A Highly Sensitive Person's View on Depression

If you watch a lot of the Highly Sensitive Person videos online, you may have heard about how HSP's maybe genetically more likely to develop depression by having the short/short allele for the serotonin transporter gene. Elaine Aron has also spoken a little on her website about HSPs and suicide. Still, I wanted to share my perspective.
Yesterday was Halloween which is normally a happy time, but yesterday was also the day I had a depressive episode. This is particularly surprising because I haven't had an episode that bad since the first time I had depression around a decade ago. When I was nine, my grandpa passed away and that was my first experience with death. It was February. By August my grandma had joined him, dying from what the doctors said was kidney failure and a blood clot but from what I knew was mostly in part of a broken heart from missing my grandpa. After that, I went numb.
Who can blame the fourth grader who just lost her two closest grandparents, one of them only a week or so before school started? There was no counselling other than throwing me into the hands of anger management who probably weren't qualified. I mean my home of Las Vegas is ranked number 1 as the worst school district area in America but what do I know. In the meantime, I was right at the age when young girls are likely to have some of the lowest self-esteem. My trait of high sensitivity left me without any friends. It left me alone.
I was left to ruminate which may or may not have made things worse. I felt pain but could barely identify it. I felt a lack of emotion. Perhaps sometimes I would smile or laugh but soon after I would slip back into a feeling of emptiness. I wanted to cease to exist. I believe in God and Heaven so I knew that dying would not be the end. And I wanted an end so as much as I wanted to commit suicide, even with that I was left to apathetically ask "what's the point?"
Over time, I healed. I was lucky. Very lucky. It was seasonal depression, not chronic. I was blessed.
Then there was yesterday. My parents had made comments about how they were "worried" about how I wasn't flirting with the boys I saw at church while in their presence and my brain translated their body language and words into "you are a freak who will never get married! You are a menace to society who blames her woes on everything except herself. You need to blame yourself. You need to marry the first guy you meet even if you have nothing in common, he doesn't know how to carry a conversation and he already has a girlfriend. Our antisocial child is diseased!"
And if Mom and Dad are reading this...yes..that is actually how I heard you. And I felt, completely attacked and completely hopeless. That wasn't a motivational speech. It tore me down in an instant. Is it any wonder that I quickly excused myself to go cry in the bathroom? And so the next day, Halloween morning, I had another depressive episode after 12 years since the last. That episode included hateful thoughts that even at the time I didn't think I should have been having as well as thoughts of suicide. Nothing elaborate but very sad. Depression is painful. It's like having your hands tied behind your back and getting an itch on your face. You don't really feel like you can do anything about your predicament. You tell yourself the itch is all in your head. And still, all you can do is think about that itch. And the more you think about it, the more itchy it gets. I imagine chronic depression must be like having your hands completely cut off and the itch turns into a full on rash.
Depression is like a fog. You see no hope, no future, no point. You don't have to feel sad because you also don't feel anything else. No happiness, no anger, no fear. But what you don't realize is that you're still in pain. Depression occurs when the brain is not getting enough or responding completely to the neurotransmitter serotonin. Serotonin "helps regulate sleep, appetite, and mood and inhibits pain". So when you don't get enough serotonin, you may eat more or less than you should, you may have swings in your mood that then drop and stay low, you may have trouble sleeping, and you will have much more mental pain.
Now for an HSP who repeatedly and deeply thinks over everything, especially one who feels alone, misunderstood, ashamed of their trait that they may not yet understand and/or has undergone a particularly stressful event, all while genetically predisposed for a greater likely-hood for developing depression, it's no wonder that we do. In fact, rumination typically makes a person's depression worse. And HSP's are definitely more likely to ruminate.
I'm feeling better. I've tried to do homework, think about other things, laugh, cry, eat some good food, and get the endorphins going during work by picking up the pace wherever I walk. By the end of Halloween I felt more alive. But going through a period where I couldn't feel happy even when my problems had all been sorted through was still really jarring. It's like coming home to find your house strip of all it's furnishings. You then find them all in the backyard and put everything back in place. Yes, everything is fixed per say. But, their is still a sense of unease from the initial fear that you might have been robbed.
That's the thing about sensory processing sensitivity. The experience is over but I can't stop thinking about it. So, I've written this post.

