I was reading through some old journals today and it really showed just how difficult my twenties were for me. This is an excerpt from a letter written to a friend, dated May 3, 2003:
"You are right; I did go to Maine in January. I wanted to make a fresh start somewhere. My buddy Jason from high school lives in a cottage on the ocean with his girlfriend. He is a farmer. He invited me up for a few weeks. I quit my job at the restaurant, left my apartment in Doylestown, and took him up on the offer. After a few weeks with him I eventually rented a room in a nearby sea-side town. It was FREEZING and I was looking for work. While I was there I began to get severely depressed. I would walk around town, eat in a soup kitchen, and then go back to my room and sit. I had long hair and a beard. I had a lot of time to think, too much time. The effect of Bruce leaving, me leaving the Worker, breaking up with Clare, and not finding what I was looking for in the monastery was beginning to catch up with me. I was experiencing some very dark thoughts and entertained the thought of suicide. I didn’t feel safe around myself.
One day in late January my mom called and told me my dad was in the hospital again (he was also hospitalized in London a few months prior). He had had another reaction to the antidepressants he was on…he doctor was a quack and put him on way more meds than was healthy…they short-circuted my dad’s brain to the point where he couldn’t process thoughts correctly. I was almost grateful when my mom called because it gave me an excuse to come home. When I got home my dad had been transferred to an in-patient mental health facility in Horsham. He was doing ok, still a big foggy, but well. He joked that is was like “One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest.” He was on the drug addict ward and made friends with all the dudes.
I thought coming home I would feel better, but I didn’t. I didn’t care that my dad was in the clinic and only visited out of obligation. I didn’t care about much of anything. I would cry for no reason at all. I thought maybe having a job would help and I actually landed a pretty decent job in Doylestown as a counselor at a juvenile detention center for sexual offenders. But I was having a hard time interacting with both the kids and the counselors. I was scared of everything and whenever anyone would say anything all I could do was stare at the floor and try to keep from crying. It was exhausting. After three days, I was too tired to keep up the fronts anymore and explained that I was sorry, I really wanted the job but didn’t think I could keep it.
And that was like the straw that broke me. Driving home I felt a spinning loss of control and that I was not in control of myself. I wanted to drive the car straight into a tree and had to hold myself back from doing so. When I got home I called several suicide hotlines and felt even worse after that because they couldn’t help.
That’s when I called Joe. Joe was like my angel. I went to the ER that night and saw a crisis worker, but declined his recommendation for in-patient care because I didn’t have insurance. Joe drove up from DC that weekend and took care of me. I was a mess. I could hardly move and I was crying all the time, but we did rent BET Comedy Def Jam and did little things like run errands that helped take my mind off of things. I was so drained physically that I moved like an old man. My speech was a slur of words because I didn’t have the energy to annunciate. Thankfully I was able to get county funding to see a therapist. I have been seeing her for about 2 ½ months now and it has been a slow road but it has really helped. I got a job as a dockworker at a propane factory –a job where I didn’t have to deal with people so much—and that has been good for giving me a structure and purpose to each day, and is helping me build my self-confidence back up.
Depression and mental illness runs in my family. My grandmother had it. My dad has it. I have it. The challenges are real, as is the danger. Winter was always a tough time, but really, everything and every time was tough. Making plans was tough, because you never new how you were going to feel or be capable of each day. Working was tough, because your mind and body were always drifting towards atrophy. Friendships and relationships were tough, because you were always pushing and pulling and snapping lifelines. Loving was tough, because you had no love yourself; as Andrew Solomon says, "depression is the flaw in love."
I'm an avid gardner, but there's a reason for that. From the letter:
"When Joe was here and he asked me what I wanted to do, the only thing I could think of was ‘I want to grow seeds.’ So we went to Home Depot and bought some seeds and containers. I watered them every day, and now my lettuce, spinach, tomato and cucumber plants are big. I’m going to plant them outside today. I am grateful to be living with me family because I am not alone with them.""
