Relief meet Joy

Stan and Ted have a huge test coming up in Honors Chemistry. The end of the semester is growing close and the teacher has reminded them over and over how the up coming test is 40% of their final grade. Stan would be more than happy if that was all the pressure he was feeling. His dad is constantly telling him how he will not accept anything lower than an "A" on the upcoming test. He continues with telling him what he gets on this test could actually effect what college he would get into,which would also determine how his life will turn out. Stan studies hours and hours every night giving up social events to make sure that he is ready for his test so he won't let his father down. As the day to the test gets closer Stan finds that when he is with his father all he can think about is the fear he is consumed with that he won't do well on the test. The night before the test comes and Stan stays up for most of the night studying only getting just a couple of winks of sleep. Ted cringes when his Honors Chemistry teacher tells them over and over about the importance of the test. Ted understood the first time and doesn't see the point about the careless repetition. He knows it is important and will study for the test. In fact, he even approached his father about the test being concerned about it. Ted's father put his arm around him and explained that the only thing he expects Ted to do is do his best. Ted studies every night but also spends time with his family and even other friends. Stan said he was too busy to do anything. Every time Ted is around his father, he encourages Ted telling him that he knows he can do well but again reminds him to just do his best. The night before the test Ted spends a little more time studying but gets a good nights sleep. The test day comes and Stan gets an "A" and Ted gets a "A-". Stan sits at his chair feeling such a huge relief that he didn't let his father down and he won't be angry at him. Ted smiles feeling joy knowing that he did his best.

Being able to settle for your best is very difficult for a perfectionist. The expectations run rampant like the waters of a flood ... especially around Christmas time for some reason. Every experience should be like those lovely Christmas commercials where everything is just perfect. They have everything in place including every ornament on the tree and they don't have dust on them. Well, guess what? Dust happens! As a perfectionist everything seems so highly crucial to the point that if it doesn't go well the future of the day, the week, the month or the year can be ruined. Achieving 99% of a task is nice but the 1% gets the attention. Why didn't I finish it? Am I not a finisher? What could I have done better? Being a perfectionist is a time bomb ready to happen because no matter how you try, no matter what kind of latest version of the coolest planner you have, no matter how committed you are ... you will fall. Accomplishing task after task turns into more of feeling relief than joy. Joy sadly dissipates as relief becomes more and more the feeling of accomplishment. When a perfectionist falls it's not pretty. It's not the wipe the pants off and get up scenario. It's the wallow in the mud scenario. Add depression to that and boom ... not so pretty or fun. I am learning to shift from perfectionist to a person that approaches the day by doing my best. Granted, there is the caution of not using "I did my best" as an excuse to purposely slack. Doing your best is just that and then celebrate the crap out of what you achieve. I have found that I cherish feeling the joy that come from achieving things doing my best compared to the relief I used to feel after being the perfectionist. I truly cherish joy and feel that depression, no matter how bad it sucks, has taught me a deeper feeling and understanding of it.

Weed ~ Not Mary Jane

Growing up my family had a large garden. We had tomatoes, carrots, raspberries, peppers, radishes, and other veggies that I can't recall. There were several reasons my mom had a garden ranging from the harvest it offered to the grand plan of having her kids learn how gardens work but also teaching us kids how to work. We spent a lot of time in that garden bonding with dirt but also bonding with each other. As Spring would come around we would prepare the ground by getting rid of all the lovely rocks and weeds making sure the soil was just right for planting and for those plants that would be popping up soon. When the soil was right and the time had come we would plant the seeds and wait. Now, I have to admit it was pretty cool watching the plants grow from something so small to something so big. I was always amazed at how the weeds grew too. Absolutely no attention was given to helping them grow, but those weeds kept coming and coming. With us kids being in school about the only time we could weed the garden was Saturday. Being that it got hot rather quick during the day and since my mom was such a morning person, she would invite us / encourage us with love to get up early Saturday morning and weed the garden. I always liked waking up to a rainy Saturday morning ... too bad they were so rare. As we began to enjoy the veggies and fruits it made it a little easier to take care of the garden and fight the weeds. As Autumn would come we would clear out the garden area and wait to do it all over again. Looking back there are several things I learned from taking care of the garden that  have stayed with me. Weeds always come and can take over the largest plant if not taken care of. If you don't pay attention to the plants and water them they won't magically take care of themselves. Speaking of watering, one summer I was asked to water the raspberries because my mom needed to run an errand. Now, my mom is a very smart lady. She built little berms around each raspberry plant so all you had to do was place the hose by the plant and when the water was close to overflowing the berms you would move on to the next plant. This helped the raspberries get a good supply of water but also prevented watering the whole area, which would end up watering weeds. I really wasn't in the mood to water them but I told my mom I would. After she left, I approached the raspberries and saw a sprinkler head on the grass. Brilliant! I quickly put the sprinkler head on the hose and set it in the middle of the raspberries and watered the whole area. I kept an eye for my mom so I could stop my amazing plan before she knew what I had done. After she got home she went outside. Before long I was asked to join her in the back yard. She asked if I had used a sprinkler head or filled the berms by each plant. As I looked at the plants and saw all the dirt was wet, I knew I had to come clean. My mom smiled and simply told me that I would be solely responsible for weeding the raspberries for the next while, which turned out to be way longer if I had just taken the time to doing it correctly.

For those that fight depression ... I want to say I love you and that I am sorry. I am sorry that you have to fight it and fight it and fight it. How I wish that it would just go away. I understand how it takes away any energy you have to get up and get going. I understand how the biggest victory of all for the day at times is getting out of bed. I understand how it feels to feel you are surrounded with a thick wall of darkness and no one can break it down. I understand the feeling of escape. I understand how you look at what you used to be able to do and long to be that person again. I understand the feeling of wanting to cry but being tired of crying. I understand the feeling of wishing you could go to the store and buy hope and peace. I understand the relentless feeling of sadness when you feel there should be nothing to be sad about. I understand the feeling of loneliness. I understand the feeling of despair as you think about the future. I understand wanting so badly for tomorrow to be different. I understand wanting so badly for everyone to understand what depression is. I understand how bad this sucks! So why do I keep fighting? To me, everything I just listed are like weeds ... they can keep growing and growing and consume you; however, there is something incredible underneath. Place your hand on your heart and feel that heart beat. You have purpose! We have purpose! You are important! We are important! So what causes my weeds to dissipate? Love. I'm not talking about the stagnant kind. I am talking about the love in action. Constant acts of love keeps those weeds down and actually gives me strength in the fight. Why keep up the fight? Because feeling those glimpses of hope and peace and true happiness is worth it ... almost like tasting a fresh raspberry.

Skis and Gratitude

My scout leaders loved to ski. So, needless to say when I was a young scout I was introduced to this sport, entertaining activity, bone breaker, giver of concussions, tail bone bruiser experience ... whatever you want to call it. With living close to ski resorts we were able to take advantage of them often. My first experience with skiing was quite the eventful one. Thankfully I wasn't the only one getting ready to experience their "first time" as well. I was bundled up in a green ski suit and my good friend was bundled up in a bright yellow one. We received little instruction and were sent on our way. As we got off the lift for the first time, which I was extremely glad they didn't have to stop because I had no idea what I was doing, we looked at the hill below and were eager to implement our instructions. The instructions were quite simple ... point the tips of our ski's to the bottom of the mountain and push off with our poles. If we were going too fast we were told to just fall down to stop. We were also told that once we had mastered the "easy" run that we could attempt harder ones. Being that the easy run was called the "bunny hill" I was pretty eager to move on. As we looked on, the snow began to become worse as a blizzard was starting to blow in. My friend and I looked at each other, pointed our ski's to the bottom of the hill and pushed off. It wasn't long before we were falling down quite often attempting to keep some sort of control and no one really gave us instructions how to get up once we fell down ... not that easy. We made it through the first run a little beat up and bruised. Admittedly it was a bit embarrassing as we came down the last hill approaching the other skiers in line for the lift and the only way we could stop was to fall down. Yep, we felt like true winners! We got back in line and kept at it and actually got slowly better with an emphasis on slowly. The snow storm remained strong and at times all I could see was my friend in front of me in his vibrant yellow ski suit. If he fell, I fell. If he began to slowly turn I began to slowly turn. There was one part of the afternoon when the snow slowed and I actually got in front of him with no real doing of my own and was going faster than I had the whole day. So fast that falling down really didn't sound that fun. I saw an awesome skier in front of me ... they were awesome because they could turn back and forth slowly down the hill. As I approached them I could tell that the chance of running straight into them was growing stronger and stronger. I began yelling warning them I was coming and they didn't do a thing. Now if I was a betting man at that time I would have bet the farm that a collision of chaos was about to happen. As I approached the skier going at a good rate with them slowing getting ready to cross the path I was headed I tightened all my muscles and watched my ski's go right over the front of theirs right behind the tips. To this day I have no idea how I didn't run into them or how they didn't go flying themselves but I survived and so did they.