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So, I'm not the most active writer and most of my writing is really downing. Sorry about that. I'll try to do better. In truth, I live for the days when I am the most happy. I can recall moments of pure ecstasy that were caused by the simplest of life's pleasures. I like feeling safe. I personally enjoy jump scares for the thrill they give while momentary enough that I don't feel traumatized afterwards. I like good food and power walking. I like getting good grades even if I don't get things perfectly every time (or hardly ever).
Most of all, I love God and the atonement. I admit I have a really hard time connecting with people who think they are sensitive when they really aren't. There's a difference between not knowing and knowing that you don't know. I think this is what actually brought me closer to God. I know that I don't know everything. But God is omnipotent. He felt the pains we're going through, even high sensitivity. He walked where we are now walking and has come to help us carry our burdens if we just reach out to him.
The war in Heaven continues on the Earth today and I think depression is just one of Satan's tactics to tear us down. But God will win. Even in the midst of Depression's gloomy fog, I choose to fight for the cause of universal good that comes from our Heavenly Father.

Forgiveness is hard, especially when it means forgiving yourself

Boy is life hard. I'm not sure why I'm writing here again. I assume not many will read this. I stopped writing for a while because I just hadn't developed a habit. And I'm sorry.

So many times I say I'm sorry. I say the mistake is mine, even if part of me says that it isn't. I have things to say, and I'm afraid of hurting others when I say them. And more still, I'm afraid of getting hurt again.

There is a person I love who blows up at the littlest things which is hard when those little things are being misread by that person. I may be a little put out because someone else snapped at me and then this person automatically gets angry because I didn't say good morning back to them. They then yell at me saying that I will not ruin their day because of MY bad attitude. Then they compare me to people that they feel have wronged them in their past, taking out old problems on me. While I sit there: confused, hurt, and in tears.
I'm hurt because they took it the wrong way, I'm hurt because their reflexive response was to get angry, yell and attack me with their words because they think that I hurt them first when the problem had nothing to do with them in the first place. I'm hurt because they never stop to ask my side of the story and blame me for not agreeing with their differing point of view. I'm hurt because they think that because they don't hit and they don't swear, that what they are doing is okay when in fact it still feels like abuse. But most of all, I'm hurt because I believe their words. It is all my fault. Even when it's not my fault, it's my fault. The words that echo are that others can't offend you, you can only choose to be offended. I am left asking why because that still feels wrong! But still I hear it enough that at times I being to believe it. Why!? Why couldn't I have just said good morning!? Why couldn't I remember that they react like this all the time? all through my life? Why couldn't I have let go of what hurt me earlier? And now why are all the memories of when this person did this before, coming back to haunt me. Why can't I let go? I'm trying.

I'm trying to forgive others, but it's so hard to forgive others when you believe it when they say it is all your fault. Of course it's my fault. Everyone has faults. And I would love to admit that I have faults. But it still hurts when the other person puts all the blame on you. It hurts me when I see others placing a scapegoat on anyone. And I know their is no running away from this because this person is such an integral part of my life who I love. That's why it hurts so much. It hurts the most when it's coming from the person you feel you should love most. Then I'm left asking myself if I really love them. Love means wanting others to be happy, not wanting them to make you happy. I suppose I do want them happy. But it's so hard to want that when it feels like they don't want you to be happy. Perhaps I read too much into things but that's where I am. I need a chance to forgive myself. I need a way to forgive them. And I need a way to prevent these interactions from happening again without them noticing. They won't listen because they can't.

Can't can't can't. It's nobody's fault if they just physically can't. Right? Being a highly sensitive person means I notice things. And I have to remember that just because I can see something doesn't mean that someone else can or ever will. That doesn't make what they did right, or what I did wrong. Everyone grows at their own paces. In these times I turn to God.