In depression, there is a feeling of a lack of control--of your mind, of your emotions, of your will; that you are being held hostage by something dark and oppressive, something devoid of love or concern, that won't let you love or laugh or feel joy, something that can't be 2+2=4'd away, because it is irrational by nature and doesn't obey the laws of reason. It can be mild or it can be severe, but it is not imaginary.
While my twenties were difficult in their own right, depression magnified them. You don't know what to do with it, and neither does your family. Prolonged, the quagmire becomes not only concerning but frustrating--people aren't indued with limitless patience and compassion by nature of their frail humanity, even (and maybe especially) people who love you most. Will he ever work? Will he ever move out? I'm not here to judge anyone's capacity to move beyond what plagues them, but I know for me it felt like a real possibility I belonged in a supervised adult day workshop at one point; I literally had no capacity to do anything or be responsible for anything.
Except, that is, for growing seeds. To get out of depression you have to start somewhere, and in digging and clawing to get out, you often have to start small, elementary even. It happens at its own pace and in its own season; you can't force it. For me, the spontaneous decision to grow something--since everything inside of me was dead, it would have to be something external--was the catalyst, the spark that caught the tinder. A funny thing happened--the exercise of the external--putting together the little greenhouse, filling the cups, poking the seeds in the potting mix, watering it regularly--sparked something internal. I regained a bit of a sense of control in my life--not the kind that tries to usurp God's authority and omnipotence, but just enough my taking on of even the slightest responsibility was not in vain. I could be responsible for something, even if it was just some seeds, and something could prosper under my watch. Of course, God makes the sun, the rain, created the seed--but he allows us to co operate and co create with Him. What looked like a 4th grade Biology lesson from the outside was literally the straw I was gripping to keep from falling into the abyss of annihilation.
There's no universal formula or map to make one's way out of the valley of depression. It is different for everyone, because no two minds are alike. But a few things hold in common, I think.
Depression wraps you in the wet blanket of your self. To throw it off, you have to get out of yourself. It is HARD. But there's no better way to do it than to take action. Volunteer. Pray for other people. Do little favors, or visit a nursing home. That can help to short circuit the self-pity, this kind of exterior exercise of the will. You don't have to feel good doing it. You don't have to wait to do it until you do feel good about it. The old Nike adage holds: Just Do It.
Depression can feel like you have no control of your life. Take control by an act of your God given free will...and cede control. Offer up your suffering to the One who holds your life in the palm of His hand. In this way your suffering is not meaningless; it has a purpose. And in depression, everything is purposeless, so this can be an effective antidote. Again, it is an exercise of the will to consciously hand over your life as an offering to God and for others in this way. But it can be redemptive.
Depression eats one from the inside. Again, with the theme of getting outside the self, make use of sacramentals--medals, holy water, blessed salt. God's grace can work through these things, and they might be just the string that holds you to this world when your ship is being battered in the storm. No tool is useless in this fight; you need everything you can get to combat the darkness.
Depression erodes hope. So trust in Hope, against all odds. Stake your claim on Christ's lifeless body on the cross, for you know that Sunday comes three days later and the tomb rolls back and the dead are raised. My dad said it to me in a non-religious context, and I never forgot it: "I know it doesn't feel this way right now, but trust me: it will get better." He was my father, and I didn't believe him...but I trusted him. And he was right. In the darkest night, I held on to that hope.
I did plant those seedlings that I had nurtured in my darkness outside that May, in my parent's rich soil, and they did thrive, and became a symbol for me later that I would always look back to. These days I have a large 400 square foot garden with a tall fence. I haul in compost and mulch with a wheelbarrow, water from rain barrels, and plant and harvest more than my family and I can eat. But I wouldn't even be around to till it if it didn't start with those chintzy little seeds and a little windowsill greenhouse from Home Depot, and the care of a friend to drive down to visit me and encourage me in this little thing.
Don't underestimate your power in being present and 'there' for someone in their darkest night. Don't underestimate the little things, whether it's a package of seeds or a drive with a friend or a letter or a kind word or a sacramental that may be the last little root keeping one's life from eroding away. Whatever it takes...just don't make a home here in the valley of death. Unlock the car, get on the road...and drive.
