When the Green Cloud Catches Up
If I were making a movie about depression, it would open like this:
A person walks toward the camera with energy, a little bounce in their step. Behind them, a rolling green cloud swirls on the horizon, much like a haboob out in the desert. The music is light at first, hopeful even. Then suddenly it shifts—dark, sharp, unsettling. The cloud speeds up, swallows the walker, and everything changes.
That’s how depression feels when it overwhelms me. No warning grumpiness, no strange aches or pains to hint it’s coming—just POW. One minute I’m fine, the next I’m knocked flat.
I sit down, and the negative thoughts rush in. Why is everything so hard? Why did this disease choose me? What can I do about it?
And to make matters worse, the world outside doesn’t help. It feels like every commercial, every ad is screaming about dread and anxiety, trying to sell me something as if fear were a product line. Some days it feels like the sky really is falling.
Lately, I’ve been struggling to regain that more positive mindset—the one where I remind myself that at least I can use my brain to keep my body as active as possible. But depression makes that so much more complicated.
When I dig into why I’m feeling so heavy, two big culprits rise to the surface: our broken healthcare system and the endless battles with insurance.
My doctors rarely answer the messages I send them. They’re fielded by staff I’ve never met, shuffled to some faceless “referral team” that knows nothing about me or my rare disease. Recently, I asked for a referral to a vascular neurologist. I even gave them a name from my own research. Instead, they sent me to an interventional radiologist at a neurosurgery practice, I suppose simply because the business name was in the same system as my primary care doc. I’m sure he is excellent at what he does, but not at all what I need, which is the management of complicated presentations of small vessel disease, electrolyte issues, IBM, and more.
So I continue to dig on my own, chasing down the possibility of finding a doctor who is an expert in what I need and whom I can trust. It’s bad enough how hard it is to find a physician within driving distance who is taking patients and bills your insurance. You also need to believe that they still engage in the critical thinking required of physicians, stepping outside algorithm-produced treatment plans and delving into the complexity of your situation. Needle in a haystack? It shouldn’t be. There must be clinicians who love doing medicine - solving the mystery - watching people regain their health.
There are preventative treatments that have actually helped me. They keep my grip stronger, my swallowing safer. When I had to stop for five weeks, those abilities slid backward. But getting insurance to acknowledge, let alone pay for them, is like shouting into a void. Claims disappear. No approval, no denial, no tracking number. Just silence. Last year, I paid nearly $15,000 out of pocket. How long can I keep that up? Why can’t they say whether they will or will not cover the claims? It’s just another thing that feels like putting energy into a black hole, the gravity of it draining me.
And on top of all that, there’s the loss of independence. I don’t drive anymore. I need rides for everything. Daily tasks require workarounds. I feel trapped. And worse—I feel inadequate. I see the pain in my husband’s eyes, the quiet worry in my children’s. They help me so much, but I can’t shake the guilt of knowing they wish they could fix this for me, and I wish I could make their burden lighter.
That green cloud of depression is real. It’s heavy. And some days, it feels like it wins. But by naming it—by writing it down—I take at least a little of its power away.
I remind myself that clouds do pass, even the big rolling ones. I may not be able to control when they arrive, but I can keep walking forward. I lean on my family and my stubborn streak. I hold tight to small victories—like finishing a puzzle, finding a laugh in the middle of frustration, or simply getting through another day.
My depression tries to convince me I’m inadequate. But the truth is, I’m still here, still pushing back against a disease that takes more than it ever gives. And maybe that, in itself, is proof that I’m stronger than I feel on the hardest days.
If you’ve ever felt the weight of that green cloud too, know this: you’re not alone.
We may not always be able to chase it away, but we can keep walking forward together.
“All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”
— J. R. R. Tolkien
We have a bookshop store HERE where you can find books Linda has read, or that look helpful for folks dealing with chronic diseases of various kinds.
This blog post is based on personal experiences and is not meant to provide medical advice.
Always consult your healthcare professional for personalized guidance on your health journey.
