Into The Mouth of Darkness, Pt. 3

"In our most desperate hour, we await the shining beacon ... What we fail to see is that sometimes, though, all that is required to vanquish the darkness is the light of a single candle. It's flame may be feeble, it may flicker and tremble, it may even be temporarily extinguished but as long as a spark remains and it is nurtured, it will guide the way home as surely as if it were the sun."

Regarding the first two posts in this confessional series: That was then; this is now. Even though the most serious of those events transpired just a few short years ago, it seems as if I have lived a lifetime between then and now. I have come a long way from those dark days and I hope I have grown as a result of the experience; I believe that I have. It has been a hugely difficult and intensely personal journey to say the least, one that is ongoing ... and one for which I am, strangely, almost thankful. I say that because I have learned so much about myself and my loved ones; I have awakened to new possibilities; and I have learned valuable, if not heartbreaking lessons ... lessons that were pointed out to me previously but which, in the depths of my despair and now much to my regret, I ignored.

Is the depression gone? Cured? No, of course not; as my counselor Jerry said, it will be with me for the rest of my life. As much as I may have initially resisted that notion, as much as I still dislike it, it is an indisputable fact and I have come to realize that living with something does not automatically mean living under its control. I am not a slave to my condition. It is simply one more of the total sum of parts that make up who I am, no more or less impoprtant than the color of my hair or how tall I am.The depression and anxiety hasn't the debilitating power over me that it once did; I have not vanquished it completely, but for the most part I have managed it into submission. That "mouth of darkness" yawns open now and again and sometimes it shows teeth; the difference now is that instead of popping a Klonopin or other chemical remedy I choose differently.

It was not easy getting to this point, and at the risk of sounding egotistical, I am proud of myself for overcoming the challenge. I say this not to impress anyone, but to impress upon you that no matter how deep the depression it can be surmounted. I was on the verge of completely giving up -- of killing myself, to put it bluntly -- so I know how bleak life can get; I am not saying that recovery will be effortless and undemanding; quite the opposite, in fact. It will be a daily struggle at first ... you will feel like giving up at times ... you will slide back ... you will not see immediate results ... but you will make it through -- and be better for it -- if you approach it with resolve. No one -- no doctor, therapist or loved one -- is going to do it for you either. Years of depression and anxiety will not be exiled in a matter of days or even months, but I am living proof that a semblance of normalcy can be recovered from the brink.

Recovery came, in part, as a result of a few years of one on one counseling, a brief stint in group, and what the doctors universally believed to be the best therapy: round after round of medication -- Lexapro, Wellbutrin, Celexa, Klonopin, Xanax, Cymbalta and others. Michael Jackson may have been the only human being with more prescription drugs in his system than me.

I will not deny that the drugs helped, each to varying degrees; I was not as depressed. I also was not as coherent, focused, outgoing, aware, active, in the present moment, or as alive as I needed to be. It was as if the drugs had taken me outside of myself, if that makes sense. I was a robot, automatically going through the motions of daily living with no real motivation to do or be anything. Besides the lethargy, there were other side effects as well: nightmares (when I could actually sleep), suicidal thoughts (because I apparently didn't have enough of those already), and sexual side effects. They lasted long enough, or occured frequently enough that they fit the old cliche of the "treatment being worse than the disease." It felt like going from one end of the spectrum to the other.

Make no mistake, I am not completely disparaging the use of medication, nor advising anyone against taking that approach; drugs have different effects on different people. Some people with whom I have spoken, have found medication to be their salvation. The most important thing is to seek professional help, to talk to someone, if only as a starting point.

However, after a time, it came as something of an epiphany to me that more than ever my recovery was ultimately in my own hands. My counselor made me abundantly aware that he couldn't cure me, that any recovery I hoped to achieve depended entirely on my thoughts, choices and behaviors. And he was right ...

I began to explore alternate routes to wellness -- herbs like St. John's Wort, vitamins, healthy activities, and reframing my thoughts ("reprogramming the computer" in my counselor's words). Losing my relationship with Theo and moving out on my own (more than any other event) was the wake up call that served notice that, better late than never, I needed to change and change now.

And as it turned out the most effective solution was right in front of me all along.

