Depression

Uninvited Guests

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On occasion, I have been known to entertain some interesting visitors. I really don’t like them and if the truth be told… I wish they would just go away. They aren’t welcome and never really were, but they show up unannounced anyway.

It’s not like they are spending every free moment with me. They usually don’t bother me during the day when I’m busy at work. It is during my nights when they really make their presence known. Maybe you know them. Maybe they’ve visited you too at an inopportune time… they are notorious for that.

Their names are: What-If, If-Only and Why-Me. Have you heard of them? They are quite the terrible trio and whenever they visit, they always want to party. They know how to take a perfectly nice evening and turn it upside down. They’re LOUD, obnoxious and rude. They especially like popping in when everything is quiet and I’ve settled down with my journal or a good movie or book. They dance around my home and call me names to get my attention.

What-If likes to play this annoying little game with me. He shows me a scenario in my life that has actually occurred (a negative one of course) and then proceeds to show me ALL of the other seemingly BETTER ways the same scenario could have played out If-Only… And this is where he joins in on the fun.

If-Only whispers in my ear ALL of the things I COULD have done differently so that the scenario in question might have had one of those better, more desirable outcomes. If-Only likes to dangle his favorite toys in front of my face: Lost Opportunities, Past Possibilities and Roads-Not-Taken. And he will not rest until I reach out my hand and grab hold of one or all of his tempting little trinkets.

Why-Me is a bit more shy, but is actually the worst of the bunch. He usually hangs back to wait and see how the other two have fared in engaging me. He is not one to force himself on me. He knows that when What-If and If-Only have done their jobs well, and sufficiently gotten my attention, it is only a matter of time before I approach him.

Why-Me LOVES to play dress-up. When I come to him, he is ready and waiting with a heavy coat made out of the fabric of Misery and Self-Pity. This he likes to drape across my shoulders. It weighs me down and is dreadfully uncomfortable to wear. I always end up slogging around, shoulders stooped beneath the weight of the garment, unable to move. When I am aptly dressed, Why-Me stands back and smirks… knowing that he too has made the most of the visit.

You can see why these 3 are such annoying and unwelcome guests. They aren’t the least bit fun and their shenanigans leave me totally drained, exhausted and spent. After they’ve gone, I spend the next several days cleaning up after them because of course they never visit without making a total mess of things.

I do, however, have a couple of friends who—when I think to invite them—do an amazing job of keeping those 3 trouble makers at bay. Their names are Gratitude and Contentment. And the 5 of them actually cannot even exist in the same room. I really should call them more often and invite them over. I’m positive that they are such loyal friends… they’ll even HELP me clean up the mess next time.

“There is no witness so dreadful, no accuser so terrible as the conscience that dwells in the heart of every man.”

Clinical Trials?

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Every other day some drug company announces that it has a new product and is conducting a clinical trial. These companies attempt to solicit potential lab rats for their experiments by advertising on TV, radio or the internet. It seems that any “eligible and willing participant” (whatever THAT means) will be compensated, usually in the form of cash, for their involvement in said trial.

I usually don’t pay much attention to these commercials as I have never been willing to apply, insert, inject or ingest some unknown substance manufactured by a company who feels the need to advertise to the GENERAL public that they are in want of “test subjects.” However… one commercial DID capture my attention recently.

I heard on the radio that someone (I really don’t know who or what organization) is looking for individuals who are currently or have at one time been on prescription anti-depressants. They want to test “several new types of antidepressants” on any depressed person who is “eligible and willing” between the ages of 18 and 65. I don’t know about you, but this scares the hell out of me that there could be diagnosed, already-depressed people LEGALLY walking around out there on EXPERIMENTAL, mood-altering substances, and getting paid for it!

From previous posts, anyone reading this ought to know by now that I am certainly NOT anti-anti-depressant. I have freely admitted to using and benefiting from them… under the careful observation and supervision of a REAL medical doctor or psychologist!! It is typically a risk starting any mood-altering medication, even under the best of circumstances and surveillance. There’s a reason those drugs carry black-box warnings you know. There is no way to anticipate how any given psychotropic drug is going to affect you physically, cognitively, emotionally and mentally. However, with a prescribing doctor nearby, an informed person can usually get through any trouble that may occur during the initial start-up period.