I have felt lonely. When you are no longer a kid, there is no longer a person to turn to for words of wisdom other than God. My testimony is strong. But I can still feel lonely. I'm used to growing up in a chaotic household where something always held my attention, even to the point when I wasn't able to express my own self. And the times when I got out into the world I felt awkward and unsocial and then despised myself for it. But growing up you realize that most kids are awkward and unsocial and goofy and embarrassing because that's just a part of growing up. The bullies of childhood fade away the farther we move away from them. I see a brighter future simply because I know that I am moving forward, farther and farther away. It's painful to know that some things follow you for life. But it's what we make of it right?   I...
I want to heal. Truly heal. I want to go through life with a smile on my face and warm fuzzies in my heart while my soul soars. I want to go through the rest of my life without fearing the return of depression. I want to live an intricate, beautiful, adventurous life. And I know there will be hard days, but I hope I can get through that too. I want to be able to get back up every time that life knocks me down.
Forgiveness means fixing your history. True forgiveness takes time. I just hope God can help me through the process. And while their is no promises about whether I get hurt again, I do hope that I can keep forgiving. Them and most especially myself.

If anyone does read this, this is my life. This is what feeds both the light and the dark of my personality. This is the core of my yin and yang. A balance of pain and joy that creates peace. I am young and old. I'm an adult but still a student. I am happy and sad. I am smart and stupid. I am beautiful as well as ugly. I am conservative as well as outgoing. I am creative as well as blocked. I am cool as well as lame. I am as lost as I am found. My hope is to be well rounded, and I think I'm getting there.
If anyone does read this, I ask what is it that you need to forgive? Look at it closely. Try to see the other points of view, honestly, without lying to yourself. Then forgive. And if you find you're having trouble, then try forgiving yourself. I believe in you.

Day 3 - Enduring to the End

I woke up an hour late today. I flew out of bed, texted my boss saying I would be a few minutes late, threw on the first clothes I laid hands on, threw my hair up in a clip, grabbed a cup of applesauce and a cup of cherry limeade and hurried out the door. I ate in the car and hurried to work. But I forgot to pray. I didn't even notice at first, but as the day progressed and I struggled to get the many tasks of the day done, I became irritable and stressed. This at times turned to anger.
Near the end of my day, I managed to get myself to attend the temple. As I prayed at the end of my experience sitting in my car in the parking lot, I felt a great peace of the spirit. But I was only home for a short while before the anger came back. And unsurprisingly for myself, I began to hate myself for having such irrational anger. I began to study gospel teachings and finally began to cry. I felt guilty for crying.
How is it we can strive so hard to be good and cherish the ideals of perfection and yet fail so easily?
I have a testimony that I know the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints is God's true gospel restored upon the Earth once more with full priesthood keys handed/provided by proper authority. I hope for it in my heart and I have faith in it through the facts and logic and many truths that I have seen in my life. I have a testimony that it is true and I hope for blessings, but the question is whether I really believe that I will receive blessings. It isn't that God isn't willing to give, it's that Satan pulls me into a position where I don't feel worthy to accept these kindnesses. This, this has to, this has to be the definition of low-self esteem right? How isn't I can feel so good and then drop so low? I know I can feel greater happiness in exchange for feeling bad now, but it can be hard to remember the light when life gets so dark.
It comes back to prayer. So little, so easily forgotten, and yet so vastly important. I recall how it's not about how you get knocked down; it's how you get back up. So I'm getting back up. I'm starting with this journal entry. And I will try again tomorrow. Tomorrow, I am going to say my morning prayer and make sure it is meaningful. This was my rant, my cool down, and my testimony. Bad days come to an end, and I hope that I can endure it well. Amen.

My Challenging Ordeal with Grief as a Highly Sensitive Child

First off I would like to share this great Ted-talk I found today that really explains the highly sensitive person.

For my blog/journal today:
I have learned so much about myself in the past two years since I learned about the highly sensitive person. But I also have to remember that for 19 years of my life, I lived without this information and thus still hold onto negative experiences within my subconscious. I have to admit that living in the culture of the United States left me oft times alone, frustrated, bullied, afraid, and depressed. I have to know what's holding me back if I want to move forward.

To begin, I had a nightmare when I took a nap today. Nightmares are not uncommon for me. I call them nightmares but maybe a better term is just a bad dream. Either I do something in the dream that I immediately regret upon waking or I get stressed over a dream situation, or I get scared.

My family had a lot of Disney Movies that we watch throughout my childhood and plenty of church cartoons. But surprisingly, we also watch a lot of Jurassic Park. This haunted my childhood with constant dreams of dinosaurs hunting me in incredibly vivid dreams, some of which I remember to this day. For most of my life my worst fear was the Utah Velociraptor. Finally, amidst adulthood, I am no longer afraid of Velociraptors and no longer have dreams about them. Now, instead of nightmares about things that give me physical harm, I am left to fight those of emotional/psychological harm.