Through 26 years of training in various traditional and eclectic Martial Arts from diverse cultural backgrounds I had been educated in the philosophy of an undeniable mind-body connection as well as introduced to the fundamentals of meditation. In the depths of my depression I had somehow abandonded everything I had learned; I did this without even thinking of it. It wasn't until after I began experiencing the side effects of the antidepressants that I began to investigate further. I discovered that, for me, daily meditation was far more effective than any chemical I had taken.

I looked into and experimented with various meditative disciplines, eventually settling on one that focuses primarily on mindfulness (being entirely present and ongoing attention to whatever arises moment to moment), although I incorporate elements of others as well ... including Zen meditation (the discipline of just "being"), lovingkindness (attuning oneself with the positive energy of the Universe), and even Transcendental Meditation.

The effect of this practice has been enormous. It has succeeded on a scale I neither imagined nor dared hope. I am where I should have been all along and for the first time in years I look at life with a renewed hope ... I feel an sense of peace and purpose ... I have a pretty good idea of where I want to be and where my life is going ...but perhaps most significantly, I no longer take ANY form of prescription medication; I have been off of them for a good long time.

I want to pause right here and say two important things: (1) I don't propose that this approach is a cure-all or that it will work for everyone; but it certainly couldn't hurt to add it to your existing arsenal. The worst that could happen is that you find a bit of inner bliss and get really, really relaxed; and (2) I am not advising that anyone who is severely depressed just completely abandon their medication. Quite the contrary: it wasn't until the meds enabled me to gain a bit of stability that I began to investigate alternatives; in other words, I worked my way up to this point. ALWAYS consult your physician or caregiver before stopping any form of treatment.

Having said that, let me now say this: Meditation is now a habit; I practice every single day. It is something to which I am now committed for life. It is not time consuming -- I sometimes sit in meditation for as little as ten minutes or as long as half an hour or more. It is not addicting like some chemicals; it has no harmful side effects; it can be done anywhere; it requires no special equiptment.

Most importantly ... the benefits far outweigh the minimal expenditure of time/ effort. And because I have changed, my life has changed. Sure ... the depression still rears its ugly head on occasion ... there are still days that I feel down ... days when I don't want to get out of bed ... days when life overwhelms me ... but now I am the master. And THAT is one of the best feelings in the world.

Finally, the practice of daily meditation has put things in perspective, let me see what truly IS, rather than the negative illusions thrown up by my mind ... and, that, as much as anything else, is the true essence of Mindfulness.

Note: If you have read my story and can identify with it or if you are depressed and would like to discuss this further, or simply feel the need to talk, I am only an email away. I know that sometimes all we need is a sympathetic ear, someone to whom we can tell our story -- even anonymously -- without fear of judgement ... I have been there.

Into the Mouth of Darkness, Part 2

"Mysteriously and in ways that are totally remote from natural experience, the gray drizzle of horror induced by depression takes on the quality of physical pain." -- William Stryon

Those were dark times. Desperate times. Even though they took place several years ago, they are still hard to think about let alone blog about for all the world to see. And yet, I feel as if I need to write about them ... to come clean and finally purge myself, as much as possible, of whatever power those memories hold over me. I never would have considered myself to be one of "those people" who would contemplate taking their own life (my avowed belief was that suicide is for the weak)... and yet here I was, entertaining those very ideas, even taking the first tentative steps toward making them reality ...

If by revealing all of this about myself -- and believe me, it took forever to find the balls to finally put all of this into words, because even though I know better, I am still embarrassed to admit much of it -- one person who may be experiencing the same thing stops for a moment, pauses, and reconsiders, I will be happy. It was hard enough getting my own life in order, I harbor no delusions of changing the world. One person, that's all I ask.

Though compressed here for reasons of space, it is important to understand that the events I have described thus far, both in this and the last post -- and all of the problems they caused -- carried on, unabated, for years. With the notion of ending my life playing in my mind, daily existence was like being smothered under a heavy, hot, wet blanket; I carried it around with me all day, every day. It was made bleaker still, if that was at all possible, because a devestating anxiety compounded the depression. It is neither exaggeration nor overly dramatic to say that I was straitjacketed by this combination. I once described the feeling as like "having snakes squirming in my head."

Does that make sense? I don't know. But that's how it felt.