With Thanksgiving behind me and Christmas coming I have been striving hard to really think about the things that I am thankful for. Yep, I am a believer that you can still be vocally thankful once the turkey has been eaten, the football games have been watched, and the nap has been enjoyed. As I have paused and pondered about what I am thankful for I have been sad. I have been sad because I have come to a clearer understanding how depression steals my thoughts. I have been so hell bent on attacking my depression that is all I think about ... and recently as I have fought not to think about it I have been losing. Why? Because depression is like that annoying fly that always reminds you that it is there and will keep landing on your nose staring at you in the eye. I miss having the ease of thinking of other things ... yep, it is possible but extremely hard. Try to not pay attention to that annoying fly and see how it works out for you. With that said, I have been able to think of some things I am thankful for. First and foremost is my loving God and His Son. I know I can't see it and the majority of the times I feel alone, I know that they have been with me more than they have in my life. I am thankful. My sweet wife who puts up with me and man is that huge! She loves me regardless ... plus she is a great kisser :). I am thankful. My three angels! I love being their dad! Their hugs, kisses and humor keeps me going on daily and has saved me countless times in those dark moments. I am thankful. Family. Thank you for loving me. Your wisdom and support has been life saving. I am thankful. Friend. You know who you are. You have been with me from the beginning and haven't forgotten ... thank you. I am thankful. Friends. Thank you for offering your support. I am thankful.  My Psychologist. Thank you dude for teaching me that I don't have to just point my ski's to the bottom of the hill and push off. Thank you for teaching me how to strive to deal with my demons. Thank you for listening to me and your patience. I am thankful.

Yet, They Forget

I was fortunate enough to grow up with a good group of friends. We were in scouts together, went to the same church ... even our scout leaders and church leaders were the same and came to know us very well. When I was a young teenager a family moved in our neighborhood and they had a boy about all our same age. We took him in and got to know him pretty well ... I will call him Rick for the sake of this blog. Now Rick was one of those guys that would do almost anything you dared him to do. This was a good thing and a bad thing. We got plenty of laughs, including him laughing, but there were many times he pushed the envelope too much with that thing they call safety. Anytime we went on an outing our leaders would have to keep an eye on him to make sure he wasn't doing anything too crazy. We loved the guy though and became quite close. You can imagine our surprise when one day we were told that Rick was getting off a city bus and went to cross the street and was hit by a truck going 40 miles per hour. He was severely injured including some brain damage. He wasn't able to talk and there was some question if he could even understand what was said to him. Our leaders informed us that they wanted us to go visit him to boost his spirits. We were terrified ... I was terrified. How was I supposed to go see my friend like this? What on earth was I supposed to say if he couldn't understand me? How were we going to have a conversation if I was the only speaking? I was pretty sure that I wasn't going to do this. Our leaders were very understanding yet explained how helpful this may be to Rick. They suggested that we draw pictures of our favorite memories of him and take them with us. Imagine ten teenage boys using crayons drawing pictures. It felt strange but we did it. In fact, I believe if I remember right all pictures were of something crazy he had done. As we made it to the hospital my heart was racing. I had my picture but I had no idea what to say. I could feel the sweat on my forehead and hands. We all gathered outside of his room and the nurse let us in. Laying on the bed hooked to all sorts of tubes and wires was Rick. It took us all off guard. His eyes lightened up as he saw us though. As we showed him our pictures he smiled and reacted with excitement. He even laughed a couple of times. He even smiled at me and my picture. It was so hard to see him like that but seeing him smile was so worth stepping out of my comfort zone. A week or so later we were sadly informed that Rick had died. I will never forget his smile.

Have you ever said hi to someone one and they knowingly ignored you? Have you ever made plans with someone and they dogged you on purpose or "forgot." Have you ever had someone say they will help you with something and then tell you "no"? Have you ever had someone say they had your back but watch them knowingly stick a knife in your back? Have you ever asked for help and got no response? I would guess yes and it hurts deeply. Add someone that is fighting with depression and having these things happen can be literally devastating. Yet, no one sees. We "look" okay because we don't have a cast on our head or don't have an I.V. stuck in our arm to remind people that we are hurt and suffering. There is nothing that shows the hell we are going through, the battle in our mind ... the thoughts of escape from the torment. The only way people know what we are going through is telling them or someone that knows tells another. When we run into them there is no visible sign of our torture and overtime they easily forget. Even those closest to you don't see the demons you fight over and over and they can get eventually callused to what is going on. They may even let you down when you ask for help. Yes, people are human and aren't perfect. Thus, those closest to you will fail you. I am a Christian and believe in my perfect Savior and know that he won't fail me ... yet it is tough to feel His love when I am consumed with darkness. You may be thinking "wow, dude that is a dark scene you are portraying." I would answer, "yep." There are so many with depression that literally suffer. To them, I would say you are not alone. That island you think you are on by yourself is full of others just like you. I'm sitting right next to you having a horrible day with you. I may not see you or know who you are but just knowing you are there is helpful some how. To those that may be nervous of talking to folks like us. We aren't asking you to fix us or give us advice. We just want to have our spirits lifted and you have no idea how your simple visit, text, email or whatever helps so much. If you don't know what to do, break out the crayons and draw a picture of your favorite memory. I guarantee you will see a smile! 

Norm and The Passing Train

I have a great mom. Making great memories for her kids was something so important to her and she was very successful at it. One family vacation she decided she wanted to go visit some family that lived up in Oregon. We could have always taken the car but she decided to spice it up a bit and take the train. Looking back at it now she was very smart too. What may have been "spicing it up" for the kids by taking the train was actually a way she was able to relax more not having to worrying about driving ... and trust me she deserved every bit of relaxation she was able to get. I believe I was around seven or eight for this great adventure and don't remember the whole entire trip but have some key memories. We had family that lived close by us then that were going to take us to the train station that evening, which was about an hours drive away. I recall going over to their house, having dinner and having a  fun time. Then it hit, for whatever reason panic mode hit the adults as they somehow realized that we were running late and might miss the train. I don't know if my mom forgot what time the train was leaving or if we were just having too much fun. Either way, I remember being told to get in the car and the journey began. During the drive I remember two things; the car was going faster than it ever had and that was really cool and I also remember hoping with all my little might that we wouldn't miss the train. I had been looking forward to this for so long and could feel the disappointment starting to seep in. Miracles of all miracles happened and we made it just in time for the train. So much hurry up and go to make it to a mode of travel of sitting down for quite a while ... but that was okay. That night as I sat in my slightly reclined chair in the dark I heard a person playing an acoustic guitar that was very soothing for all. At least I thought it was soothing for all until a train attendant told them they were bothering someone and asked to put it away. I was so confused how something so nice on the ears could be deemed as a bother. I believe that was my first introduction to how something so incredible for so many can be put in jeopardy due to one's slighted point of view. Anyway, the train ride was amazing. I saw so many beautiful views that I still remember to this day. Plus, we could have all the juice we wanted for free! It wasn't long before the beverage car employees knew who we were and how they eventually ran out of juice.

I want to be happy. I want to feel peace. I want to be able to hope and have that hope stay with me. I want people to really understand what depression is and how it takes control. I want to be Norm in the TV show "Cheers" ... you know "where everybody knows your name." I want to not effect others lives in a negative way. I want simply to have someone put their arm around me and tell me they love me. I am tired of being lonely feeling like I am on an island that no one knows of or pretends they don't know of. I want to be able to finish a task or project without it being the fight of my life. I want to be happy with who I see in the mirror (sorry, I don't like Michael Jackson). I am tired of losing my temper of power monger car pool ladies ... nope, not ladies ... women.  I am tired of washing my hands over and over.  I want to be unshackled from the dark demons that haunt me! Sound familiar? I know ... it sucks. Those that have depression, anxiety and / or ocd know ... they don't have to imagine what I am talking about. Yes, it is dark and yes it literally hurts but that is depression. I have felt at times that I am watching my life go by without being able to do anything about it. Like I am standing by the train tracks being told that the train is coming and that I need to be able to get on. "Everybody" else that is "normal" and living their lives in a "normal" way will be getting on. As the train comes I watch everyone get on. I try to move my feet ... nothing. I try to grab any handle ... nothing. I watch those that say they are there for me look at me helpless and then jump on the train. I feel hopeless as I watch the train disappear in the distance. Am I painting an ugly picture? Yep. Depression is ugly, stinks and is like that relative that you have to hug and kiss that literally makes you throw up in your mouth but it's there and won't let go. I fight this and as I look at the big picture it overwhelms the crap out of me! But I fight it and fight it and fight it. Why? Because I am determined to not let the SOB win. As I have fought this over the past years I have felt glimpses of joy and hope. Perhaps a chink in his armor or I have won a little battle in the war. Yep, it may feel like a train passes me every now and then but there are a couple of close friends that would rather stick by me than jump on the train ... they get it. They get and I get that a train will be coming far better for us. One that has better understanding, one that has better ability to love ... one that has far more hope than I can imagine. One that may not call me Norm but will call me Ken.

Yes ... No ... Yes ... No

Ah, the fantastic positive word "yes." The word used to answer the question of marriage and to start a potential meaningful life together. The word used to commit that you will begin making the small choices that will turn around your life for the better. The word used to help your neighbor that needs help moving or raking leaves. The word used when a friend calls and asks if you can come over and talk. The word used as a name for a band that really isn't that bad. The word used early Christmas mornings when your children are asking if they can see if Santa has come yet. The word used when your teenager is a legal driver and they ask for the keys to the car for the first time. The word used when your young children ask "will you always love mommy?" Then comes that awful negative word "no." The word used when a young teenage boy gets his courage up to ask the "hottie" in school to be his girlfriend. The word used when you get your first speeding ticket and you ask the nice police officer if he/she can just let you off with a warning. The word used when a young child asks if school has been cancelled because it snowed ... or threatened to snow for NC folks. The word that crushes a heart when a marriage is coming to an end and the wife asks her husband if he still loves her. My entire young life I have always associated "yes" with being positive and "no" as negative. I will grant that saying "yes" to drugs rather than "no" throws it off a tad; however, overall I wanted to be a positive person in life so that lovely three letter word "yes" was my friend and I said it often.