It seems alright to me for people to try a new energy drink or diet supplement or appetite suppressant here and there… or a ground-breaking skin cream for acne, psoriasis, stretch marks or eczema… Some unique teeth-whitening paste… A potion that promises a potential cure for baldness… that’s OK. But I’m sorry… no good could possibly come from something “experimental” being marketed to an already vulnerable, clinically depressed population.

See, the thing is… with the earlier mentioned items… what’s the worst that could happen? An upset stomach, vomiting, constipation, diarrhea, abdominal pain, excess gas and bloating, flatulence, headache, skin rash, hives, itching, dry-skin, oily-skin, scaly skin, weight gain, weight loss, hair loss, tooth loss, dry mouth, sleeplessness, restlessness, ringing in the ears, difficulty breathing, tightness in the chest, swelling of the mouth, face, lips or tongue, chest pain, dark urine, fast, slow or irregular heartbeat, fever, chills, sore throat, swelling of the hands, ankles or feet, unusual bruising or bleeding, excessive tiredness, vision changes, muscle soreness, strange watery discharge, night sweats, numbness, nose bleeds, bleeding out the eyes… that stuff is child’s play compared to what might happen when you carelessly tinker with the chemistry of the brain.

Just imagine someone participating in this highly-solicited clinical trial who is a crane operator, taxi-driver or middle-school teacher… ALL of which are extremely perilous jobs. HELLO!? Does the idea of this stuff being offered up to any psychologically-medicated person within earshot of a radio scare anyone else? Or is it just me?

Perhaps I am paranoid.

Maybe I should give that 1-800 number a call. I could use the extra cash.

The Door Is Open

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I once heard that if you keep an animal locked up in a cage for a long period of time and then one day you just open the door, many times the animal—although free to leave—will choose to stay within the confines of that cage.

I don’t know about anyone else, but I can relate to that. No one has ever literally locked me away in a cage. Though some may have wanted to… But I realize that from time to time, I have placed myself in one. I have allowed myself to feel imprisoned by my circumstances and although the door to my self-constructed “cage” stands WIDE open, all too often I have chosen to stay curled up inside.

Recently I was reminded that life is not merely a series of things that happen to us, as though we are endless victims of circumstance. But rather LIFE is whatever we choose to make it. It is something to grab on to while experiencing ALL the freedoms that truly belong to me…

Freedom to be happy in any and all conditions. Freedom to reach for the stars. Freedom to strive for everything I’ve ever wanted rather than merely accepting the view from between the black bars of a cage that I constructed all by myself.

Just in case I forget to be happy,
I want to remember that I have a choice. 

Just in case I forget what I’m saying,
I want to remember that I have a voice. 

Just in case I forget where I’m going,
I want to remember that I hold the map. 

Just in case I forget to walk freely,
I want to remember life isn’t a trap.

Stormy Seas

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“Calm seas don’t make good sailors.”

I read that once on a sign that I used to pass everyday on my way to work. I took a second to absorb it and then nodded my head in agreement that it is not the good times or the quiet times or the all-is-right-with-the-world times that make us who we are. It is the tough times that ultimately develop and define us.

That concept doesn’t exactly leave one with a “warm fuzzy” feeling. It kind of stinks to know that in order to be a better person, I am going to have to face difficulties and trials. But it is so true. And my not liking it won’t make it any LESS true.

So after I’m done lying down crying, kicking, screaming, yelling and feeling sorry for myself about how NOT FAIR (insert name of said trial or tribulation here) is… I usually pick myself up, dust myself off, and try to move forward while considering what valuable lesson can be gleaned from the unfortunate circumstance.

But sometimes it isn’t always that easy to just “learn our lesson” and move on. Some things are going to be SO big, so earth-shattering, so knock-you-on-your-ass devastating that it isn’t possible to simply alter our behavior, adjust our attitude or modify our thinking.

I have learned that sometimes we will have to sit in the dark while the storm rages all around us, knocking things down and forever changing the landscape of our lives. Sometimes we will have to cling to whatever vestiges of peace we can find when the sky overhead cracks open and the rain falls and thunder rattles our very foundation. Sometimes there isn’t going to be an easy way out. Sometimes we will just have to WAIT it out.

And that waiting can be the hardest part.

But I guess in those times—in those waiting periods—we can take heart that something IS happening! We are silently changing, growing and being refined. We become acquaintances of Sorrow. We have developed relationships with Patience, Perseverance and Stillness. So when the winds cease, the waters calm and the sun shines down on us again, no matter how long we remain in the center of that storm… we will be forever changed… for the better.

