The sun is shining, the weather is warmer and I survived the morning. All in all, I’d say it’s been a pretty good day. At the risk of sounding melodramatic, my morning sucked. It sucked like a hot air balloon taking in NOT hot air after being punctured by a stray torpedo. I felt as if I were sinking rapidly toward the ground while the handler laughed, pulled out a parachute, and said, “See ya later, Gator!” and leaped overboard. This is life with depression. Sometimes, it just sucks.
I knew I was in a rough spot when I couldn’t get out of bed. It took my youngest son pleading for food to pull me from my blanket cocoon. And even then I did it mostly with my eyes closed. I couldn’t bear to see the sunny day when I felt like cobwebs and dried snake skins inside. After I fed him breakfast, I stepped on the scale. And then I got mad. Because it’s not bad enough that my jeans are too tight, but the dang scale refuses to lie to me. Where is my willpower? Is it that red balloon I accidentally let go of that sailed off into the clouds–so high its just a little red speck? Because that’s what it feels like. (sorry about all the balloon analogies. If you hate balloons you can stop reading now. I personally like balloons because they make me happy and therefore seem apt, and its my blog so I can do what I want, and if you don’t like it you can go suck an egg — or like I said, just stop reading)
So I began the negative self-talk that is impossible to avoid when my mental faculties are bereft.
“I am a failure.”
“Why can’t I stop eating too much?”
“Nobody will love me if they notice I’ve gained weight.”
“I had better exercise extra hard to burn the calories I ate last night.”
“But I’m too tired to work out.”
“I give up.”
“I’m tired of fighting this battle.”
“I want to die.”
The sane part of me wants to erase that last line and pretend it didn’t happen so people won’t think poorly of me. But that wouldn’t be honest. Sometimes I feel so helpless and out of control that no amount of pep talk can fix me. So I did what I always do, I put on my workout clothes and prepared for a blistering hour of elliptical machine. And then I sat down at the kitchen table(no–I did not work out) and stared out of the window for 3 hours because its all I had the strength to do.
Evil squirrel
I began to make a wish list of all the things that would make me feel better. Because that’s what I do when I feel bad. I did not read my bible. I did not pray. Because honestly, I was mad at God for allowing me to suffer like this. Why did He make me this way? As if it’s not bad enough that I feel like the bottom of a goat’s hoof, I can’t even eat myself better because my pants already don’t fit. And I don’t have a lot of money, so I can’t buy a motorcycle and go zooming around with the wind in my hair and my leather chap fringes flailing, or hop a flight to Jamaica to catch up on my repleted vitamin D while I roll around in the sand like a movie star. (I am going to read this later and consider what a whiny baby I am–or as Charlie Brown would say, Good grief! But right now I’m too busy pouting).
So I picked up “Useless News”, the newsletter Dean Koontz sends out to his faithful readers. And do you know what? He is so funny. If you have never read his books, you should pick one up. Start with “Life Expectancy.” You will laugh and laugh, and find hope when you thought you had lost it. But back to the newsletter, “The Crow Shrieker” describes his encounter with a feckless black bird and his decision to shriek at it because, well, why not?
“One night, I imitated their shriek but belted it out at great volume. I was amused when repeatedly my shriek silenced them for a minute. After my fifth or sixth response to them, they were silent longer–until one bird flew down from the tree, to the edge of the patio, and stood staring at me. I stared back, and after a moment, it shrieked. I shrieked in, if I do say so myself, a perfect imitation of it, but louder. The crow flew away, and a second later, a dozen crows in the oak burst into flight and followed it. Two months later, they have not returned. I lack Dr. Dolittle’s ability to speak with animals, but I seem to have the power to scare the hell out of crows. Anna (Dean’s golden retriever) watched all this with interest. My shrieking did not in the least disturb her. But she knows her dad is….different.” -Dean Koontz
It seems silly to say, but Dean reminded me that we can find joy and beauty in the midst of the darkest places. He reminds me that I must not give up wishing(though not for stupid things) and hoping (in Jesus–for the day when He makes all things new and saves me from my brain and my body). And Dean also reminded me that laughter truly is good medicine, even though it doesn’t fundamentally fix anything(except my attitude).
Flowers make me happy
If you are reading this and you struggle with depression, or physical pain, or the loss of someone you love, or your weight, or insert-your-problem-here; please don’t give up. Don’t give in to the voices. Take heart. You are not alone.
Right now I am putting down my keyboard and picking up “Spurgeon’s Sorrows: Realistic Hope for those who Suffer from Depression” by Zack Eswine. I’m on Chapter 9: Promises and Prayers. And I have decided tomorrow will be a better day.
I would never eat the bread Mom put out for the birds! Would this sweet face lie?
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