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Two weeks ago, I was sitting alone on a stool in the corner of my kitchen with my back against the wall. I had been trying to cry, to discharge some of my sadness and anger, but I was stuck in nothingness. I felt hopeless, and a barking voice in my head was scolding me, insisting that I pull myself together.
People say things like “Pull yourself together!” all the time, but for some reason on this night that expression really irritated me. I mean, if someone tells you to pull yourself together, it suggests that they can see you’ve fallen apart, right? If you didn’t know me, though, you might have thought I looked sad or distraught, but you would not have been able to see the extent of my not-togetherness.
That’s the thing about depression—there is often nothing to see. I felt that I had fallen apart. I felt entirely at a loss. I felt that there was no one who could help me, and that there was no way to make any of this better. Except, I had no way to prove that these things were happening. All of those symptoms were just feelings in my head.
Thinking about the invisibility of those feelings drove me to do something that I had never done before.
I calmly removed two large dinner plates from the kitchen cabinet and clutched them to my chest. After a little bit, I gently placed one of the plates in my lap. Then, tightly gripping the other plate in one hand, I raised it above my head and hurled the dish across the kitchen floor. The jarring sound of the plate shattering as it crashed against the wooden floorboards and the spectacular sight of ceramic shards spraying everywhere felt cathartic. In fact, smashing that dish was so satisfying that I picked up the other plate and launched it, too.
After the second plate exploded, I snapped out of my nothingness trance and began to cry. Effortless, palliative tears started traveling down my cheeks. I had seen it in movies, people in fits of rage breaking things to release or express their anger and disappointment. I wasn’t surprised that the act of throwing those plates felt liberating and even empowered me to cry, but there was something else that I hadn’t expected.
Seeing the fragments of china strewn all over the floor was actually aesthetically pleasing to me, and even more than that, it was emotionally reassuring. I saw brokenness. Brokenness that was visible. Brokenness that was tangible and real. Brokenness that was indisputable.
I often feel broken, but no one can ever see it. There are no visual markers. There is nothing to measure, and there is no way to test for the pervasiveness or severity of the damage. So far, no blood tests or brain scans or x-rays can definitively demonstrate that I am struggling. The diagnosis of my illness often depends on my own ability to explain my feelings. Unfortunately, part of the difficulty in living with depression is that you don’t believe in your capacity to do anything, including accurately describing your experience. It’s crazy-making, really. Nothing feels right, or certain, or true. You just feel caught in an eddying pool of insecurity, self-loathing, and loneliness.
Looking at the mix of plate remnants, sharp-edged debris, and porcelain dust scattered around my kitchen, though, I felt a beautiful sense of clarity. The events and the reasons surrounding this brokenness were completely unambiguous. I knew what had happened and why, and I understood how to attend to the problem. I stood up, found a broom, a pan, and a brown bag, and began sweeping up and throwing away the mess. It was easy.
That kind of straightforward certainty does not exist when I try to address my depression. I wish there were a way to open me up and see the problem and immediately know how to fix it. Wouldn’t it be great if there were a way to look through a window or open a small door to allow doctors to peer directly into my own personal brokenness? Unlike the ruined plates on the floor, though, depression remains invisible, hard to treat, and difficult to explain.
I thought about taking a picture of the demolished plates as a way to document my newfound depression metaphor, but I decided I would write about it instead. And that’s precisely what I would have done the next day, if hadn’t been for some unforeseeable irony.
The day after my plate-breaking epiphany was April Fool’s Day. I was in-line skating in a nearby park, trying desperately to improve my mood, when someone’s off-leash black dog decided to run under my legs as it passed me. With just two small errors—the dog owner’s choice to ignore the leash law, and the dog’s inability to accurately judge his size or mine—I was sent crashing to the ground. I knew immediately that something was terribly wrong with my arm. It was excruciatingly painful, and I couldn’t move it. I was taken away in an ambulance, given various IV drugs, x-rayed, and admitted to the hospital. I had severely dislocated and crushed my shoulder and would need to have surgery the next day to “pull” my shoulder “back together.”