My nightmare today was my mother was refusing to understand my side of a situation and refused to acknowledge/validate my emotions. I ended up frustrated, deeply hurt, and waking up crying. There is a few things I can learn from this. One is that subconsciously I am still having a hard time forgiving my mother for not understanding my side of situations when i was growing up and maybe I still feel like she doesn't fully accept/understand me. We get along better now that I'm older but that may be because I know how to better communicate my needs. Two is that subconsciously, my new fear is one where I am never able to have others understand me, especially when those people happen to be the ones I love most. How do I move forward?

An animal that feels hurt or threatened will typically respond with either running away or turning to fight. For the social animal that is the human, running away is not always an option. Instead, we have sadness with crying and accomplishing nothing, anger which does something but isn't always positive especially when the one hurt is unable to properly defend themself given the situation, or depression where all hope for defending yourself if gone and you wait for death.

As a kid I was deeply attached to my Nana who was always kind, loving, comforting, and held onto a ready supply of sugary and fatty foods. Nana's husband, my dad's stepdad and my Papa, was sweet and gentle although growing weaker throughout the years. Papa died February 4, 2004, when i was nine. I was deeply affected, being a highly sensitive person and this being my first experience with death. My pain is only recorded in a single picture that is a little washed out. We were told to smile for the photo, and I was left thinking "how could anyone smile right now?" I'm the one in grey. I remember I felt very self-conscious about it because that was the only black I owned. I still own that necklace. My eyes look glazed over. A mixture of mourning and shock I suppose. This would be the end of third grade.
 

But things got worse before they got better. My Nana so grieved the loss of her husband that she passed away six months later. I cried a little, but not the same way as I did for my papa. When it comes to the four stages of grief, I was in the rationalization saying I didn't cry for this or that reason. But that was only a few weeks before fourth grade started. I became holistic and easily angered, especially by things I deemed unfair. That landed me in anger management class where I honestly believe that Clark County School District has no idea what they are doing when it comes to the social well-being of their students. No one told them that I had just lost the two people who meant the most to me in the world next to my own parents. No one told them I was deeply grieving and merely following the cycle that any adequate psychologist could easily picked up. No one batted an eye when the most well behaved, quiet, smart, religious little girl became a ball of hate and anger who wanted to scream at the world. "Hit a pillow" they said "walk away from the situation". That's all just crap. They never once stopped to listen to the kid's sides of the story. I wonder now how many of those boys in anger management, with rough personalities, and dirty clothes, were acting out because they were coming from unhealthy home lives. Did anyone ask them if they were fed every day? Did anyone ever ask them if they even have access to a shower, let alone a parent dedicated to helping them with their homework every night? This is a major flaw in the system. One that can be fixed if adults would stop putting everyone is presupposed boxes and just LISTEN

I learned to hate that anger management class more than anything else. But again, things got worse. My grandpa, my mom's dad, passed away seven months after my Nana in March of 2005. We found out at my brother's pinewood derby and had just begun feeling happy again. I don't remember too much of fourth grade other than getting an award for reading the most books. Those books were a place of adventure and mystery away from reality. Fifth grade I was bullied or picked on. It was easy for other students to get a reaction out of me. Anger management told me that I was never allowed to be angry under any circumstance. Crying got me picked on. And soon I developed mild depression. I tried to cut off my emotions in order to limit my sensory intake and stop my pain. But in reality all it did was leave me exclusively with my pain, only now I was also accompanied by suicidal thoughts.
It's common to have a routine for the highly sensitive child because it proves to be very beneficial (which is one thing my mom got right pretty quickly), but the routine completely collapsed in fifth grade. I ended up with three different teachers throughout the year that at least in my area of the country is deemed the worst year in school. The first teacher we had was decent besides not dealing with the bullying, but she stopped teaching us and even pretending to address the bullying when she found out she was going to be a vice-principle at another school. She wanted out and fast. The second teacher was a male long-term sub. For once we started learning, and the bullying calmed down because the boys were more well behaved with a man in the classroom. But good things don't always last. The real new teacher, the third one, showed up a few months later than the school had originally decided. The school had just pulled her from first grade. She had no clue how to handle and teach fifth graders. And she was ridiculous. In order to "discourage" students from using the bathroom, she put a full sized toilet seat on a string and called in the bathroom pass. I decided then and there I would rather wet myself than use it, and immediately almost every boy in the class wanted to use the bathroom, coming back with claims of how they actually used that toilet seat. My emotions were all messed up going into middle school but the change was a blessed relief, with rotating classes and my beginning of learning the flute in band which provided intellectual and creative simulation. Middle school still had it's ups and downs, but I was finally able to gain a better control over my emotions in a healthy way. I began to flourish again. With steady progress and using my pain to guide me, I became more aware of the world and what I wanted from it.