And when we open our eyes, we will find that we are not empty-handed. Rather, our arms have been filled with tools. Tools that will help us build a shelter for our friend when it is their turn to ride out the storm.

“Shoulding” On Ourselves

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There is a little-known occurrence reaching epidemic proportions and running rampant through our culture these days. This problem may be affecting you or someone you know in some very harmful ways. Perhaps you’re already familiar with it… it’s called “Shoulding,” and it is a dangerous thing. I was first introduced to this concept by my mother who was frequently telling me that it is never productive to “should” on yourself. And even though she reminds me (almost daily) NOT to SHOULD on myself… I still do it.

It starts out harmless enough… with a few benign statements such as: I should clean my house. I should do some laundry. I should pay some bills. I should balance my checkbook. I should wash the windows. I should wash the car. I should wash the kids. These statements in and of themselves aren’t harmful. They can actually serve in a helpful manner by prompting us to take care of those things in our lives which need to be taken care of. However, there is a much darker side to “shoulding”… and this is the side that we ought to be concerned with.Let me demonstrate by sharing some personal “shoulds” I have dropped on myself over the years… I should be happy. I should be married. I should be a mother. I should be a successful graphic artist making more than enough money to meet my monstrous suburban mortgage payment. I should bake brownies and change diapers. I should be shuffling kids off to soccer practice and swimming lessons in between power lunches and networking dinner parties.

And I’m just getting warmed up…

I should be a size 2. I should have 8-minute abs. I should have Madonna’s arms, Angelina’s lips and Jennifer Aniston’s flawless skin. I should have thick, lustrous wash and wear hair (in the trendiest style of course) I should arise in the mornings looking like I have just stepped out from the pages of Vogue. I should start each day by running 6 miles and eating nothing but fiber, lean protein and organically-grown produce. I should wear fabulous clothes and drive an equally fabulous, environment-friendly, hybrid car. I should have a perfect mate who looks like Prince Charming and treats me like a queen. He too should earn an obscene amount of money… and together with our beautiful and well-mannered 2.5 children, we SHOULD be the poster-family for happiness and domestic bliss.

This process of “shoulding” can also work in another way… for there are just as many things that fall into the “Should Not” category. A few of my personal favorites are: I should not be divorced. I should not be single. I should not be childless. I should not struggle to pay my bills with a college degree. I should not have any debt. I should not feel the need to constantly defend or explain myself. I should not (occasionally) wish for a different life.

As you can see, “shoulding” is a lose/lose activity. An exercise in futility. Nothing productive or good can ever come from “shoulding on ourselves.” The moment the word “should” leaves our mouths, we are damaging our current and future happiness. This is what my mother is always trying to get me to see. As a woman of 60 she tells me how much time she wasted “shoulding,” when she could have just chosen to be happy and content with who she was and what she had in THAT moment. She hopes that by telling me this while I’m in my thirties, it might save me a great deal of heartache and disappointment and it might allow me to enjoy what I have right now.

So I guess if there is anything, ANYTHING that I SHOULD do… the singular exception to the “Thou Shalt Not Should” rule… it would be to stop all of this “shoulding on myself” RIGHT NOW and start accepting, embracing and enjoying the reality of what IS and what IS NOT.

Everyday Courage

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So I’m sitting here thinking about courage. In part because I’ve always admired it in others, but mainly because I find myself in desperate need of some lately.

No, I’m not charting a course to sail around the world, or scaling Mt. Everest or taking up spelunking (not that I haven’t considered it) I am just finding myself in short supply these days. However, let me be clear about one thing though… Oddly, I don’t seem to need courage for Life’s big things… these I’ve always sort of handled… well, better anyway. It is the everyday things that get to me.

At first I considered compiling a list, just for me, of ALL of the courageous things I’ve done for as long as I can remember… These would include, but are not limited to: Wrestling into submission a 250 lb. college football player whose sole responsibility was to try and drown me during my lifeguard certification test… and prevailing! Traveling via train across the country by myself when I was just 18, climbing 14,000+ ft. mountain peaks, learning to SCUBA dive in the open ocean and taking up kickboxing to ward off fear.

