God won’t give you more than you can handle
by Julie Anderson
God won’t give you more than you can handle.
Who said that?
“Ok,” I tell myself just when I am about to snap like a dried up twig.
“I can handle this. I can do it.”
Bring it on. I am invincible!
The cracks started to show in the summer of 2015. I began to seep venom and bile. My words came out in a hateful rush. They sliced away at those near and dear. It was time.
I upped my regular psychologist sessions and added a psychiatrist.
I played music loud.
I worked out for two hours every day.
I took photographs.
I fought hard.
Seams about to pop. Uh-ho.
“Well, let’s try this. Take two of these in the morning and one of those by midday. They should help your mood and your depression.” said my Psychiatrist.
Onward ho!
Music played – even louder.
Nights filled with vivid dreams.
I don’t remember when the last time I dreamt was.
It was a welcome visual spectacle – even if those dreams were nightmares.
Then in December of 2015, to be precise, the dial of what I could handle was turned to max. I caught the first flight home, one of my parents was diagnosed with stage four cancer.
Landed. Rented a car, and pushed that little plastic box on wheels to 100 mph. Drove fast and furious after no sleep, straight to the hospital. Straight into the ER. That was the beginning of our 30-day visit. We celebrated Christmas, well not really, in ICU. Thirty days of brown water labeled coffee. Freezing temperatures. Broken hearts and tears.That was how 2015 waved goodbye, and that was how 2016 started. We were the lucky ones who still had our family member, who still was bedridden in the hospital. Thirty days. Funny how time drags when you are exhausted and scared.
It has become a ritual. Back and forth for me between east and west coast. Back and forth for my parents (and myself -when I am there) between Doctor appointments, chemo, MRI scans, blood work. Doctors and more Doctors, for them.
During the months that followed, I cried into the phone to my psychologist once a week and found my way to my psychiatrist office twice a month.
Not to worry, God only gives you what you can handle, right?
While on one of my kamikaze visits East during 2016, I picked up a return passenger. My oldest son. Brilliant, beautiful, funny, loving son. Who happens to be addicted to heroin. He asked for help. So he came home.
I finally had all three of my children with me. They are my life, well and truly.
All three are damaged in one way or another. Because of me, their father, society and of course the mental illness issues that they inherited. The nasty teeth of depression have sunk deep into my babies fragile souls.
AA, Narconon, family therapy … hey hey, we can do this!!
“Nothing is stopping us from healing, except ourselves,” I preached.
Cheering along my eldest, trying to hang onto my middle child before self-destruction was complete and holding close my youngest. Who am I kidding? Ours is a very dysfunctional home.
What a laugh. Really.
God only gives you what you can handle.
Onward. Ever onward.
Back and forth between east and west…
I go home every two months, to check in. Making sure the parents are behaving, taking care of themselves. Making sure I soak up more time with them.
Holding tight…my mother’s hand.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
Back on the couch with the psychologist.
“Look at you, be proud of yourself you are not falling apart. You are a different woman. Last year you were barely hanging on. In fact, I thought for sure. I would be visiting you in the psych ward!”
I started laughing. Hysterically. There is nothing left to do but laugh.
God only gives you what you can handle.
HA HA HA HAAAAAAAAA!!!!!
Shuffling behind my psychiatrist, I comment on her shoes. I am always chirpy and polite like that. Her door closes.
“How have you been?”
HAAAAHAHAHHAAHHAHHA!!!!
Straight shooter, I lay it all out in front of her. Each and every stinking turd that has been delivered.
“Hey, it’s just life you know?”
Then we get cracking on the real stuff. PTSD. Major Depressive Disorder. OCD. Cyclothymia.
“That is funny you should mention that.” I say.
“I don’t listen to music anymore. Food does nothing for me. My interest in anything other than sleep is MEH.”
God gives you what you can handle.
Once again there was a family emergency. West coast this time. For now, this development is finally all I can handle.
I have not left my house since. Well actually I have, but in disguise. Quickly doing the bare minimum, maybe every other day. My main focus is drop off and pick up, from the school bus. And to buy cat food and human food. It is torture. I can’t seem to bring myself to do any more than that, out in the world.