As the darkness of depression hit I really began to loathe the word "yes." I really hated it for a number of reasons. I disliked it because I was beginning to look back in my life and see what kind of "yes man" I had become. Now, I'm not talking about saying yes to a dude that asked me to do drugs. I'm talking about saying "yes" to pretty much any request I would get from church, work, friends, family ... and the list goes on. But wait, isn't saying "yes" such a positive thing? Doesn't saying "yes" to folks and helping them bring you happiness? I disliked saying "yes" because I couldn't say otherwise. To this day if a person asks me for a favor or what have you my first intention is to say "yep" or usually "sure." I don't know why I struggle with it so badly. I disliked saying "yes" because I knew 99% of the time I wouldn't do what I said I would. I may have really wanted to help but when it came time my mind would come up with all sorts of concerns that would convince me otherwise. Plus I didn't want to say "well I really can't because I am fighting depression, anxiety and ocd." Even after putting this blog out and letting the world know my fight I still struggle immensely with giving a "reason" right on the spot of why I may not be able to do something. Thus, my friend "yes" and I aren't real good comrades at this moment.

While experiencing the comfort of the leather couch and talking with my psychologist and answering my favorite questions, "why do you think ..." or "what do you think ..." he helped me realize a cycle I still fight this day. How bad I wish it was a tricycle but not so much. Fighting depression amongst the crowds that have no idea of what is going on sucks. Favors, requests, questions always are asked and like I said I would always say "yes" while pretty sure I knew I wouldn't do it. I would feel a huge amount of anxiety before the time came I was supposed to help and then I wouldn't show and guilt would literally take me over. I would relentlessly pound myself left and right with thoughts: "What kind of friend are you? That person would never do that to you. Your word is your bond. If you can't keep your word, what good are you? You call yourself Christian?" I could keep going but I think you get the point. Guilt would hang on me heavy for a day or two and then I would sink into a deeper depression not wanting to go anywhere. If I don't go out or answer my phone then people can't ask me to do stuff, right? And then it would happen again. Someone would ask for something and I would say "sure" even though I knew what was coming next ... torment and hell. Through tons of meetings with my psychologist and working a lot of things on my own I am getting to the point where I can say that it is still a struggle for me but not as horrific as it has been. I have learned a couple of things for me ... that help me with this. I have learned that saying "yep" to me is crucial ... you know the empty bucket thing. With that though, I have learned that the word "no" isn't that ugly of a guy. He and I have actually become friends. I have learned that saying "no" is actually allowing me to say "yes" to better things in my life and that is okay!!!! It is sad, but there are people out there that will always ask for things until they are told "no." Even if it makes the other party uneasy. To that I say, "really?!!" I am comfortable with my friend "no" and the strange thing is as while I have used him more I have found that I am able to say "yes" a little and be okay!!

Mind Reading

When I was between jobs going to school I went to one of those temp companies looking for any type of employment. I received notice that there was some work available at a company that made mouse pads. Not football pads for mice but that piece of rubber looking thing your computer mouse rests on. I figured why not. My first day they put me on the easiest job, which was to put the backing on the pad. My "trainer" was a very polite older lady that was bilingual ... she was proficient in one but the other one she was learning. She and I shared the same language she was learning. As I sat at the table she would show me how to do the task at hand, watch me do a couple and then leave. Every now and then she would come check on me and my fantastic work. I would either get a smile or a frown. If I got a frown she would show me again, have me do a couple and then leave. If I got a smile she would simply leave. After working there for a couple of weeks, which meant I must have been doing okay, they moved me to another task. I was introduced to how they make a different style of mouse pad than the traditional one colored style. My job was to stand by a long rotating machine next to a large stack of paper. The paper was probably about 3 feet by 4 feet. My kind trainer was there again smiling ready to show me how to do this task. I heard a loud buzzer go off and part of the machine I was standing next to began to move slowly. My trainer pointed down to the end of this long machine showing me large pieces of plastic, about the same size as the large paper, was beginning to come our way. As they approached us she grabbed one of the pieces from the machine put it on another table while grabbing one of the larger pieces of paper and slowly placing it on the plastic, which had a sticky back. It was like she did this in one long smooth motion and she was good. After doing one she let me try, which I failed at terribly. I found out that the stickiness on the back of the plastic was very sticky and loved to hang on to your fingers and if any of the paper touched it it was staying there ... even if it was in the wrong place. My trainer stayed with me giving me more frowns than anything but after a while I got a handle on it. There was one time when I totally messed up and found out that if you missed a piece of the larger sticky plastic it would eventually land on the floor. I received more of a stern frown on that one. I worked at this fine establishment for a summer and I have great memories from it. Needless to say I don't look at mouse pads the same.

As I have fought with depression, anxiety and ocd I have gotten to know a new person and that new person is me. I was in my late 30's when this all began to happen and was pretty comfortable with who I was. I knew all the things I liked and disliked. I was quite comfortable with my strengths and weaknesses. I knew the things that brought me joy and what made me sad. As the fight of my life began there was so much that I had no clue I would learn about me and am still learning. I am delighted that I still don't like broccoli. How my learning would usually happen would be through experience that heightened the emotions of the mental illness I was fighting. I learned things quickly to stay away from and am actually still learning things now. One of the most important things I have learned is to share with my loved ones what those are. The importance of communication is beat over our heads over and over but there is a reason for that. If I am just learning what things aren't good for me to experience than how would my loved ones know? Letting them know being very specific is so important so they can help and be keenly sensitive. My caution I would give is when you tell them what things aren't good for you to experience strive to be loving and understanding if they still happen every now and then. I have learned that when that happens it's not malicious but more of forgetfulness. At least you know they are trying and that shows they care. You don't have to rely on just a smile or frown on how things are going but can be clear with each other. Giving them a hug every now and then doesn't hurt as well.

Potholes and Load Locks

In my late teenage years I had the pleasure of working at a locally owned grocery store. When I was first hired I worked as a stocker in the dairy. The most exciting day of the year for me was when I would look at the shipment of the day that had come in and I would see Egg Nog. I would always stash a couple to the side so I would have some at the end of my shift. Those were always the longest days. Later in my three year career at the store I received a couple of promotions. I was in charge of ordering products for the dairy and also driving the lovely milk truck. I also was the morning receiver ... that guy that bonds with the truck drivers as they deliver the order of the day to the dock. Being that I was in charge of ordering products for the dairy you can imagine that our store was the first to always have Egg Nog. I really loved and enjoyed working at the grocery store; however, the dairy truck was always a shooting match. The truck in and of itself was not in the best shape and being that I was just barely learning how to drive a stick made it delightful. It was a 26 foot delivery truck that really had more going wrong with it than right. The brakes were always bad, the transmission went out on me, I had to turn the steering wheel one full turn before the truck responded and the list goes on. It truly is a miracle that it worked as long as it did. So, my responsibilities as the official milk truck driver was simple ... to drive three miles to the Dairy Plant, pick up the milk and drive it back. What always made this fun was the milk was loaded on what was called a "rack." The rack had about four sizable shelves and was on wheels to make it easier to move around. That was all good for when you are at the Dairy Plant or at the store but it truly is a bad thing to have the milk racks moving around while driving because that would result in the absolute worst case scenario for a driver ... watching milk pour out the side of your truck while driving. I only had that happen once and that was enough for me. I was given two load locks to prevent the racks from moving. I would tighten those for all I was worth and pray they would hold. Now there was two things that would cause any load lock to loose its integrity ... when the mechanics of it failed and broke and potholes.  As I began to drive the route week after week I learned where each pothole was and did all I could to avoid them. I got so good at knowing the existing potholes that I would only pay attention to them and a new one would pop up on me every now and then, which would cause me to say words I really shouldn't write. There were even times the road was so bad that I would have to drive through some potholes but I knew they were there so I would go slowly singing songs to the truck like that would help some how. I would always feel a sense of relief after I had backed up to the dock of the store, open the back of the truck and see the load hadn't moved.

I am not one that likes to sit around. The symptoms of having a bad cold or flu are horrible but what is even worse for me is having to lay around and rest. I am always thinking about the next project to do and get busy on it. As depression began to wrap its chains around me I grew more and more frustrated. I had projects that I wanted to do but the motivation for doing anything was quickly seeping away and I couldn't do anything about it. There would be times that I would literally force myself to start a project but stop halfway and leave it for days. My motivation was gone plus the heaviness of depression weighed on me and all I felt I could do was lay around. During those times I would think about all the unfinished projects and how my sweet wife was being patient but it was eating me alive. I had heard so many times in my life to keep balance. That was always a good idea but I sure never did it. In my mind that meant I had to do something that took me away from being "productive." I have learned for me that with depression survival is all about balance. I have learned the things or "triggers" that can throw me off the cliff of despair. I know what they are but am just starting to get to the point where I can strive to stay away from them. I am learning about me and about where potholes may be ahead and how to avoid them or take them slow. Sure I hit them, which tends to throw the load locks off and the spiral begins but I am working on it. My potholes are different from others, which may only allow me to do so much a day but that is okay.

