Skydiving; Making depression my bitch

Today, 28th August 2020, marks two years to the day since I jumped out of a plane.

My Dad did the skydive at the same time as me (well, he jumped first which was terrifying to watch!) We were both reflecting on it when I saw him yesterday and it has made me want to find some words on here for what the whole experience meant for me. As it was more than just falling, it was an integral part of me making my depression my bitch.

I was diagnosed with depression and anxiety four years ago. My imagination would be so vivid (in the worst way) and I had the worst intrusive thoughts that made it difficult for me to gear myself up to drive anywhere. And I just felt heavy. Some days nothing would bring me any positive feelings. Even things I used to love. Other times I distracted myself from the weight and there were still happy twinkly moments. I carried it well, but the weight was always there. Very much heavier some days than others.

I opted for anti-depressants which were the shift I needed and they relieved the weight enough for me to feel more like me again. The meds made me feel strong enough to be able to learn more about myself, and more about the way I am wired. Introvert, highly sensitive, empath. Through the meds and through empowering myself, one day, I felt like I wanted to take back control from my mental illness. That weight had been a part of me for so long. Some days it had been so heavy it felt huge and like it engulfed every fibre of who I was. But I was bigger than it. And I was going to leave that weight in the clouds whilst jumping out of a plane.

My Dad and I had agreed that some part of us wanted to do a skydive 'one day'. And it reached a point where we decided to stop talking about it and book it and DO IT. We raised over £1300 for Mind charity in the run up, which felt incredible. The first time we turned up to jump, after days of mental preparation, it was cancelled due to the weather! Which apparently does happen frequently.

It was rearranged to a few weeks later. A rollercoaster of emotions and part of me wanted it to be cancelled again so I didn't have to do it. Here is my pre jump face when we were just about to get in the plane.

When the 28th August came, and we had flown up above the clouds, my instructor and I were the last ones in the plane to jump out. Adrenaline fuelled, I was terrified in every sense of the word. But the fact I overcame that level of fear and took control back over my brain rewired it slightly. I swear it did. I had 'Jump' by Van Halen in my head while I was in the plane. As I jumped I thought 'Maximum effort!' and channeled Deadpool. And then in the free fall I imagined that I was travelling by portkey! I was taking back my imagination from the anxiety and I was leaving my black cloud up in the sky. And it is the most empowering thing I ever did.

Well, second to bringing Violet in to the world. But even while I was giving birth I kept reminding myself that I had jumped out of a fucking plane and therefore I am a badass motherfucker that can do anything.

I have still had low times since. There has been a heavy darkness linger around since. This isn't a Disney story and it wasn't a 'cure'. I didn't for a moment think it would be. But it was a miraculous event. Life can still be heavy. VERY heavy. The difference is now that part of me feels like there is always something on the other side of those dark times. It doesn't take me too long now to recognise intrusive thoughts for what they are.

I haven't carried that weight since.

Please know you can make your depression your bitch, in your own way, too.

You are capable of doing hard things.

You can face fear.

You can beat fear.

You can celebrate 'small' victories.

It is time to fully explore the other sparkly parts of your soul.

By magnifying those other parts of you, you will leave less space for that darkness.

Your mental illness is just one part of the magical, multifaceted being that is you.

One day you can put the weight down. Believe it.