Sit on the Pot and Keep it Balanced

When I was a youngster in high school a good friend of mine and I decided to take a weight lifting class. Now, the reasons for doing this ranged from being able to tell girls we were in a weight lifting class to actually trying to get buff. Of course though, the biggest reason was for the ladies. The first couple of days brought all sorts of emotions and feelings but the strongest feeling was pain. As my friend and I would walk up to those lovely weight lifting machines we really had no clue how they worked. We sure pretended like we did but we had no earthly idea. We would always let the other guys waiting for the machine behind us go first so we could get some sort of glimpse of how to use the darn things. When we took our turns we really didn't want to look like wimps so we usually left the weight the same the person was using before, which ended up reeking havoc on our muscles. I became pretty good at showing others the weight I was lifting wasn't that bad at all but holy crap was I hurting. The nice thing about the class was that it was during the period right before lunch. I lived close enough to the school where I would run home for lunch and take a shower. Doing lunch at home was always a shooting match though because there were times I just didn't leave on time to get back to school which would end up getting that lovely tardy thing checked. Who knew you could fail a class for excessive tardies ... I mean I was there and doing the work, right? Anyway, those first couple of days of lifting were brutal. I remember taking a shower after the class and not being able to raise my hands above my shoulders. My friend and I were hurting in a bad way but it always felt good to tell the ladies that we were lifting weights. Eventually we did end up learning how to lift correctly and made it through the class. As the class came to an end the only thing I ended up with was a six pack and an understanding that the ladies really didn't care that I lifted weights.

You know, as I look back on the years I have suffered depression I have learned a lot about it and myself ... and still am learning. For me, it is truly like having your world as you know it turned on it's head and you left to figure out what happened and what the next steps are. I have no earthly idea if I will ever be able to "go back" to the person I was and truth be told I really don't know if I want to. There are characteristics about who I was that I would be okay leaving behind allowing me to be healthier. I do hope and work to be the good parts of who I was. Understanding depression for me isn't an easy thing to do. Sure, you look it up in the dictionary and it talks about sadness, mental illness and such but for me I think there is so much more. For me it's been striving to find the line between what emotions are caused by my depression and the emtions I feel from just experiencing everyday life. There is the question of why loneliness is so prevelant an emotion I feel daily and why it crescendos so rapidly if I haven't heard from any one for a day let alone my friends. There is pain in loneliness that truly hurts and can hurt badly. I remember watching a comedian once who was telling what his mom would tell him to do if he was in pain. "Oh, your stomach hurts ... go sit on the pot. Oh, you have a headache ... go sit on the pot. Oh, you have cut your elbow ... go sit on the pot. Oh, your finger was cut off ... go sit on the pot." The way he said it made me laugh til I was crying. Too bad it just isn't that easy. I recently was talking with my psychologist about the pain of loneliness and expressed how I feel I need more love from others besides my wife in my life. He did one of those smiles and told me that I am making progress. Of course, I sat back on the leather couch thinking oh man I have finally broke him. He then proceeded to help me see that in my journey how perhaps I have made a step forward or so. This one I will keep close to my chest for now, maybe sharing later when I am ready. I wish that meant that the pain would be gone or that I could smile and mean it more. I am immensley glad and full of thanks though to have someone professionally to talk to and even though I am hurting he can help me see that I am taking a step. For me there is a clear distinction though between "working through the pain" that came with weight lifting and learning to tolerate the pain of depression. Sad to say, there are still too many that think one can work through the pain of depression. It just is simply not that way and those that think otherwise are just showing their lack of knowledge and understanding. In fact, that mentality actually hinders more than anything. That's all the attention I want to pay to those folks for now. Anyway, for me I have learned that I am the extreme of all extremes. I either give until there is nothing left to give and after that still try to give or I extremely dislike the world and pretty much everyone in it. Even though  pain and I seem to being spending more time together lately I know that I took a step to finding the balance and that is something that gives hope to keeping hanging on.

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.