The Cast of Not So Many Colors

I was very fortunate to grow up in a family where family was so important. Not only the immediate family but also cousins, aunts and uncles, their pets etc. We had several relatives that lived by and that meant one thing, get togethers. The good thing was that 99% of the time we liked each other. One particular get together we were in the back yard playing around. I had to have been around eight or nine. With being so young and my siblings and cousins not much older we used our creative imaginations to have all sorts of fun. During our fun festivities the wind began to pick up and dark clouds began to roll in. So what did we do? Rather than go inside we ran around and acted like the world was going to end. I ran to our swing set and climbed up so I could hang on the top bar. The wind was picking up more and more and I playfully yelled for help even though I could have just let go and fallen down and been fine. An older brother knew I was goofing around but came running to my aid anyway. He grabbed my legs and I let go. I had made the mistake of bending my knees and we both lost our balance and unfortunately I came falling to the ground and hard.  In the landing I apparently used my arm in a way that disagreed with mother earth and mother earth won. I looked at my arm and it was bending directions I knew it wasn't supposed to. With a trip to the ER I came away with a lovely colorful cast for my broken arm. The choice of colors I had for my cast back then was white, white or white. It was a hard choice but I went with white. Now I imagine this cast must have been a bother but I really only have three memories from it. The first being how I struggled with sleeping at night with it. The second being how it made my arm itch so badly. I had to bend a wire hanger to get to those hard to reach areas. The last memory was when it was cut off. No matter how many times the nurse assured me she wasn't going to cut my arm I just knew she was ... she didn't. I was so glad to get it off.

As depression hit and I began to work with it I really had no clue how to handle it. It was like an incompletely unwelcomed horribly smelly guest that wouldn't go away. I was being vigilant with meeting with my psychologist and beginning to practice different techniques to work with it but I felt I wasn't getting anywhere. I was in a dark place looking for any kind of happiness. I kept at it and kept at it and over the past couple of years I have learned something about the unwelcomed guest. I have learned that the key word for me in all this is to "work" with it. For me, that doesn't mean right now that poof it is gone. It means I have learned how to handle it better. I recall feeling so much guilt when depression hit and like it was all my fault. The darkness and loneliness constantly consumed me. Through so much work with this beast I have learned that it is not my fault. Depression is an illness and even after almost three years of working with it I find it is still there. With constant attention of my day I can enjoy more things but I still have those days where I feel I am spiraling down desperately grasping for any hold but not able to get one while in total darkness. Yep, those moments and / or days come and they are horrible. I have to tell myself that it's not because I am a bad person or that I deliberately welcomed it but I have to remind myself that with any illness those days happen and that I am still healing. I sure didn't like my cast for my arm but I knew it meant I was healing. I may not like working with my smelly unwelcomed guest but I know that as I do so I am healing. 

May I add one other thought here. Healing is done on such a personal level; however, asking for help is completely okay. What do I mean? If you are having one of those terrible moments or days let your family, friends or whoever is close to you know. I often don't do this but have been recently reminded how incredible and helpful family and close friends can be. Those close friends may think it is no biggie to help but what may seem so small to them can be so life altering. They usually don't see the tears from being touched by their actions but those small things bring something those that fight depression so badly want to feel and that is hope. 

The Magic Box

If you know anything about me you know that I am a huge fan of Christmas. If you don't know me it wouldn't take you too long to figure it out. Yep, Christmas music all year long. I have such fond memories of Christmas growing up. My sweet mom went to tremendous lengths to make it magical for her kids and she was always so successful. I recall one Christmas when technology entered our house. Santa brought to our home a Computer and some magic box called a Microwave. The computer was pretty cool. An older brother of mine did all sorts of stuff with it but it came alive to me when I found out we could plug in our joy sticks from the Atari and play games. The computer just wasn't my thing though ... perhaps that's why I am so awesome with computers. Now, the microwave was a thing of beauty. I was amazed that I could take some Hickory Farms cheese, place it on a cracker and put it in this microwave thing and boom melted cheese within seconds. Oh and then to be able to heat up water for hot chocolate. Wow. You had to be kidding me! No more freezing your tookus off while waiting for water to boil on the stove. I probably drove my sweet mom crazy by all the "cooking" I did that Christmas day ... if you call melting cheese on a cracker cooking. I had no clue behind the logic of how it actually worked but to me it was hitting a couple of buttons and then ... heaven.

I have felt so many frustrations as I have fought severe depression. The thick darkness was / is so consuming and as I began to fight back I felt like I lost 99.9% of the battles. Why does one want to keep fighting with that incredible winning ratio? I was meeting with my psychologist and what he was saying and teaching me made perfect logical sense but applying it or striving to live it was a whole other thing. I began to get so frustrated because it was all so clear of what coping techniques I needed to do or how I needed to change some way of thinking but actually doing them was something I simply couldn't do. I saw the benefit of them but depression has a powerful way of holding you down like a heavy anchor. The line of "can't" and "not trying" became very blurred to me. I really began to give up in myself because I felt like I wasn't trying. "What good am I if I can't even try" would echo through out my mind and heart. Life is so dark when you feel you have lost your purpose and don't love yourself. I honestly don't know when the shift in thought began to happen but I began to see and realize that it wasn't a lack of effort but the illness. I can't tell you how or why but all I can say is that depression for me is like running the mile in deep thick tar. Progress happens but can be so slow! My psychologist asked me the other day what I would tell myself if I was able to give me advice starting all over. I simply said "patience". Even though things are so fast with results these days, like a beautiful thing like a Microwave. I am striving to be comfortable with knowing warming up water for hot chocolate on the stove is okay.

Perception Isn't Reality

In my history of employment I worked in a service oriented industry. I enjoyed helping out folks that needed assistance. I particularly enjoyed the experience when they came in quite distraught but left happy. I felt like I had accomplished something that added happiness to someones life like I had made an impact. As with any service industry there is a desire to know how the clients are thinking about the service you are offering. I personally felt like I always had a good idea because they would tell it to my face. Either they thanked me for the help with a smile or told me of their displeasure in a loud voice. Yet, surveys were put into place. I was amazed how over time the interest in taking the time to assist a client shifted to more of the interest in how our service was "scored." Rather than be concerned about what the customers issue was the focus shifted to be more concerned how they would rate us. And then the beastly saying was introduced ... perception is reality.You know, if the client doesn't have every one's attention when they need help they may feel that the reality is our service is bad. Let me paint the picture here. I may be in an office assisting a customer resolving a worry of theirs and bringing them peace. Yet, there also may be a client that is being impatient waiting for my help. What is the reality here? Am I being extremely helpful or extremely rude? One may say it depends who you ask. I would calmly answer crossing my arms making an x and doing the Family Feud x noise. The reality is what I am doing. Because someone may see it differently doesn't mean it changes the actual reality. Let's say I am given a very expensive pen. I may look at that pen and think, "wow that pen is very expensive I must be wealthy." I can guarantee you that if I went and looked at my checking account my balance would be the same as it was before I got the pen ... reality wasn't magically changed. If that was the case I would be asking for expensive pens all the time.

I find that I wear a lot of masks. Rarely is it when I have my mask off showing truly how I am feeling. Others perception of me may be really off if they see me smiling and "having fun" but most of the time it isn't reality. Yes, I understand that makes it tough on folks that may try to help; yet, with depression comes vulnerability. With depression being completely open to others is like someone going to battle in the buff. We wouldn't last long. I even have to admit that with even wearing a mask we can take quite the hits. I have had negative comments about my hair length or about the Coke I was drinking. I have had folks make comments that I know better. Honestly, when trying to discover yourself again that "know better" meter is taking a beating. Sad to say, even people that know I fight depression say things that are hurtful. The pain is real but I strive to explain it off that they just don't know how to act around people with depression. The mask is a two edged sword. In some ways it can be that thick skin you need to handle situations or comments but on the other hand if you look happy, you must be happy right?

I am slowly learning that there is another side of the nickle to perception being reality with depression. When buried in darkness seeing no end the feeling of having or experiencing any kind of joy ever again is completely gone. If you aren't suffering from depression take a moment and imagine what it would be like to never think you would feel joy ever again. Miserable suffering doesn't seem to do the description justice. I remember not long ago when I was hanging out with my cool kids and was laughing so hard I thought I was going to wet my pants. I paused for a moment and realized what was happening. I almost began to cry. I was feeling an emotion that I hadn't felt for months. It was a moment of happiness. I wanted to bottle that up and keep it forever. With my experience of severe depression I have had a couple of those moments yet they seem so fleeting. I know I fight the dark negative deception that they will never happen again yet I hold on to the hope that in reality they will.

Monopoly, Legos and The Onion

I love to play the board game Monopoly but haven't played for years. Growing up my older brothers and I played this game a lot. Being the youngest I didn't get to be the one in charge of the money and properties that much but when I did it was like magic. Not sure really why ... perhaps the love of playing with the money, but I loved it. One day one of my older brothers and I were playing and we came to a conclusion that using all the houses and hotels simply was not enough. So, we gave it some thought and decided to introduce legos to the mix. Before long, we had tall skyscrapers on each property all being connected somehow. A city of its own had been created right there on the board. Everytime you took a turn you were literally wiped out financially but we had created loans and credit so it was all good. Plus, all you had to do was wait for your oppenent to take his turn and then you were out of the red. It was like black friday every time they took their turn. The person that could hold out the longest playing won rather than the one with the most money. My wife and I played once when we had been married for a couple of years. The game lasted for six hours. Needless to say we haven't played since. In fact, that was the last time I played.

I'm not sure if it all started with my love for playing Monopoly but I loved "playing with money." I was also faciniated with the downtown culture and the corner office. For whatever reason, in my mind if you had those you had made it in life. I dipped my toe slightly in that culture and felt alright about things. Things were pretty good. I felt I knew who I was and where I was going.