"You are right; I did go to Maine in January. I wanted to make a fresh start somewhere. My buddy Jason from high school lives in a cottage on the ocean with his girlfriend. He is a farmer. He invited me up for a few weeks. I quit my job at the restaurant, left my apartment in Doylestown, and took him up on the offer. After a few weeks with him I eventually rented a room in a nearby sea-side town. It was FREEZING and I was looking for work. While I was there I began to get severely depressed. I would walk around town, eat in a soup kitchen, and then go back to my room and sit. I had long hair and a beard. I had a lot of time to think, too much time. The effect of Bruce leaving, me leaving the Worker, breaking up with Clare, and not finding what I was looking for in the monastery was beginning to catch up with me. I was experiencing some very dark thoughts and entertained the thought of suicide. I didn’t feel safe around myself.
One day in late January my mom called and told me my dad was in the hospital again (he was also hospitalized in London a few months prior). He had had another reaction to the antidepressants he was on…he doctor was a quack and put him on way more meds than was healthy…they short-circuted my dad’s brain to the point where he couldn’t process thoughts correctly. I was almost grateful when my mom called because it gave me an excuse to come home. When I got home my dad had been transferred to an in-patient mental health facility in Horsham. He was doing ok, still a big foggy, but well. He joked that is was like “One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest.” He was on the drug addict ward and made friends with all the dudes.
I thought coming home I would feel better, but I didn’t. I didn’t care that my dad was in the clinic and only visited out of obligation. I didn’t care about much of anything. I would cry for no reason at all. I thought maybe having a job would help and I actually landed a pretty decent job in Doylestown as a counselor at a juvenile detention center for sexual offenders. But I was having a hard time interacting with both the kids and the counselors. I was scared of everything and whenever anyone would say anything all I could do was stare at the floor and try to keep from crying. It was exhausting. After three days, I was too tired to keep up the fronts anymore and explained that I was sorry, I really wanted the job but didn’t think I could keep it.
And that was like the straw that broke me. Driving home I felt a spinning loss of control and that I was not in control of myself. I wanted to drive the car straight into a tree and had to hold myself back from doing so. When I got home I called several suicide hotlines and felt even worse after that because they couldn’t help.
That’s when I called Joe. Joe was like my angel. I went to the ER that night and saw a crisis worker, but declined his recommendation for in-patient care because I didn’t have insurance. Joe drove up from DC that weekend and took care of me. I was a mess. I could hardly move and I was crying all the time, but we did rent BET Comedy Def Jam and did little things like run errands that helped take my mind off of things. I was so drained physically that I moved like an old man. My speech was a slur of words because I didn’t have the energy to annunciate. Thankfully I was able to get county funding to see a therapist. I have been seeing her for about 2 ½ months now and it has been a slow road but it has really helped. I got a job as a dockworker at a propane factory –a job where I didn’t have to deal with people so much—and that has been good for giving me a structure and purpose to each day, and is helping me build my self-confidence back up.
Depression and mental illness runs in my family. My grandmother had it. My dad has it. I have it. The challenges are real, as is the danger. Winter was always a tough time, but really, everything and every time was tough. Making plans was tough, because you never new how you were going to feel or be capable of each day. Working was tough, because your mind and body were always drifting towards atrophy. Friendships and relationships were tough, because you were always pushing and pulling and snapping lifelines. Loving was tough, because you had no love yourself; as Andrew Solomon says, "depression is the flaw in love."
I'm an avid gardner, but there's a reason for that. From the letter:
"When Joe was here and he asked me what I wanted to do, the only thing I could think of was ‘I want to grow seeds.’ So we went to Home Depot and bought some seeds and containers. I watered them every day, and now my lettuce, spinach, tomato and cucumber plants are big. I’m going to plant them outside today. I am grateful to be living with me family because I am not alone with them.""