I mentioned in my last post that my mom once said that I lack motivation. But that's not completely true. It's just that I am motivated to do other things than the average person. I've watched Ted-talks that clearly explain how to become a self-made millionaire within a few short years. And I believe I could do it. But I don't want to. Money can't buy happiness and I know that because I know what happiness it. I know what true happiness is because I know what true sorrow is. In the meantime, I am working toward a career as an actuarial scientist. I'm good at math but not overly invested in it and actuarial work doesn't seem too stressed so it feels like the perfect career for gradual growth. Then, with my free time, I will be able to express my creative side at a leisurely pace. I don't want to be a millionaire because then I wouldn't have anymore motivation to work and get up in the morning. I need a schedule.

Now, I can honestly say that while I have low days, I am not depressed. I am trying to heal myself by actually acknowledging my past and it's affect on me. My dark days gave me a perspective on life that maybe not everyone see and that perhaps most don't appreciate. My pain gave me a level of grounding that allows me to climb to greater heights with fewer fears. I've written a lot. But I would like to say that sometimes the greatest beauty comes from the harshest of trials. Working with others is essential to society, but that doesn't mean that I can't sometimes break free and be creative, using my own unique gifts to help society move forward rather than just remaining stationary. As a highly sensitive person, I experience pain a lot deeper than the average person, but likewise I also experience the most exquisite joy. It is my choice to appreciate this experience, even if at times I have felt others think I should not. Which is understandable to a certain degree. If you don't feel as much joy, you won't feel as much sadness, or pain. They may ask isn't it better to feel numb than to feel pain? After my experience with depression I can give a wholehearted NO. It is better to feel pain than to feel numb. Because following the pain is catharsis, and following catharsis is the opportunity to feel joy that broadens the imagination and develops your creativity toward making you into a unique individual who can, at the end of the day exclaim, "I exist! I am alive! And I am living my life with hope for a better tomorrow which starts today!"

I am currently 21, and will graduate from Brigham Young University sometime in the next year or so. And I can see just how far I've come. I'm no longer so self-conscious, I'm no longer depressed, and I'm no longer adrift wondering if there was something wrong with me for feeling the way I do. I am a highly sensitive person. I have had a hard life and expect that life will continue to give me grief along the way. But for now, I can smile.

Real Struggles of a Highly Sensitive Person

The uniqueness that comprises the Highly Sensitive person is a result of "sensory processing sensitivity". This is found in 15-20% of the population, including men, women, children, and over 100 other species. Despite growing evidence that this is very real and very common, many are reluctant to admit that it is normal. And that really hurts. Especially when those who are reluctant to admit that this trait can provide wonderful blessing happen to be your own family members.

Being highly sensitive means taking in the same information that everyone else does but playing it through our heads in closer detail in order to gain a better overall picture and come to more precise (and hopefully helpful) conclusion. Thus, compared to others we don't think quite as fast on our feet unless the conversation is already going slowly. In which case, given time, we can prove to be very witty, creative, and funny. In more chaotic environments, we feel like we are drowning as our brains are still attempting to deeply process EVERYTHING that is going on.