As depression hit it took over my life. Yes, the days were / are countless of fighting to simply get up and move but there is more than that. I began to lose who I was literally. I tried to be me but the darkness of depression grabbed on holding tighter and tighter and I began to question and doubt everything about me. Even my simple core beliefs came into question like my faith in God and even my love for my wife. I had no idea why. I simply didn't like me.  I would look at pictures of me and just cry wanting to be that guy again but depression constantly fought to convince me that I never would. Before depression hit I was always a believer that our actions defined who we are. If that is the case then someone battling mental illness who struggles to do anything either has no defintion or is simply not much at all. And of course, when you have depression you believe both and it is ugly. It truly is tiring to analyze everything you do and why but for whatever reason I do now. I am coming to learn that the reasons why we do anything is more important rather than just letting actions define us. Status is something where we do actions over and over because it is viewed as something that makes us important ... like a downtown corner office. I used to do things out of fear or obligation. Not so much anymore. I do it because I want to and I want to because I do it out of love. I believe how you love is what defines you.

Now I am not a fan of onions nor like to kiss folks that have recently eaten onions but what I dislike the most is when someone tells me it is time to peel back the layers of the onion to reveal more about me. Yes, I have been peeling away and talking and talking and talking. I still struggle with who I am but I am taking steps. I look back at those Monopoly days of being a kid and have realized that it was fun playing with money but I believe the magic was more of a love of older brothers letting their little brother have a turn of being in charge.

Ready, Set, Set, Set ...

In my youth I never had a fondness for Doctors or Dentists. Some may say that those feelings have never left, which I would concur. When I was starting to fight a cold and I would begin to cough I did all I could to make sure my mom wouldn't hear. But of course, as magic as moms are her listening ability was amazing and I would get asked, "was that you coughing Kenny?" Of course I would deny it was me because I knew what the potential it would bring ... going to the doctor. As the cough would get worse she would tell me the words I didn't want to hear, "time to go see the doctor." My strategy for tooth pain was very similar. Of course, she couldn't hear the pain but it became quite obvious as I began to eat on one side of my mouth or I will admit there were the times when the tooth pain became just too much and I had to cave in. Now for whatever reason my doctor and dentist had their offices in the same area. They were both on the second floor and we would always take the old cement stairs. I recall looking at each step thinking how everyone I took got me closer to the dreaded pain and fear. As we visited the doctor he would always look at my mom and tell her that a penicillin shot would take care of it. When he left the room and shut the wooden door behind him I would stare at the door knowing what was next. I would have do drop my trousers and get a shot in the backyard and then smile and say it didn't hurt a bit knowing how much it really did hurt. All I would do was focus and focus and focus on that wooden door. Everything else around me was in slow motion. I couldn't enjoy a thing. After the dentist did his quick inspection and informed me that I needed some work he would leave me sitting in the chair all alone. I would hear him walking around getting closer to the door and then passing it. I knew that sooner than later he would come in and that sound of the drill would begin, which was a great prelude to here comes the pain. I would sit there with beads of sweat on my forehead only focusing on hearing his footsteps. I couldn't enjoy a thing. Later down the road though I did learn to sniff in as much of the funny gas I could. Every time my dentist would tell me slow down or simply tell me I had had enough. He couldn't let me enjoy a thing.

Have you ever heard of the lovely five year plan? Where do you want to be in five years and how are you going to get there detail by detail? There also is the saying, "If you fail to plan, you plan to fail." All good insights right? Well, add depression to the mix and these can become one's true kryptonite. As depression began to kick my tail I would find myself thinking a lot about the future. Needless to say with severe depression and attempting to literally survive the day areas of income needed to be shifted around. I would lay in bed or look out the window and just think about how I wasn't planning because I couldn't. Did that mean I was a failure? My five year plan turned into a one day plan and at times a one hour plan. I still thought a lot about the future and let the feelings of despair and frustration begin to eat me alive. The thing is that depression was already doing that so I didn't have much left to give. When hope is vanishing all one can think about is the worst case scenarios for the future and living them in my mind over and over was / is pure hell. Things around me were fleeting at best. All I could do was think about the future. My psychologist has been fantastic with helping me see that as I would do that I was truly letting in my kryptonite into my life and needed to be patient with me. This is something I work on daily and it is hard! I live my daily plan and hope at the end of the day I can feel good about it. I truly struggle though with events that take me out of my norm even if it is as simple as going to a party. My sweet wife has been so patient with me as I tell her I want to go to a certain event and then at the last minute get too overwhelmed with all the details I think will come with it. I feel like a runner that is in "set" mode trying to begin running but doesn't or can't and it is so frustrating! I have been told to take things step by step, which makes sense but made me feel like I always had to be taking immediate steps. I have learned that sometimes a step may take some months, weeks or a longer time period and when it happens celebrate the crap out of it! Patience with depression is hard because there is no given time when it will end or if it does end. I'm striving to not focus so much on the "shots" or the "drills" but really on something I may do good everyday, which is not easy. And maybe someday I will be able to say ready, set ... go!

Choice

One Monday morning a businessman showed up to the airport. This particular businessman was no stranger to the airport since he has flown almost every Monday for his employment. Like every other experience, he checked in his bags, made it through security and was approaching his gate. He always grabbed a newspaper to check on the latest rhetoric that was being put out but what he was truly interested in was the take on the previous day sports. As he was picking up his paper he noticed a small box of donuts that was being sold. Now this businessman had been working hard at keeping fit and was having success but he felt a little box of donuts wouldn't hurt so he purchased those as well. Sitting at a table he placed down his donuts and paper and was shaken by one of the loudest sneezes he had ever heard. Immediately turning toward the noise he saw a petite older lady with a hanky looking a bit embarrassed. The businessman turned back around and was a little shaken again by a man that had joined him sitting at his table. The man didn't say anything but gently nodded his head acknowledging the businessman. To the businessman's surprise, the other man reached down and opened the box of donuts, grabbing one and began eating it. The businessman was perplexed. He had never seen such a blatant act before but chose to hold his temper thinking perhaps the man was hungry and just wanted a donut. After the man had finished his third donut leaving only two left, the businessman began to feel his blood boil. At least the man could have politely asked or said thank you yet all he would do was smile back at the businessman as he looked on. The businessman couldn't take it anymore and reached down and grabbed a donut and took a big bite looking at the other man with a "how do you like that" look. The man smiled back, looked at his watch and left leaving the last donut. The businessman was still upset that the man had been so rude and unbelievably thoughtless. Taking a deep breath the businessman looked at his watch and realized he should start making his way to the gate. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and picked up his newspaper. To his surprise his unopened box of donuts had been under his paper the entire time.

I hold the belief that we all have the freedom to choose in this life. Some choices bring good things while some choices bring consequences that aren't too enjoyable. I have heard some say that if people aren't happy it is there own fault ... because if they wanted to be happy they need to simply be happy. Just like flipping a switch or something. I thought similar along those lines until depression pulled the rug out from under my feet. I even have to sadly admit that I would look at "sad" people and think why don't they just choose to be happy. It is ever so clear to me that no matter how close we may think we are to someone or how well we may think we know them we simply have no idea about everything in their lives. We may guess or we may even judge but caution has to come into play. As I have fought with the demons of depression I have heard the same statement, "it's ultimately up to the person that is sad to choose be happy. It's their fault they are sad." I hold no malice to that person but how incredibly off base they are. Such general statements can hurt the vulnerable folks that are fighting depression. I will even grant them a little leeway here and say, yes it is up to me to choose to seek professional help but there is no light switch to turn on immediate happiness. I have looked and looked and looked but it is not there. I wish it was that easy. Now I don't think the folks that speak of choosing to be happy are intentionally hurting people fighting depression. It just clearly shows how unknown and how misunderstood depression is. Yep, going with the broken bone analogy here again. I have had a broken bone before and no matter how hard I tried I simply couldn't choose for it to be fixed immediately. Here is what I do choose. Every night when I put my head on my pillow I pray that the next day will be a happy one. I pray for the strength to conquer the battles of depression that I can learn to handle it better and better. I pray for more glimpses of hope and joy and pray that I get to experience them more and more with each passing day. I pray that someday I will have the choice to simply be happy. 

Hit To The Gut

Growing up next to mountains during the winter meant countless opportunities to bond with snow. To this day I am still amazed how snow can add such a touch of beauty. But of course, as a kid I liked being in the snow rather than looking at it. Throw the fact in that I was in boy scouts with incredible leaders and that meant we spent a lot of time in the snowy mountains. One adventure, a leader had brought a klondike sled. No, this is not a sled made out of Klondike Bars, even though that does sound sublime. The best way to describe it is to think of a dogsled and boom there you go. It actually is a sled made for youth to do the pushing and pulling rather than a team of dogs. I believe now though I would prefer the team of dogs. We had a great time with that sled though. We would find any steep decline, point the sled to the bottom and shove off. Each one of us always looked for the steepest hill to out do each other. During the morning when things had died down a friend and I took the sled and found quite the steep hill. We decided that I would be on the back standing up and he would be sitting down in the middle. We pushed off and the adrenaline kicked in as I held tight to the horizontal bar in front of me about gut high. Snow began to fly by us as our speed picked up. I recall having the time of my life laughing and yelling and then it all came to a sudden stop ... literally. For whatever reason the nose of the sled went abruptly down causing the sled to come to an immediate stop. My body was thrust into the sled hitting the bar I had been hanging onto and then I fell to the ground. I remember hearing my friend laugh but I was in pain. I was terrified that I had broken ribs and was about to die since I couldn't breath. I gasped for air but nothing came. I had never felt this way before. My friend came up to me and saw how I was doing and started to yell for help. I tried to ask him for help and couldn't. I tried to yell with my friend and couldn't. A scout leader of ours was quickly at our side and looked things over. He realized that I had gotten the wind knocked out of me and assisted me with gradually beginning to breath again. After a minute or two of recovery time from our wreck we both stood up and looked at each other and knew we had to try it again!