In depression, there is a feeling of a lack of control--of your mind, of your emotions, of your will; that you are being held hostage by something dark and oppressive, something devoid of love or concern, that won't let you love or laugh or feel joy, something that can't be 2+2=4'd away, because it is irrational by nature and doesn't obey the laws of reason. It can be mild or it can be severe, but it is not imaginary.
While my twenties were difficult in their own right, depression magnified them. You don't know what to do with it, and neither does your family. Prolonged, the quagmire becomes not only concerning but frustrating--people aren't indued with limitless patience and compassion by nature of their frail humanity, even (and maybe especially) people who love you most. Will he ever work? Will he ever move out? I'm not here to judge anyone's capacity to move beyond what plagues them, but I know for me it felt like a real possibility I belonged in a supervised adult day workshop at one point; I literally had no capacity to do anything or be responsible for anything.
Except, that is, for growing seeds. To get out of depression you have to start somewhere, and in digging and clawing to get out, you often have to start small, elementary even. It happens at its own pace and in its own season; you can't force it. For me, the spontaneous decision to grow something--since everything inside of me was dead, it would have to be something external--was the catalyst, the spark that caught the tinder. A funny thing happened--the exercise of the external--putting together the little greenhouse, filling the cups, poking the seeds in the potting mix, watering it regularly--sparked something internal. I regained a bit of a sense of control in my life--not the kind that tries to usurp God's authority and omnipotence, but just enough my taking on of even the slightest responsibility was not in vain. I could be responsible for something, even if it was just some seeds, and something could prosper under my watch. Of course, God makes the sun, the rain, created the seed--but he allows us to co operate and co create with Him. What looked like a 4th grade Biology lesson from the outside was literally the straw I was gripping to keep from falling into the abyss of annihilation.
There's no universal formula or map to make one's way out of the valley of depression. It is different for everyone, because no two minds are alike. But a few things hold in common, I think.
Depression wraps you in the wet blanket of your self. To throw it off, you have to get out of yourself. It is HARD. But there's no better way to do it than to take action. Volunteer. Pray for other people. Do little favors, or visit a nursing home. That can help to short circuit the self-pity, this kind of exterior exercise of the will. You don't have to feel good doing it. You don't have to wait to do it until you do feel good about it. The old Nike adage holds: Just Do It.
Depression can feel like you have no control of your life. Take control by an act of your God given free will...and cede control. Offer up your suffering to the One who holds your life in the palm of His hand. In this way your suffering is not meaningless; it has a purpose. And in depression, everything is purposeless, so this can be an effective antidote. Again, it is an exercise of the will to consciously hand over your life as an offering to God and for others in this way. But it can be redemptive.
Depression eats one from the inside. Again, with the theme of getting outside the self, make use of sacramentals--medals, holy water, blessed salt. God's grace can work through these things, and they might be just the string that holds you to this world when your ship is being battered in the storm. No tool is useless in this fight; you need everything you can get to combat the darkness.
Depression erodes hope. So trust in Hope, against all odds. Stake your claim on Christ's lifeless body on the cross, for you know that Sunday comes three days later and the tomb rolls back and the dead are raised. My dad said it to me in a non-religious context, and I never forgot it: "I know it doesn't feel this way right now, but trust me: it will get better." He was my father, and I didn't believe him...but I trusted him. And he was right. In the darkest night, I held on to that hope.
I did plant those seedlings that I had nurtured in my darkness outside that May, in my parent's rich soil, and they did thrive, and became a symbol for me later that I would always look back to. These days I have a large 400 square foot garden with a tall fence. I haul in compost and mulch with a wheelbarrow, water from rain barrels, and plant and harvest more than my family and I can eat. But I wouldn't even be around to till it if it didn't start with those chintzy little seeds and a little windowsill greenhouse from Home Depot, and the care of a friend to drive down to visit me and encourage me in this little thing.
Don't underestimate your power in being present and 'there' for someone in their darkest night. Don't underestimate the little things, whether it's a package of seeds or a drive with a friend or a letter or a kind word or a sacramental that may be the last little root keeping one's life from eroding away. Whatever it takes...just don't make a home here in the valley of death. Unlock the car, get on the road...and drive.
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