The Winter is Cold

It starts much like a snowstorm in winter. The clouds gather, gradually blotting out the blue and what little warmth there is from the sun. They darken and lower. Grayness prevails and the temperature falls. Then, almost unseen, the first snowflake descends. Maybe it even melts when it touches something. Gradually more flakes drift down. White spots begin to appear on the ground. The intensity increases and soon there is nothing but a blanket of white. Cold white. Chilling white. Eventually the world has been transformed from colors and warmth to a monochromatic white. Except it’s not really white. It is really all shades of gray. Gray as far as the eye can see. And cold. Very cold.

I cannot think of a better metaphor for how it feels when I sink into a depressive episode. Recognizing that there is a physical aspect to what causes depressive illness, it is consistent that it seems that, physically, I can feel the effects. The world does seem gray and without color. My vision seems to narrow. I have to be exceptionally wary when driving. My doctor long ago said that depression is an accident-probe state. I am fortunate in that the rational part of me is aware of that and does what it can to maintain a watch and help me avoid accidents.

There was a time, a bit over a year ago, when I felt an elevation to my mood that I had never felt before. I felt happy. It was an unfamiliar feeling as I had come to equate “happiness” with the absence of depression. If I wasn’t feeling down, it was as close as I got being happy. (Let me digress a moment and say that I’m not referring to momentary happiness such as when my team or favorite driver wins the championship. Or the lightness of a good joke or something funny on TV. I mean an overall state of elevated mood where one feels good about themselves and the world around them.) But a year or so ago I was feeling happy. My mood was elevated. I enjoyed life and everything around me. I believed, really believed that I had broken through to a new plateau and that I had beaten the demon.

I’m not sure where those feeling evaporated to and how they left me. I just know that one day my “new normal” was back to the same old normal. And what was worse was that I had touched the brass ring. I had seen behind the curtain. And I had believed that I had come out of a lifetime of fear that I would never enjoy life. The reality, however, was that that period appears to have been the aberration. Meet the new boss. Same as the old boss. Only now the sweet taste has become the bitter ashes of those memories.

I have long believed that one of the worst questions to ask is “Why?” The classic answer is “because” or “why not?” That doesn’t stop me from asking it. They “why” in this context is, “Why can’t I be happy for more than a few seconds at a time?” I’m sure a physiologist can provide all sorts of wonderfully scientific explanations about serotonin-reuptake and how SSRI medications help but don’t really cure. Great. I understand the theory. I’m questioning the reality.

If wishes were fishes….We’ve all made wishes. Not too long ago I was asked what would I consider to be a great accomplishment. My answer was to be able to live inside my own skin and like myself. Intellectually, I know I’m not an unlikable person. I have lived with my wife for almost thirty-seven years and she loves me. Most of the time she even likes me. I have friends and colleagues who like and respect me. The rational part of me sits inside my head, peering out from behind the snow bank and screams at the feeling part of me. But that feeling part of me is deaf, dumb and blind to all those blandishments. He is unable to experience what Mr. Rational screams is reality. I can experience, in a detached sense, what Mr. Rational is saying. But Mr. Emotional is unable to see it that way. And the gray persists. And, now that I thin about it, maybe a better name would be Mr. Irrational.

Every time it has happened, so far, I have recovered from the downturn. That’s kind of like a sailor on a submarine saying that every time they have submerged they have returned to the surface. But it only takes once, one time when it becomes impossible to resurface to ruin that record forever. Although not debilitating (so far), there is always the fear that this time I won’t return to “normal.” Having experienced the depths to which depression can drag one, it’s not a pleasant circumstance to contemplate. And fear breeds fear.

Why am I telling you all this? Two reasons and the first of them is horribly selfish. The truth is that writing about things like this gives me some small comfort that I can write rationally and honestly about depression and its effects. The second, however, is an effort to help. I know a number of my friends suffer from similar bouts of depression, It’s not just the “blues.” It’s not just a matter of pulling yourself up by the bootstraps. It’s not just saying one day, “I’m not going to be depressed anymore.” It’s a daily and sometime brutal and deadly struggle. If what I write resonates at all and offers the slightest comfort that YOU ARE NOT ALONE it has been worthwhile.

Now is the winter of our discontent. Unfortunately, right now there is no glorious sun of York or any other sun visible.