Sorry if I don’t return your phone calls. Sorry if my email replies arrive three weeks late.
No, I can’t join you for dinner, drinks or girl time. Sorry.
I have nothing to say.
I nothing to offer.
I am overwhelmed with emotion.
God gave me too much to handle, and now I have to take care of myself.
I hope that music returns, I used to love listening to it.
I hope that I smile again, I know that makes my children feel safe.
I wish that soon I will be able to go out into the world without crying.
I wish I could sleep without memories flashing behind my eyes like an episode of American Horror story.
In the meantime, I am walking slowly. Cement blocks strapped to my feet.
I am breathing shallow breaths of amber oil, the only thing that I like anymore.
I am giving the finger to water restrictions and taking one sometimes two bubble baths a day.
I have to wash it all off, all of it.
I use a rough Korean washcloth, sloughing off dead skin, and years of depression, its a two for one…. a bogo!
But the hysterics, the laughter, all gone.
It is not funny anymore.
God gave me too much to handle.
Doesn’t he know that I am a delicate person who feels too deeply, for too long and carries the world on my shoulders?
A friend once mentioned that the project she was working on left her feeling as if she were used. Her exact words:
“Too much effort, with little or no return.”
During these dark days, I feel the same way. Too much effort, with little or no return.
It is as if everything that I have done, invested time in, sacrificed – has blown up right in my face. That is what major depression does, it colors your world BLACK.
Sometimes, my gut tells me to walk away. Walk right out the front door of my life and thumb it straight to Alaska. There amongst the towering trees, exposed to the elements, the searing physical pain would finally come from the outside, instead of within.
All is not lost. I know that. It is the new year!
Julie Anderson 2016. Photo credit Bruce Hulse
Time to be a NEW ME! Time to be the NEW US!
My son, the addict, is currently thriving in a dual diagnosis center that offers sober living. I hope it beats heroin. With all my being I pray that he does.
My self-destructing middle child finally has the help that was desperately needed. Maybe the desire to cut will become a distant memory.
My youngest child is working on expressing emotions and identifying needs. Instead of self-medicating, the mode is to learn to self-regulate.
It sucks to be a teenager. It sucks to be a young adult. It sucks to be an adult, who happens to be a parent in this crazy world. (Especially, if you are a little bit crazy yourself.)
***
By the way, take another look at the picture accompanying this piece. See that? You can not tell that I am somebody with mental health issues, can you? If you saw my children you would not be able to see their demons either.
You never know what someone is going through.
Never underestimate emotions and the mind.
They can and do bite back.
“Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.”
– Khalil Gibran
Julie Anderson:
Julie is the creator and publisher of Feminine Collective. Formerly known as the “face” for countless luxury brands, during her reign as a 90’s Supermodel, she has lived and worked on every continent and has always been eager to learn more about the lives of all the individuals that she encounters. After all those years on the road, she considers herself extremely lucky to have found her “voice.” A reluctant wordsmith, avid amateur photographer, editor and creative director, she is also a proud mother of three.
She is a mental health advocate and is the managing director of the LifeAfter Project Inc., a non profit organization that provides educational content designed to inspire and spread awareness for suicide prevention, substance abuse and domestic abuse on a global scale.
Her latest Feminine Collective poetry collection, Love Notes From Humanity: The Lust, Love & Loss Collection, is available now. 15% of all proceeds go to the LifeAfterProject and is available now on Amazon (including some of Rachel’s new poetry!). Read more here.
Mary Rowen says
February 12, 2017 at 1:39 pmJulie, such beautiful words, but I hate your pain. It really dues suck to be a teenager and it can be so hard being a mom to them. I’m definitely a little crazy, and know I’m responsible for some of the stuff my kids are going through. But all we can do is our best. I will keep you and your lovely family in my thoughts and prayers and hope you get a break soon. XOXOXO
Julie says
February 13, 2017 at 9:06 pmHello Angel Mary –
Thank you for your compassion. Thank you for your understanding and sharing the fact that you can relate!!