Depression has a powerful way of constantly attacking your self worth and convincing you that you are all alone in this world. You question your purpose and what good you are doing. You question if people really do love you and think of you. You begin to lose any love you have for yourself. Happiness and Hope are flames that are constantly blown out as you wander in the darkness looking for some sort of relief. You feel at times like you are literally just hanging on to the edge not wanting to know what it means if you let go. You long for someone to stop by and tell you how much they love you and give you a hug but you don't want anyone to know about what you are experiencing. Mental illness is viewed in a different light somehow and you don't want to be seen in that light. I do know ... oh, how I know how badly you want someone to just say that they have been thinking of you and that they love you. Being reminded this over and over is so vital for people with depression.

Now I am doing to tread on some thin ice here but I believe it is important ... at least it is what I have learned and felt. This is not intended to hurt anyone but shed a little light. Wow, are you curious? Me too. As folks began to learn that I was struggling with something I was constantly told that if I needed anything to let them know. Now I know that the intention behind that offer was pure gold and I believe can be helpful to folks and I greatly appreciated it. Depression does put a little bit of a different light on it though. If we are struggling with believing people out there love us we aren't going to ask to be told that. Small acts of love go such a long way and means more than anyone can know. I have shed many tears from something as simple as smile and a whisper telling me they were thinking of me. I can tell you that as depression has constantly beat on me over and over to the point where I felt like I had nothing left those small acts of love gave hope, happiness and even the ability to breath again.

Eyes Open

In my youth I was given the responsibility of a paper route. I shared this great job venture with my older siblings so at first it wasn't too bad because it wasn't a daily task. Plus, the route was something like 34 houses so it wasn't too labor intensive. As my siblings got older they moved on to other jobs and the route became my own. There were two hurdles at first that made this job a bit of a challenge for me. I had to get up rather early on Sunday mornings and deliver the paper rain, snow, shine, wind, or beast of all beasts. One snowy Sunday morning after prepping the papers I got on my old trusty bmx bike and went to it. Now, the night before it had snowed about five inches, which makes it fun riding  a bike weighted down with papers. Thankfully the car that had dropped off all the papers at my house left some good tire tracks so I followed those for a while. In a way it was actually peaceful until I fell and then it got cold real fast. The second hurdle was the beast of all beasts. His name was snoopy of all names and was a large black dog that always waited for me. I believe he totally enjoyed scaring the daylights out of me. He usually waited until I was close and then would start snarling and barking. He wasn't much of a runner though, which was my saving grace. I can't watch any Charlie Brown shows though without thinking of him. As I got older I was pretty darn good at knocking out the papers so boredom became the new hurdle. One Sunday morning I had just finished delivering the last paper and was on the way home. Now, where I grew up the streets were laid out in a grid system so most of them were straight. Some streets had ditches close to them since it was dry where I grew up. Some were about three feet deep, which were well protected by fences.; however, the other ditches were about a foot in a half deep and were wide open for business of curious folks. As I rode my bike home I was so confident in my bike riding abilities that I decided I could ride my bike with my eyes closed for three seconds. After opening my eyes after counting to three I was not surprised at all that I was still on course. So, I raised it to five seconds and then seven seconds. After opening my eyes after counting to seven I was doing incredible, which again was no surprise to me. I came to the end of the road and took a left staying on the sidewalk. I felt it was time to count to double digits and go for the big 10. I closed my eyes, began peddling and counting most likely with a big prideful smile on my face. Before I got to five I felt my bike come out from under me and then went under wanter. I immediatley stood up finding myself in one of those foot in a half deep ditches with my bike at my feet. I lifted up my bike and threw it out in the road. Seeing my bike land I realized that in the midst of closing my eyes and counting I had not only come off the sidewalk but had crossed the road right into the ditch all the while thinking I was going straight and all was okay. I gained a new appreciation for those ditches.

Suffering in silence is real and just that ... suffering without anyone really knowing it. Before my sweet wife approached me concerned about my behavior I knew suffering in silence too well. I knew things weren't right but I kept pushing on. Looking back, I was really falling down and falling down hard. There were nights when I would close up the office that I would spend 15 to 30 minutes checking every drawer in my desk over and over and over and over to make sure it was locked. I would even unlock it and and then lock it again and then check it over again like that helped some how. The worst was when I would get out to the car and then head back into the office and do it all over again. I would have to talk to myself out loud to convince me that everything was locked. I must have been a sight to see. Yep, I was stroking in the pool of OCD but not swimming a bit. I would get home late and usually head to bed. Notice I didn't say sleep. I would constantly think about the next day and have so much anxiety that I couldn't get a good sleep. I was lucky if I got an hour or two per night. I got to the ugly point in my life where I didn't like any place I was. I didn't like being at the office dealing with all sorts of different emotions I wasn't used to. I didn't like being home because that meant I was that much closer going to the office and not one soul knew about it except for me. Suffering in silence, yep I knew it and still dance unwilling with it every now and then. I was holding so much in because of pride. Heck, I was the man of the family and felt I needed to provide for them no matter what cost. Little did I know what the cost was becoming.

I have learned the importance of talking. Not one of those chit chat folks that speaks for hours and hours and really doesn't say much ... I mean really talk. I am getting close to using a phrase here that used to give me the shivers and fear for my man card. Here it goes. I have learned to talk about my feelings. There, I did it. But it is so true.  No matter how strong something is it will reach a point where it CAN'T HOLD ANYMORE and strange things begin to happen, which is really the prelude to the tipping point, explosion, complete loss of balance .... whatever you want to call it. Talking with my pscyhologist the first time wasn't the easiest. Not because he was difficult but because I really didn't know how to express what I was feeling. If he asked how I was feeling I may answer "crappy." Then the lovely follow up would come and he would ask why I felt crappy. I learned that saying "cause" didn't work as an answer. But I learned that working with him and talking about feelings was like opening the faucet and letting out all the crap that I had stored away. I know how difficult it can be to open up. Talking with a psychologist you can have comfort that they will not laugh at you or think less of you. Looking back at the beginning of my journey I have learned that talking about what is going on in my head and heart is as crucial as keeping my eyes open when riding a bike.

Voices

I feel like it was just yesterday when I was dating my sweet bride but the years and my incredible kids have a way of convincing me otherwise. Dating my bride to be was ... well, incredible! We literally were best friends that loved to hang out and then cupid did his thing. After we had been dating for a while people began to tell us that we really should start to think about getting married. We thought it was something that may happen down the road but we wanted to do it on our terms. You thought that when we told folks this that we had totally offended them, which really didn't bother me. I mean, did I really ask them for their advice? That perfect day did come and I did end up marrying my best friend. It wasn't long after the honeymoon and the dust had settled from all the excitement that we began to get folks telling us it was time to have kids. I was starting to see a theme here. I so badly wanted to tell people that my wife was already 3 months pregnant but I figured the time spent putting out fires on the rumor wagon wasn't worth it. Still it was very tempting. Almost two years later we welcomed a lovely beautiful little girl into the world. Of course, before she was born we were being told what to name her. There were some folks that were kind enough to inquire on the names we were thinking about and then shoot them down in a blaze of glory. The spelling was wrong, the initials won't look right, or it is just too long or too short. So badly, I wanted to start answering the naysayers with odd names. We knew we were expecting a girl so I figured saying we wanted to name her Karl Malone or Eddie Vedder might throw them for a loop. But I held my tongue. I was amazed how many people were "interested" in me, my sweet wife and our family but I learned quickly that there was more of a voice of opinion than interest. I still think that a daughter name Eddie Vedder wouldn't have been too bad.

Meeting with my psychiatrist for the first time was kind of interesting. I learned real fast that there was a vast difference between my psychologist and psychiatrist. My psychologist had the leather couch and would spend and hour with me chatting about how I was doing giving me insight and help with coping techniques. My psychiatrist asked me questions but they were more centered around medications. Don't get me wrong, she was caring and nice but she spent most the time talking about how meds could help. I actually said nope to meds the first time I met with her. I don't know if it was the unknown or the stigma I saw in the movies about folks that were on meds that had mental illness. I was fighting depression that was attempting to steal my identity and I wasn't about to take some sort of meds that I feared was going to make me some sort of other person. I still kind of liked me even though depression was trying to convince me otherwise. At this point I had a small circle of loved ones that knew what I was going through. Some voices of opinion started to seep in telling me I should take meds. I had a rock solid loved one though that gave me sound advice that resonated with my experiences in life. He said it was truly about me and what I felt and that I should only do it when I felt it was right. That was a person that was truly interested in me. I thought a lot about it and talked with the psychiatrist a lot about it and came to the conclusion for me that meds used properly wasn't meant to steal who I was but to actually help fight the depression to strive to keep the old me. I finally said yes. Now granted, I did have them in my kitchen for a while and would look at them every now and then but the day did come when I felt right about it so I put them in my mouth and washed them down.

For me, taking meds has helped. Yep, it took a bit to find the right one that best helped me. Yep, I didn't notice that immediate change. In fact, the only way I knew the meds were helping was that my sweet wife would tell me that she noticed a difference in my behavior. Does taking the meds make my illness go away? Nope, but it makes it easier to deal with. Will I ever stop taking the meds? I don't know. I have a lot of people voicing their opinions. For now, I just pay attention what I feel is best for me and that simply is good enough.