Still, take a look at the definition again. Information is being recorded in our brains to find the nitty-gritty details. This comes with side effects that can be seen as good or bad. One of the best ways to remember something is when it is connected to emotions. Thus, highly sensitive persons can have very strong emotions and feel empathy very strongly in social situations. Parents of a highly sensitive child many not understand this and are thus unable to fathom why we are so emotional and why we become so emotionally tied to things. It's because we have our mind and heart set on something that causes us to always be perfectly obedient. Telling a child to "do as I say not as I do" only works so far when to a child they feel the grownup's reasoning is faulty. It isn't because we are out right defying anyone; it's just that we feel we know enough to make our own choices are our hearts are leading us down a different path. Our minds have thoroughly processed the situation in a way that we feel we are right. To a highly sensitive child who see a beautiful glass figurine in a Disneyland glass shop, the light and colors of it entrances us. We thoroughly long to touch it in order to feel that beautiful thing within our own hands. To a child, breaking the glass is the last thing on their mind because "who would EVER want to break that beautiful thing?" and the first thing on their mind is "who wouldn't want to examine that figurine more closely?"  So when they keep to pick it up while a parent simply says "no" can you really blame them? They don't know that it is against the rules to pick it up and they don't know consequences the store might do to them if they pick it up. It doesn't mean they are right, it doesn't mean the parents are wrong, but there is a lack of solid communication. This leads to tantrums.

A tantrum happens when a child doesn't feel they are being understood, which typically happens when they don't get their own way. Personally, there was a lot of miscommunication in my family. For a highly sensitive child, fully explaining you side of a story is hard, and being told no about something they consciouly or unconscouly had their heart set on leads to complaints. A parent may then firmly tell a child the thing the child needs to understand. But what parents don't understand is that to the highly sensitve person, the way you say it plays just as much a role. Tell a child nicely and redirect his or her desire and you will see a more positive result: "no dear, I know that must look so much fun to play but this is not meant touching because the store may get mad, but look at the other cool stuff we can play with over here!" Tell a child firmly/sternly, "no, don't touch, that's against the rules," and you will quickly find that your highly sensitive child has just burst into tears in a total meltdown. The more meltdowns you get, the more you loose your patience which your child can detect which leads to more instances where the child thinks you hate them, and the you have more meltdowns. It is a decending cycle. Worse still, is when your highly senstive child begins to just stop having tantrums without changing the communcaiont because this leads to increases in failed relationships when these children grow up to becomes teens.

In my mom own words, "Tabatha, I could just tell you no, and you would burst into tears. You would cry at the drop of a hat." It's true I had tantrums for years, a frequently cried everyday, and eventually every other day (which isn't too much better) until six grade. I was bullied because the others students could easily get a reaction out of me, which made them feel better about their own lives. I didn't make many friends for four reasons. One, other students didn't want to be around someone so emotional, which while completely understandable, is also incredibly lonely at times. Two, I could read other students emotions so well that I knew when a relationship wasn't meaningful and so I felt maybe a little like I was being lied to, so I didn't always want to be their friends. Three, the few kids who really wanted to be my friend were so socially awkward and broke SO many social rules that my high sensitivity gave me a lot of social anxiety whenever I was around them. Four, my neighborhood that I moved to the summer when I was four, didn't have many other children who stuck around for too long due to the housing market in Las Vegas. Either their parents were more eager to buy that bigger house, or they foreclosed. There were a few kids who stuck around for a while who were my age, but they were ALL boys and for a little girl, this ...this did not work, plus I didn't own a skateboard (but one of those boys did give me a football..I wonder if I still have it because I'm sure I wouldn't have given it away). Anyway, I did lonely. My own siblings didn't always want to play with me because I just seemed so immature to them. This is, again, understandable, but it still hurts. Still, the rarest flowers grow in adversity. I learned how to make temporary friends which entails knowning how to introduce myself, how to know what to talk about to strangers, and how to easily start up a meaningful conversion effortlessly, which really benefits you when you get older.

Anyway, this is a long post. But I just wanted to get started in writing. I belong to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, also known by the nickname of the Mormons. We are typically encouraged to read our scriptures and pray everyday, which is not unexpected. But we are also encouraged to write in a journal every day. I have never been good at this. Over time I see why a journal was a good idea in the sense that I would probably have better handwriting than I do now when I hardly have to write anything other than notes from my classes. I digress. I never felt like I had anything to say before, but now I do. So this is my journal, my thoughts, my beliefs. And just like the body changes with time, so will my opinions. My high sensitivity led me to many hardships throughout my life that I will write about in the future. But I want to always make the point that it has blessed me with a life filled with richness.