mind. Life is short, routine if we allow it to be; such routine becomes monotonous and each day becomes much like the previous one.

Change sustains me and makes me feel useful. Underneath all of the uncertainty is the realization that my security is with Gary. I hope he knows how important he is to me yet I know that he often doesn’t. He experiences feelings of doubt as far as my love for him is concerned. I’m torn between feigning satisfaction for his security and being