The Brain VS The Soul

I was brought up in a good loving Christian home. We went to church and my sweet mom did all she could to teach her kids about doing the right things. I remember a lot of time being spent on the "Golden Rule" ... treat others how you would want to be treated. Being the youngest my older siblings did things to me that I was pretty sure they didn't want me to do to them though ... making me go down the laundry shoot and putting a mattress at the bottom of the stairs and throwing me down first to see if it really prevented injury comes to mind. As I grew older I did start paying attention and noticing how I felt when I did good things compared to when I perhaps wasn't too Christian. I noticed I felt happy and pretty cool about life if I was staying out of trouble and living right. One summer I had a fascination with baseball cards. I loved the anticipation of seeing who I would get and the bubble gum that came with it was amazing. Well, I was low on funds one day so I took the money off the fridge one of my older siblings had put there to pay their tithes later that week. That's one of my first memories I have about the deep emotions that come doing something wrong. However, as the teen years came I learned more and more about those feelings (nope, no dirty secrets shared here). I remember feeling unhappy, guilty, dark and even empty. Yet, the good thing I learned and have applied my whole life is that if I change my course a tad and change my ways those feelings quickly subside and I can be happy again. One could say that taking that money was for payment of being a test dummy for older siblings but I couldn't justify that.

I remember the day being told that I was fighting depression. I knew how I had been feeling and I knew that depression was associated with people feeling sad and that was all I knew. I can tell you now that I know depression robs one of happiness. Feelings and emotions of guilt, shame, emptiness, and being desperate ping pong back in forth in your head convincing you that is what you are. I have experienced that there is no warning nor a nice little agenda when it is coming or telling you how long it will last. At times you feel like you are wading through thick tar reaching for the end you can't even see. Fun times for all I know. My first fights with depression were so confusing because I was having emotions that I would usually feel when I was not making the best choices like guilt, shame and emptiness so I would look at my life and attempt to make the changes that would allow me to be truly happy .... yet the happiness never came. I remember doing that desperately over and over and fighting for any glimpse of real joy when depression was on a full court press and no happiness would come. I didn't get it. I was angry with the Man Up Stairs. I knew that if I would "change my ways" happiness should come,  yet nothing. The brain is pretty cool and a powerful thing but it isn't the soul. When the brain is working properly so many incredible things happen like fight or flight for example. I always felt the flight mode though when it came to kissing girls. For me how I am doing with the Man Up Stairs comes from my heart or soul. But when the brain is having issues deep powerful emotions can be created like guilt, emptiness, sadness and darkness that compete with similar feelings the heart can feel when not making right choices but THEY ARE NOT THE SAME THING!!  I struggle to this day still finding that fine line because the emotions of depression are so incredibly strong and can mask how I feel in my heart. I don't know why but that is how I have felt and feel. When depression starts kicking in I begin reminding myself that God loves me. I may not feel it because of the darkness of my illness but I strive to look at all the reminders around me. Plus, I don't have to go in flight mode any more for a nice loving kiss.

King Distraction

My sweet mom grew up on a dairy farm in the mighty state of Idaho. Needless to say I have tons of memories visiting my cool grandma and grandpa and their farm. There was hay, horses, hay, cows, hay, dogs, hay and wild life visitors. I never milked a cow, which I'm not too desperately disappointed about but I saw my grandpa do it and that was okay with me. I was able to ride horses, which was cool until I fell off one. You know that saying that if you fall off a horse you need to get right back on. I never got back on and to this day horses terrify me. I mean do they really have to be in parades? My kind grandpa did have me help him once or twice though with some jobs around the farm. There is one that I will never forget. I was about ten years old and he needed to move a lot of cows from one side of the farm to the other, which headed out to a field ... or I should say pasture I guess. He would open the gate at the one side of the farm letting the cows loose and have them head down a dirt road. Now each side of the road had something by it preventing them to go any which way they wanted. The only way they could go was down the dirt road. At the other side of the farm the dirt road took you either up to the paved main road or if you took a left it took you out to the fields. My task was a simple one. I was to stand in the middle of the road at the other side of the farm and convince the cows to take a left and head out to pasture. Yep, this little ten year old kid was supposed to do this. I mean holy smokes, right? I did almost say holy cow there. Anyway, I remember standing there looking at the road ready for the cows to be coming straight for me. I recall looking down at the road and picking up two rocks and for whatever reason began to rub them together. I was reaching for any kind of distraction I could get I guess. As the cows came I rubbed those rocks together and screamed at the top of my lungs. I will always say it was to help the cows not pass me and turn left, which they did but truth be told I was screaming for my life. As one could guess, I truly don't like cows and they still freak me out.

In my early stages of battling depression I began to learn the art of distraction. What do I mean? I did anything I could to not entertain the constant dark thoughts that battled for my attention. My psychologist was doing great at teaching me coping skills but being distracted actually brought some sense of beautiful relief. I never was a drinker or one to do drugs but I can totally understand how someone would want to do that to forget about pain for a while. I personally don't condone it but I understand it. If I don't have to look at depression in it's horrible eyes and don't have to think about it than I was on board with distraction. I found that working with wood was a great distraction for me. To the point that I would start early in the morning and not really stop until late in the night. Perfect right? Not having to deal with the consuming thoughts of depression at all! I was King Distraction. I wasn't fighting my depression ... I was running from it. Who really wants to welcome the dark thoughts of depression so you can learn to practice coping exercises? Doesn't sound that fun to me but I knew I needed to do it. I still battle with this and am learning that keeping a balance is crucial for me. When my depression strives to kick my tail I try to look at it in the face and apply my weapons of coping. Some times are better than others. However, I also know that taking a break from that fight by a distraction here and there is okay. Keeping the balance is the hardest task for me, which I work on daily. Staying away from cows and horses helps as well.

Caution, Good Intentions Are Ahead.

I am a fan of good tasting things and most of the time I am able to enjoy them. Every now and then though I have the reuniting of the taste of my foot. Taking the time to write every occurrence I have put my foot in my mouth would be a task I prefer not to venture on. However, since the window of opportunity is here I will share a few. Some years ago around Christmas I had a client come by that had a simple question. She had stopped by with a friend and apparently they were going to do some shopping afterwards. But before that could all start, this kind lady wanted to chat with me. I didn't get a good look at her friend but from what I could see she was wearing a "Santa" hat ... there was the nice white puffy section by her forehead followed by the red velvet around the rest of her head. After finishing with my client I shook her hand and complimented her friend on the "Santa" hat and for the expression of such Christmas spirit. As her friend came into full view I noticed that I jumped to a quick conclusion about the hat. Yes, it had what I have described but was far more of a classy Christmas head scarf not a "Santa" hat. I apologized and looked for a hole to hide into. I believe I was wearing fake leather shoes that day ... not a good taste. I think this next one more folks have done and if they have, it is a mistake you only make once. Yep, I congratulated a lady on her pregnancy and asked her when she was due when she was not pregnant. The long pause and the look of disbelief in her eyes still haunts me this day. I believe I was wearing older tennis shoes that day ... not a good taste.

With having depression my ears pick up far more comments about depression than it ever has. I have learned just how vulnerable I am. I understand the feeling of laying in bed not really caring about anything but also thinking about all the things I could have done to be "productive" if I was out of bed. It doesn't make any sense I know but dealing with depression never has. I know what it is like to be amazed how much time has passed after staring at the wall or ceiling for a while. I understand how the day can blaze by because you watched tv all day and then beat yourself up for being a slacker. I know the feeling of hurting inside so bad the tears don't stop. I know the feeling of getting a bit ambitious and getting up taking a shower and afterwards staring at yourself in the mirror. You see the person that looks like you staring back but you have no idea who it is inside looking at you so you just go back to bed. Dark days are real with depression an they can make you feel so vulnerable. As with any illness you wish you it would just go away. I can say for me that yes I have dark days still and yes they are miserable. However, they are far less than they were at the beginning.

When people don't know you are suffering from depression, because heck you are keeping it close to your chest, comments can be made that cut so deep. Those people that know we have depression can make comments that cut so deep. Those people that we opened all our thick steel doors to being all the way open even make comments that cut so deep and these for me hurt the worst. I have only once had a person where I opened all doors to be malicious to me. I don't know why they did but the word "hurt" doesn't seem to describe it. All other occasions I know the people had good intentions. I share this not because I am getting on those with good intentions. I share this to help those with depression and hear those comments and feel beat up. Getting passed them is not easy. I remember getting so angry when people carelessly talked about depression and would just hope the best for me. I literally wanted to introduce my fist to their face and I really didn't know why. It surprised me because in my life I have usually been a calm person. You can imagine how it surprised my wife as well. To this day she has to calm me down at times. My psychologist has worked with me on finding that middle ground between one side of the spectrum shall we call anger and the other side shall we call lethargic and progress has been made. Yet, I know how deep those comments from good folks with good intentions can hurt. Don't feel guilty about being upset with them when it happens. I get it when there are days when your skin is so thin because of the battle of depression you have been fighting that is secret to many.