Yeah, a break would be nice. When that happens I will be sure to give you a ring. We can celebrate!
xoxoxo J
Bill Donnelly says
February 12, 2017 at 3:51 pmYeah,. life’s rough when you’re as beautiful as you are.
Rachel Thompson says
February 12, 2017 at 4:43 pmDo you feel hard times or mental illness decide not to hit people just because of how they look on the outside? Give me a break, dude. What an insensitive comment. Sure, Julie won the genetic lottery, but that doesn’t mean her life is devoid of difficulties because of it. If you read anything she’s shared about her life on Feminine Collective, that’s actually the total opposite (considering she’s a sexual assault survivor a few times over).
Way to minimize and dismiss her life. And let’s not forget objectifying her. Good job.
DID YOU READ THE PIECE? Wow. I can’t tell if you’re jealous, insensitive, or completely lacking in empathy. I approved your comment so others can see how much education still needs to be done to remove mental health stigma, based on your statement that ‘pretty people can’t possibly have mental health issues.’ Good luck to you.
Julie says
February 13, 2017 at 9:15 pmRachel –
Thanks for sticking up for me. I appreciate you … I can not express that enough. Your vigilance, advocacy, and nonjudgemtal attitude is a gift. Maybe our disillusioned friend will learn a thing or two after reading your honest comment.
The world could use more “Rachels”
With gratitude –
xxx J
Mary Rowen says
February 12, 2017 at 6:05 pmAre you serious, Bill Donnelly? I’m not sure how old you are, but I hope you learn soon that a person’s exterior appearance tells you little or nothing about what they’re dealing with in life; if you read Julie’s essay, perhaps you’ll begin to understand.
Julie says
February 13, 2017 at 9:18 pmMary –
I feel bad for Bill. I have the feeling that he has never been shown kindness, empathy or genuine love.
That really can be the only reason in my mind that he would comment with unabashed ignorance.
Thank you again Mary – for being a true friend.
x J
C. Streetlights says
February 12, 2017 at 7:17 pmMental illness is no respecter of social status or beauty or any other perception of differentiation. It is a merciless bitch to everyone equally. Your comment shows such a depth of ignorance I’m embarrassed for you.
Julie says
February 13, 2017 at 9:20 pmC-
A merciless bitch. Amen to that. It really is. It is so sad that people like Bill hide behind their cyber personas and attack. I wonder if Bill is leading the life he wished for. I doubt it. I hope that he finds his soul one day. He could use it, I am sure.
Best-
J
Dori Owen says
February 12, 2017 at 7:45 pmWow, just wow, Bill Donnelly. Do you just look at pictures and not read words? This woman just shared what had to be a painful narrative of her past two years battling mental health issues while trying to be a good mother to children who need her and a good daughter to a father with a terminal disease. I am completely blown away by your heartless remark. It doesn’t sound like Julie feels very beautiful these days. Ah, if only a beautiful face guaranteed a perfect life. How easy that would be. I sincerely hope that you are not as superficial and unkind as you sound–and that you pay heed to the wise words offered to you here. We all need to be kind and supportive of each other because you REALLY don’t know everyone’s story.
Julie says
February 13, 2017 at 9:24 pmDori –
No, I do not feel beautiful at all. In fact, I never have. I have always been shrouded in shame, self-loathing and self-hate, along with the rest of the mental motley crew.
Beauty fades.
People like Bill are not evolved enough to recognize the inner-self versus the outer shell.
I appreciate your comment Dori and thank you for your understanding and empathy.
Best-
xx J
Judith Staff says
August 14, 2017 at 4:46 pmI read this blog months ago and was really moved by it. It was re-Tweeted tonight and I read it again. It had the same impact. Now, reading the comments for the first time – I’m even closer to tears. I feel so sad to think how callous people can be, even though I get that they probably are in a really hurt place themselves to behave that way.