In other words, in case you missed it, after specifically wishing that there were a way to display or prove my brokenness, I literally shattered something inside my body. There were now *real* broken pieces in me that needed fixing, and the perpetrator in this accident happened to be a real live black dog. There’s my irony.
Today, I am still terribly depressed, but now I am writing this post with only one hand. There is also now a metal, sci-fi-looking plate with spikes in my shoulder holding the bone together. In addition to a good deal of bruising and swelling, there is an eight-inch incision across my shoulder and down the top of my arm. If you saw me, you would probably have no difficulty discerning that I am in a lot pain.
I feel like there should be some moral to this story, but I can’t see one just yet. I will say this, though: at no time did anyone tell me to pull my shoulder together. The only reason I am not in more pain or more discombobulated right now is that three strangers at the park, four EMT’s, five medical techs, 20 nurses, four doctors, and many family members and friends were all able to see that I was injured. They all wanted to help. They knew what to do and did it.
fuzzwalk said:
I break eggs. Throwing them against a wall outside so I don’t even have to clear it up. Very cathartic. Your shoulder sounds really painful, hope it heals quickly, like you say, at least it’s understandable to those around you. There’s an irony that it was a big black dog.
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Tab. said:
I’ve suffered from mental health problems for a number of years. The pain you feel may not be visible, but it is entirely valid. It is such a shame that some people can’t see that.
I really hope that your shoulder heals quickly, and I know that there’s no point in hoping that your depression will do the same thing, but I hope that things at least get a little bit easier to handle soon.
You don’t need to prove anything to anyone.
Stay beautiful.
x
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Francesca Milliken said:
Thank you for reading my post and for your well wishes and support. My shoulder is doing much better. I hope your mental health problems are improving a little bit, too.
Best,
Francesca
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Maggie Wilson said:
I am so pleased this has found a wider audience. Superlative work, thank you.
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Francesca Milliken said:
Thank you for your support. I hope I don’t disappoint the “wider audience.”
Francesca
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Alaina said:
I suffer from depression, too. It never occurred to me that, unlike breaking a bone, this kind of thing doesn’t really have a visible manifestation. I tell people when necessary, they’ve seen me take medication, but they have no idea how bad it can get. I hope your shoulder heals up soon.
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Francesca Milliken said:
My shoulder is much better. Thank you for taking the time to comment. I hope you are doing ok, too.
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Toper | 1 Million Free Pictures said:
I have never experienced depression so I do not know anything about it from personal experience but I do know its effects based on my readings. I wish you the best and keep sharing what you learn as you go. Goodluck!
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Francesca Milliken said:
Thank you for your curiosity and openness to learning about depression. I plan to keep sharing as best I can.
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saudecrescovam said:
I loved your post. Hope you get well soon. I have also suffered from depression and what I felt that helped me most was sports. Whenever I feel depressed I try to do sports. For that period, I cannot think of anything else…it gives me purpose for that period.
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Francesca Milliken said:
I am really pleased that you liked this post. Thank you for reading and commenting.
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whoopydo said:
Wow, you’re so insightful, wished I’d had half when I was depressed.
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Francesca Milliken said:
That is really kind of you to say. Thank you.
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erikakind said:
I am very moved by your story. It makes depressive feelings visible. You are describing it great. I think there is a moral in this story. You asked for a visibility of your feeling of falling apart. You got it painful and therefore understandable. And now the most important part. You received helping hands that showed you that you can be put together again. You are whole… it only feels different… but there is even more. You are not alone!
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Francesca Milliken said:
Thank you for your sharing your feelings, for reading and re-blogging this post, and for your kindness.
Best,
Francesca
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Gui Tritany said:
I felt very interested by your story. I’ve been with a girlfriend that’s dealing with panic disorder and agoraphobia. Now and then, she complains about how people can’t understand that it is a real illness, and that it needs to be treated. I found myself having anxiety problems, and although I’m a medical student, I still deal with a large amount of difficult to see a doctor.