Perhaps thinking back on those “Gut Check” or “Swallow-Your-Fears-and-Dive-Right-In” experiences would help me summon the courage I need to tackle the regular stuff? And you may be wondering what IS the regular stuff? The “regular stuff” consists of (but is not limited to) accepting myself for who I am. Right now. Today. Letting things go. Forgiving a slight. Forgiving a grudge. Forgiving myself. Holding my head high in the presence of that person who “just doesn’t like me.” Smiling brightly when on the inside I am crumbling. Doing more for others. Doing the right thing. Telling the truth. All the time. To everyone. About everything. Being a better daughter, sister, aunt, girlfriend, co-worker, team-player and friend. Occasionally it is even as simple as getting out of bed in the morning and taking care of business when all I want to do is pull the covers over my head.

So why do these smaller, everyday things require so much more courage than literally diving off a pier into unknown waters? I haven’t quite figured that mystery out yet… perhaps I never will. But I suppose if I can continue climbing up the side of a mountain long after my body and my lungs have said “HELL NO”…  I can certainly get out of bed each morning and tackle the everyday things that life will inevitably toss my way.

The Post-Vacation Funk

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post vacay funkI just returned from a glorious, much-needed, 8-day vacay up and down the New England coast with my man… and yes, it was A-MAZ-ING. However… it is now official. I am in the midst of a full-fledged, hard-core, post-vacation funk. And I am here to tell you that the fabled funk is very real and I would argue that it is an inevitable occurrence in the life of any vacationer.

All the fun you’ve been planning for, saving for and laid awake with great night-before-Christmas anticipation for … is over. The photos are now in your camera instead of the brochure and the t-shirt is hanging in the closet.

Mind you, the funk does not occur overnight. Rather it seeps into your conscience slowly and before you know it you are completely mired in it. Suddenly you find yourself knee-deep in the reality that you are neither: A. Independently wealthy, or B. Free from the obscenity that is Responsibility … with a capital “R.”

When you first arrive home—a weary traveler surrounded by the familiar sights, scents and sounds of your “stuff”—you can’t help but experience Dorothy’s “There’s No Place Like Home”  feeling and sleeping in your own bed (on the memory foam that still remembers you) is blissful.

The next day comes and whether at home or the office, it is a flurry of activity. You’re answering emails, returning calls and taking care of household chores with that rested, happy glow that only a true getaway can provide. You’re still sportin’ the chilled attitude that comes from spending 7 days in flip-flops and you are recounting the details of your adventure to anyone who will listen. People expect that you will not exactly be “at the top of your game” since your head is most likely still in the clouds (or on the beach, or in the mountains, or by the pool, or at that really cool bar you found) and minor errors and gaffs are swiftly forgiven.

Day three brings with it the bi!@# that is reality. The alarm sounds for the second time since you’ve been back and you suddenly remember that this was why you went on vacation in the first place … to escape that d@mn alarm and the daily grind that follows it.

Day four is the same as the third only worse. The alarm clock hits you like a punch in the face reminding you that yesterday was not a fluke or a joke or a drill or even a bad dream. YOU. ARE. NOW. HOME. And it is only Wednesday. This is when you begin to play a sadistic little game with yourself that I like to call: “Where Were You Exactly One Week Ago Today?” And a word to the wise about playing this game: The non-vacation version of you will always wind up the loser.

By the way… exactly ONE week ago today… I was still in bed… but whatever. I’m not playing.

By day five you understand your fate, but you do not necessarily like it. Anger builds. You can’t stop playing the “Where Were You Exactly One Week Ago Today?” game every time you open the empty refrigerator, notice a heaping pile of laundry, encounter a pair of sad and sandy flip-flops lying lifeless on the floor or walk past the growing stacks of mail and dwindling supply of saltwater taffy on your dining room table.

It is at this point that you begin to entertain wild imaginings about how you might achieve the life of a full-time vacationer. What if I just disappeared?  What might the consequences of that be?  How much DO they pay those people who change sheets and fold towels at all those charming, little B&B’s? Is it hard to learn how to make saltwater taffy like the guy in the window at that quaint candy shop on the pier? Is it too late to get a degree in Recreation or Hospitality and Tourism Management? Am I too old to become a deck hand?

They say that there are five stages of grief: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and finally Acceptance. They are not necessarily experienced in order. The bereaved might vacillate between the five for several weeks or months languishing for a time at one stage or another. So far I think I have experienced all of them and it has yet to be one week.

Hopefully by the time I unwrap and consume the last piece of taffy, I will have quietly accepted my life just the way it is. It’s either that or you will likely find me behind a glass storefront in a hairnet and white gloves, pulling taffy for tourists.