Thanks so much Julie for sharing this, please know it is touching people in unreachable places. It’s lovely to read the support you have too, to reaffirm for all of us, it is absolutely okay to be not perfect, and it is magnificently courageous to say so.
x
H.M. Jones says
February 12, 2017 at 10:11 pmBill,
Try walking anywhere by yourself as a beautiful woman. That, in of itself, is actually pretty difficult. Harassment is every day for some and every life has its difficulties. Empathy goes a long way man.
Julie says
February 13, 2017 at 9:26 pmH.M.
Isn’t that the truth?!
‘Nuf said.
Thank you for reading my post and of course thank you for being a beautiful person that knows – EMPATHY.
xx
J
Julie says
February 13, 2017 at 9:12 pmBill-
Thank you for sharing your brief yet poignant comment. It is unfortunate that our society has multitudes of individuals that think the same way as you.
I hope that you will never be on the other side of idiotic judgment. I hope that you will never face ignorance in a time of need. I hope that one day you will realize that one should never be summed up based on their looks, sex, race, religious beliefs or socio-economic status.
Best to you.
J
Nicole Lyons says
February 15, 2017 at 1:58 amAre you for real? Your clever little comment is exactly what is wrong with this world, people like you make it difficult for people suffering to come forward, such asinine remarks lead to closed doors and harm. you should be ashamed of yourself and then you should shape up and stop being a jerk.
Jeet says
February 12, 2017 at 5:28 pmAmazingly good and heartfelt. How do you get relief ?
Julie says
February 13, 2017 at 9:30 pmThank you, Jeet for your compliment.
Relief? I don’t know. I am looking for it. It is “one day at a time” for me right now. I am trying to practice self-love. By doing little things for myself like reading a good book, or taking a walk.
And sometimes I resort to eating dark chocolate (and not stopping until its all gone!)
Best-
J
Jeet says
February 12, 2017 at 5:42 pmSo how to live with depression and explain to family , friends and colleagues that you simply cannot get up or smile. Or cannot help saying the wrong things. People never forgive you for a remark made in sadness ,confusion or immobility. Please be kind to depressed people. And do not take your friendship away. They are trying hard. Just ???? at the sale of anti depressants. Question.: if they worked would there still be so depressed. They work no better than a placebo. Read Marcia Agnell’s article in the New York review of books. Wish there was chat ???? room or a Meetup or a support group.
Julie says
February 13, 2017 at 9:31 pmYes Jeet!
#kindnessmatters
I will look into the article. Thank you!
Elaine Mansfield says
February 13, 2017 at 10:05 am(I refuse to be deflected by an off-hand crack from a man who said nothing worth hearing.) I remember a piece you wrote about your sick aging parents and the cold world of waiting and watching in hospital rooms when you needed to take care of yourself. But they needed you more. You wondered how you would do it–and then more got piled on. It cuts deep when our kids struggle. We give up everything to save them. In the midst of all of it , you wrote this gem of a piece and keep the Feminine Collective afloat. No small things.I hope you can see that. I’m sorry you’re going through soul-wrenching pain with suffering within and around you. I’m grateful there is some relief and help coming now. I wish you a song that makes your feet dance and your arms fling open wide.
Julie says
February 13, 2017 at 9:41 pmElaine-
Always such grace. I applaud your refusal to acknowledge off-hand cracks. It is so sad – when you think about how many “Bills” walk the planet.
Elaine, you always say the kindest words to me in regards to what I write. I appreciate your encouragement. I have not really claimed the “writers hat” – I would love to be able to convey emotions other than the ones that I have recently shared. I just can’t seem to break through the fog of sad. Writing about it seems to release some of the pressure on my heart.
Besides my parents, the kids… oh the kids… I saw it coming. I did. But the colors- I had no idea.
Your comment about me keeping Feminine Collective afloat – thank you for noticing. I live for FC. The writers, their stories, the poems… who they are as people, I love all of them. Without FC, I am sure I would be a puddle by now. Sharing people’s truth (s) it is a blessing for me. I will be forever humbled by the honor.
Elaine, when I find that ONE song – I will share it with you. I think you could use a good boogie yourself. We all could use just one moment of bliss….
Best to you – sending love
xx
J