Every decision, trivial or complex, was an intractable ritual of fear, doubt, self-loathing and questioning that only served to deepen the depression; an endless loop from which there appeared no escape. I lived with this nightmare mess for nearly three decades prior to a formal diagnosis. That length of time is important because it was unnecessary, given power by my own stubbornness. It was profoundly embarrassing to admit, both to myself and others, that I could not handle this on my own, that I could not bear up under the crushing pressure in my own head. I could not just "snap out of it." There were periods now not only of uncontrollable outbursts of anger, but an unstoppable flood of tears. I would start to cry for no readily apparent reason; I would cry almost non-stop for several days and that would only deepen my personal shame -- I was a man, after all; and men do not cry, especially over nothing. I was a Martial Artist, a fighter; I was supposed to be stronger than this. This was my ego, vanity; and as my thoughts tumbled deeper and deeper into darkness I knew that it was eventually going to kill me.

There is a commercial on television for the drug Cymbalta that asks this question: "Who does depression hurt?" Their answer: "Everyone."

Certainly everyone around me suffered; even if they did not recognize the problem for what it was or know the reasons, my friends, family, co-workers, and loved ones bore the brunt of my black moods, my emotional distance, my disconnection, and my outbursts. In fact, looking back now from this safe perspective, I can clearly see the wide swath of destruction, like the detritus after a tornado, left by my behaviors and actions.

At one stage of my life I had so many things that so many people desire -- a wife and beautiful daughter, a nice home, a career that I loved -- that an outsider might justifiably question what reason I had to be depressed. Whether the cause was emotional, biochemical, psychological, or all of the above I destroyed nearly all of my good fortune. That which I did not destroy was irrevocably changed ... forever.

"If we can accept whatever hand we've been dealt, no matter how unwelcome, the way to proceed eventually becomes clear." -- Phil Jackson, NBA coach

To shorten an already lengthy story, partial salvation appeared after I breached the wall of shame and entered therapy. I had no money thanks to my collapsed business and, since I had been self-employed, no health insurance. So I entered a program through the local Community Counseling Center. I owe my therapist, Jerry, a huge debt of thanks -- not for curing me, because I am not cured; but because as hard as it was at times, as much as I resisted, he made it OK to talk. He certainly didn't take any shit from me; and I gave plenty, believe me. In session I spent a long time talking to Jerry (twice a week at first, then once a week, then every two weeks as I made progress, followed by a period of group sessions) ... talking about my feelings ... about the embarrassment of being there ... about the effects on everyone around me ... of wanting to kill myself ... discovering the roots of the depression and anxiety and its triggers ... owning responsibility for the damage I had caused ... learning methods of coping.

I was obstinate, however, and my stubborness and resistance got the best of me; I attended therapy for as long as I felt necessary, then quit, only to find myself retreating into old patterns. With the old patterns came the old results. I eventually returned, however, with a renewed goal of achieving a sense of inner peace. I wish I could say that that was the end of the story ... that I found the balance I needed, but I cannot say that because it isn't true. What those endless counseling sessions did, though, was to show me that there was an end to the journey. It may not have been the final destination that I so desperately desired but it was a far cry from the chaos I had put myself and others through. Jerry told me, "There is no cure for this. You've likely had this since childhood and it's going to be with you for good. You cannot 'cure' it. Now you can either let that reality push you back down into the shit, or you can get off your ass and manage it."

I chose to master the depression rather than be it's slave.

Even so, the fallout from depressive behaviors is long lasting and had been building over the years , and despite a new regimen of talk therapy and medication, it was too late to save a relationship with a woman whom I regarded as my Soulmate and whom I hoped to one day marry. Even now, I love her like no other, and love her daughters as my own.

It took that final, catastrophic loss -- and it was (and still is) catatstrophic in my mind and carried its own temporary spiral back into negative behaviors, and a visit to the ER -- to finally awaken me to a brand new approach to life and living. It is still a source of great regret that it required something of that magnitude to finally shake me into awareness. We, as a species, have arrived at a point in our history in which we can send a message around the entire world in the time it takes to take a breath, but it still sometimes takes an eternity to penetrate that last quarter inch of bone into our brain.

But, as after a forest fire, new life rises from the ashes of destruction ...