Now to those that may be reading this that don't have depression thinking holy crap what do I do then? I never want to give birth ... oh man, do I never want to do that. But I can almost, and I want to emphasize almost ladies, know that I can understand what it feels like when a lady may be 4000 months pregnant ready to pop and someone asks "how ya feeling?" Really? Yep, when having a horrible day with depression you really don't want to talk about it. I have been asked how I felt on those days and not by my medical buddies and not by someone I really discuss it with. So what do you do? The absolute best thing is to love them and not just by words. A couple of things that have really touched me was when a friend that knew I was fighting something miserable brought me a coke and told me she was thinking about me. She saved me that day. I also had a friend that recently found out about my depression and he came to my house and just gave me a big hug. Those things let me know that they loved me and I think of them often. Being showed love is one of the best weapons that has helped my depression. Plus, showing love really cuts down the chances of tasting your shoe.

Chocolate Cake!

I had the opportunity to experience an environment for a while in my life where I was reminded over and over that "failure was not an option." I was informed that 99.9% of any goal was a failure. 100% was the only acceptable achievement and if that was missed I would have some serious explaining to do while listening to the cracking of the thin ice I was immediately moved on. I was even informed at times that I had to achieve more than 100% for success. Being a perfectionist, this was quite the environment to experience. During this time I often thought about the story of a young man around 12 years old that wanted to surprise his mom one day by making a chocolate cake. He had baked a cake before with his mom so he was quite comfortable with doing it and when all was said and done he was very pleased with the cake he had made. The only thing he hadn't learned was his mom's cleaning ability after baking. He had made a terrible mess of the kitchen but he had proudly put the chocolate cake on the counter for display. It wasn't long before his mom came home and saw what her son had done. She looked around and saw the mess and berated him explaining every little thing that was wrong. The boy left with his head down and went to his room. The mom had been so focused on the "mess" her son had made that she didn't see the cake proudly displayed.

After being diagnosed with severe depression I simply felt like a failure. I felt I let my family down. I felt I let friends down. I felt I had let me down. I felt I had let every possible thing down. In my eyes I was a failure and that was simply it. There were many days that I didn't leave my bedroom or bed for that matter and all I could think about was everything that went wrong in my life. I had grand illusions of an early retirement and now getting out of bed was a big accomplishment. I was introduced to many demons that simply wanted to fight and at times I would feel like I would simply lay down and let them hit me over and over. I was starting to lose my identity and was being defined by failure. Simply to say I understand dark times. I remember sitting on the nice leather sofa one day talking to my psychologist. He would usually start with how I was feeling and then ask me how I felt about that, which was always my favorite ... I hope you are feeling the sarcasm here. Anyway, I told him about feeling like a failure. This is something that truly was and is a huge brick wall that I am working at constantly breaking down brick by brick. One day he said something that simply clicked for me that I have to tell myself over and over. I may have "failed" at ab&c (place whatever you want here) but that doesn't mean that I am a failure. In fact, ab&c may actually be a small piece of the whole me. Simple this may seem I can't tell you how many times this has helped me.

When getting ready to do this Blog I thought a lot about what I should call it. I was tempted to go with "I like Egg Nog" but felt it may be off topic a little. I almost went with "I am depressed. Now What" but it just didn't feel right and then it hit me. For me, saying "I have depression" reminds me that depression is an illness and doesn't define me, it is something I have. Saying "I am depressed" makes me feel like it defines me in some way. Yes, I know this is word play a little bit but heck I will take any word play in a heartbeat if it helps me beat my demons. I can tell you that looking at it that way has helped me see more of the chocolate cakes around me rather than the messes in the kitchen. I find myself being a little kinder rather than wanting to pick a fight with any moving thing that may have made a mess in my eyes. Even though dark days still come I am learning just how much I like chocolate cake.

Scraping The Bucket

One Saturday night when I was around 9 years old I was in a sword fight with my oldest brother but the closest thing to swords we had were his drum sticks. I had a couple of good moves but he was the true swordsman. Our battle was upstairs in our home and I had come to a quick conclusion to retreat and retreat quickly. I dropped my sword and ran for the stairs ready to make my mighty leap. Now I had made this jump down the stairs many times but did this when my mom was not home since it was frowned on, which any fantastic mother would do. This time though I was in retreat mode and made the leap with her home. I remember landing and knowing something was seriously wrong due to the pain I immediately felt. I rolled my ankle causing all sorts of damage. Needless to say I was on crutches for a while letting the torn ligaments heal. Later in my childhood I fell in love with playing basketball and unfortunately rolled my ankles more than I would like to admit. The pain from the constant injury hurt but not as bad as having to wait to heal and mend. I do remember one time not being patient enough and playing too soon after injuring my ankle ... yep, that actually made the healing time longer. I actually got to the point of wearing braces every time I played because I needed to keep playing. Heck, I was going to be the next Michael Jordan.

So what happens when one's brain is broken and depression shows its ugly head? A healing time has to happen. I remember when I started this journey and was diagnosed with severe depression that I was told that I needed to heal. That sounded like a good idea but I really had no idea what that meant. A cast or brace on my head really wouldn't work and staying off my head not putting weight on it really wasn't something that made much sense either. So, what do I do to heal? Again, this is where I believe the answer to this is something that is so individual for everyone. I can only tell you what I have learned for me. Yes, I began meeting with a Psychologist and Psychiatrist but they weren't with me 24/7 yet I began to get great insights from them. For me, I needed to do things for me and spend time on me. This was confusing because I felt selfish. My whole life I was always striving to do things for others and always said "yep" when asked to do assignments or favors. This is not a bad way to live if are able to do it. Let me explain. It feels nice to give others a drink of water out of your bucket but if you are not putting water back in your bucket how do you keep helping others? Needless to say I had been scraping away at an empty bucket for a long time. I get it how hard it can be to tell people "no" when asked to do something and you really can't or don't want to explain why. I get it when people look at you like what's your problem are you being super selfish now. I get it how the guilt runs you over and over because you are saying "no" attempting to heal but the heavy guilt then seems to feed the depression. Please know that guilt should only be felt when doing something wrong ... saying "no" attempting to heal or even just keeping a balanced life is NOT DOING SOMETHING  WRONG AND IS TOTALLY OKAY!!! Do we ever see people asked with a broken arm, leg or hurt ankle to help move or do some labor intensive task? I have to admit there are times that I just wish I had a cast on my head so I wouldn't have to explain why I was saying no ... plus it would cover up my bald spot. I do have to say that I am still learning how to fill my bucket and am dealing with having the patience to do so. The bottom line though is that I am working on healing and that is okay.

Apparently I Missed My Grandma And Wasn't Listening

I am quite fortunate that I have great memories of my grandparents. I was particularly close to my incredible grandmas. I lost one grandma years ago and I was able to attend the viewing (wake) and participate in her funeral. I had never traveled in a procession before. It was strange for the police folks to make sure the roads were clear rather than having those lovely lights behind me telling me they wanted to talk with me again. Not many years ago my other grandma moved on from this world. This time I didn't attend the viewing or participate in the funeral. I was hip deep ... no neck deep at work and convinced myself that I couldn't afford to leave. This was my grandma that after leaving from a couple day visit when I was a kid eventually turned around and came back after traveling for 30 minutes finding me standing on the driveway. When she asked why I was standing there I told her I just simply knew she would come back. Now, I was much older convincing myself not to attend her funeral. I just kept pushing on in life. A day before her funeral I was heading to work thinking of the days tasks ahead of me and burst into tears. I really didn't know why at first but as I continued to cry I felt an overwhelming sadness thinking of my grandma. Still shaking it off, I wiped away the tears and went to work. Sitting at my desk I still struggled with controlling my emotions. I literally couldn't stop the tears. I called my boss who I would describe as a person that had not found her sensitive side yet in life and told her what was going on. She surprised me by simply telling me that since I hadn't dealt with the emotions of losing my grandma that they were now dealing with me and told me to go home. Even though she was my least favorite boss I am still thankful for what she taught me.

If you don't address on your terms what your body is saying it will address it with you later on it's terms. You would think that I would have learned that with my experience with my dear grandma but I didn't. About three years ago I began having strange thoughts. Driving to work I would come to an overpass and the thought come to speed up and drive straight into the cement columns. While I was at work I would have the thought come to just stand up and run as fast as I could into the wall. This was quite confusing to me because I had nothing against the folks that built that overpass plus I had just gotten a new car and was kind of fond of it. Plus the thought of running into a wall really wasn't too appealing. Most of all though I thought of my dear family. My wife is gorgeous inside and if you know her you would realize how good that is because she is hot. Plus she loves the stockings out of me. I have three incredible kids that amaze me daily with their faith, their kindness, their love and humor. So, why on earth would I act on those thoughts? I shook it off and just kept going. As time passed those thoughts continued to come more frequently to the point that I was not really enjoying driving by overpasses or seeing the walls at work. Yet, I pushed on. The thoughts became more and more frequent to the point that I felt I was battling them often every day. What scared me the most was when I felt I was losing the battle and those thoughts became more and more enticing and I had no idea why. I didn't tell anyone ... not even my wife. I was nervous how she would react. Well, just over 2 1/2 years ago as I was getting ready to head to work in the morning, my sweetheart approached me tenderly telling me she noticed that I had been struggling with something and I broke down and told her. That day I told my boss that I was taking time off to "find out what was going on."

Depression is something so individual. It happens for various reasons and appears differently. I am a person that likes to know why things happen or what causes things so if I didn't enjoy it I will stay away from it. I've learned for me that I don't have that luxury of the clean cut why with depression though. There are theories and thoughts behind mine that have been discovered after bonding with my psychiatrist and psychologist for 2 1/2 years and I have learned that is okay. I have learned to be a better listener, which my wife loves. I have learned to listen more than I ever have to what my emotions are saying and give them the proper attention they need and THAT IS OKAY!!