Sometimes we are broken inside, and it seems like nobody can see it or stand up to help us pull together or shattered parts, but even that feeling is part of a situation created by the society we live, with its prejudices and it’s old fashioned moral.
I hope you heal soon. And I also hope you get some help and company for the times when you feel alone and broken. Expressing that feeling is the best way to achieve it.
Cheers from Brazil
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Francesca Milliken said:
I hope you and your girlfriend are not having to struggle as much these days. I’m glad you liked the post. Thank you for taking the time to comment thoughtfully.
Best of luck,
Francesca
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DL said:
I’ve felt the way you have before…feels like a pit sometimes.
I wish you a quick recovery.
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Francesca Milliken said:
My arm is doing much better. Thank you for your well wishes. I really appreciate it.
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rolivalerian said:
Wow, I suffer the same thing, not that depression is ever the same for any two people, but this touched me…I guess it is voicing sentences I have/feel I didn’t even know the words to existed if that makes sense. So thanks for this, it has in its own way lifted my spirits even if for a brief respite from this thing we suffer from 😊
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Francesca Milliken said:
And your words have lifted mine. If something I wrote can give anyone a brief respite from depression, then that makes me feel that I succeeded in some small way. So, thank you for your generous words.
Sincerely,
Francesca
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rolivalerian said:
Hope your shoulder heals up soon
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sharron1970 said:
Thank you.
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Mabel Thandi said:
I love the image of broken plates it is a fitting metaphor. Great piece, you have said what many try to.
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Francesca Milliken said:
I wish I had taken a picture of those plates. Thank you for appreciating the metaphor and this post.
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angelickreadings said:
Nicely expressed. Hugs.
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Francesca Milliken said:
Thank you.
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Lucas J. Draeger said:
Extremely well written and such amazing insight.
Depression is the most confounding thing in my life. In my most honest moments, I must confess that I choose, and yet, I cannot unchoose it.
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Francesca Milliken said:
Thank you for reading the post and for going out of your way to give me such nice feedback.
Francesca
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madblog said:
Wow. So well said. I do wish medical science would move past the alchemy stage and find a way to fix depression.
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Francesca Milliken said:
Yes, this alchemy stage still feels rather barbaric—like bloodletting. Thank you for reading and for the comments.
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nezeyi said:
My heart is breathing a really soft “wow” right now. I would never have imagined anyone would put into actual words what I have felt so constantly for the past two years. This has touched me beyond words…and something that would touch me more is that people begin to “see”.
Unfortunately, I never thought of breaking plates in the highest intensity of my emotional turmoil (2weeks ago)… I found a razor instead. And I hope it was a once in a lifetime thing… I don’t have many breakable plates but I’ll survive.
🙂 🙂
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Francesca Milliken said:
I am so pleased that my words helped to describe your feelings too. Thank you for taking the time to cheer me with your very kind praise. I hope you are doing ok. Or, if you are not, I hope you have someone to help you in any way that they can.
Francesca
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creative1llusion said:
I’ve read about mental illness and it’s hard to deal with because many people just don’t get it. Suffering in silence is often my first option.
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batteredmd said:
I love the honesty that you bring to your blog.
A shattered shoulder and a shattered soul are side by side in human suffering. And both can be bettered by medical intervention.
As a physician with bipolar, I know that mental illness is a biological illness, that our emotions and thoughts are shaped by neurotransmitters firing in our brains, that our brains are our bodies. My life used to be dictated by my depressions. Now, when I take my meds, I feel better. When I don’t, I feel worse.
With medications, I am not disabled by my potentially disabling condition. I have a controlled mental illness. I am healthy.
I hope people who feel depressed do visit their doctors, and seek the healing that is possible.
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Francesca Milliken said:
Thank you for your thoughtful comments. Yes, I too hope that people who are feeling depressed will find ways to get help in any (healthy) way that they can.
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Tiffany (lifewithblondie) said:
I break coffee mugs. In fact I have penned a post about my broken coffee mugs but it sits as a draft just waiting to be published….
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Francesca Milliken said:
It’s nice to know that you liked the post. I hope you hit the publish button on your post soon.
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ScaleneSobriquet said:
hm, maybe it was the law of attraction. in a weird sense, you actually got what you wanted! don’t get me wrong, I mean, I definitely know how depression feels, or not-feels, as you describe. to be able to ‘pull yourself together’ or ‘think positive’ is impossible, and the feelings can only be accepted to be released…sometimes we need someone to listen and see us to do that, and maybe you got that, a little bit, from your experience. I hope so! I can’t remember how many times I wished something to happen, so that my ‘scars’ would show, an illness, or somebody to die. the irony is that when my dad passed away, I actually got that cathartic pull into and out of a lot of emotions. as if I knew, many years ago, that would happen… Feel Better! thank you for a good, thoughtful, important post.
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Francesca Milliken said:
My arm is doing a lot better. Thank you. I’m sorry about your dad. I hope you’re doing alright. Thank you for reading the post. I’m glad that you liked it.
Best,
Francesca
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jessiemags said:
Great post, loved every word.
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Francesca Milliken said:
I’m glad to hear it. Thank you.
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Jen said:
Thank you for sharing this. I think the hardest part of depression for me is just what you said. I have very few people in my life who know how broken I am inside. I just want someone to say “I see you and I understand and it’s ok”. I want to be believed and told that I’m not weak and that it’s ok. It’s ok if it doesn’t get better right now. And that it’s ok to not be ok. It’s ok to be broken. I hope things ease for you but I see you and I believe you. Sending hugs your way!
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Francesca Milliken said:
You are not weak and it is ok that you feel the way you do. Thank you for sharing and your willingness to show yourself as you are without apology.
Best,
Francesca
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theconsciencevote said:
Thank you for this – it’s so incredibly brave.
I only experienced that catharsis once. I was locked in that nothingness-place (and that is such a horribly perfect name for it), and a friend came to the rescue. He went to a charity shop and bought an armful of old vinyl records, dragged me out to the back yard and silently helped me break them, one by one. Then he sat with me and held me while I sobbed.
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Francesca Milliken said:
Stomping on and throwing vinyl records sounds like a lot of fun. What a great friend—both for the brilliant idea and for the literal and figurative support. Thank you for sharing your story.
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shagun1593 said:
I know how you feel….emptiness inside u….
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Francesca Milliken said:
Thank you for understanding.
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shagun1593 said:
Unlike the plates, life someday somehow does come together but yes, the cracks remain. Every person should be proud of such cracks.because cracks show that even when you broke, you somehow picked the pieces up and started anew..these cracks are.experiences, lessons that you learned and hardships that you conquered…Be proud of breaking those plates nd afterwards putting your life together.
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Francesca Milliken said:
Thank you for your comment. I agree that we all have cracks. Leonard Cohen’s words ring true—“There is a crack, a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.” Still, I think it is important to remember that life does not always come together for everyone.
Take care,
Francesca
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shagun1593 said:
Reblogged this on Confessions of a novelist.
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Broken Master said:
This sounds so much like me
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Broken Master said:
That empty feeling like someone tore a hole out of your heart and soul
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Francesca Milliken said:
Thank you for reading and for sharing your feelings honestly.
Take care,
Francesca
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beshkempir said:
Hi, thank you for this wonderful piece of writing – reading about the reality of brokenness as shown by the broken plates was very comforting to me. Also the honesty with which you let your words seek out the truth of your feelings is remarkable and shows you are a good writer. This is what good writing is about. Thanks.
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Francesca Milliken said:
You are very welcome. Thank you for reading and for your kind words. It really pleases me to know that you found the post at all helpful.
Best,
Francesca
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