Depression – The Gift That Keeps On Giving

Go with me on a journey…

Imagine, and I mean really imagine, that you are lying on a flat surface. You are laying rigid and the cold, hard surface hurts your back and makes your hips ache. You want so badly to get up but something is holding you back. You think if only you could get up that everything would be okay but in the back of your mind you’re not so sure. You’ve been there, you’ve done that and you know better.

Lying there trying to figure out what to do next, yet having no energy to do anything, you see something coming at you from above. It descends slowly but with purpose. You lay there thinking you need to move but feel helpless to do so; something is keeping you where you are. As this thing comes into view you get a better look. It is dark and gray. It looks ominous and strong. You realize it’s a blanket, a wool blanket. A wet, heavy wool blanket. Before it touches you, you know it’s going to envelope your soul.

Unable to move you feel it drop onto your body. It’s heavy, the heaviest thing you’ve ever felt. It is wet, cold and overwhelming. You can’t move. You are paralyzed not only by the weight but the sheer darkness of the blanket. It conforms itself to your body and you know it’s going to stay awhile.

You lay there for a long time thinking about the blanket. How can you not think about it when it’s encompassing every fiber of your being? You feel a deep, painful sadness begin to crush your heart. It hurts and it hurts and it hurts but you don’t know why. What is causing this debilitating, heart wrenching ache? You don’t understand and it scares you.

You know you have to do something but you’re not sure what so you decide to sit up. You try to move under the weight of the blanket but it’s relentless in it’s determination to hold you down. You struggle and push and move as best you can. For what seems like days, weeks then months you struggle but eventually you are able, with much effort, to sit up. You did it. You fought the darkness and heaviness of the blanket and you sat up but what you see stuns you.

You realize you are in a room. It has no windows. It has no doors. It is painted a dark, charcoal gray and the floor is black. You look around, trying to find something to focus on but there is nothing but darkness. You’re confused. How did you get here? Why are you here? There are no answers so you sit. You wait.

Time goes by but nothing changes. The room remains dark and the wool blanket stays heavy and wet and unrelenting. All you have to keep you company are your own thoughts. In the darkness of the room these thoughts turn dark as well. They tell you bad things about yourself. They tear you down and tear you up.

Time goes by slowly, painfully. For all you know it’s been years since you found yourself in this room. Suddenly you hear a sound on the other side of the walls that hold you prisoner. It’s a pounding noise and a voice. You can’t quite make out what’s being said but you know someone is there. You begin to feel hope.

The pounding gets louder as one of the walls begins to crumble from the outside. The voice, once muffled, is becoming clearer. “Don’t give up. I’m here.” As the wall comes tumbling down, the light from the other side blinds you. For a moment you can’t see but slowly someone comes into focus. Someone you trust. Someone who wants to help you.

They come to your side and put a hand on your shoulder. You begin to cry as they take hold of the blanket and lift if off you. You feel a lightness you haven’t felt in a very long time. You are able to get off the table and walk toward the light that fills the room. You are free.

For now.

As you stumble out of the dark you realize the ache you’ve felt in your heart for so long isn’t as strong but it’s still there like a scar that never really goes away. Something prompts you to look up and you see it. The wet, heavy blanket that held you down for so long. And you know. You know it’s lingering there waiting. Waiting for the next time.

Failure To Communicate

Several months ago Fred and I parked our car by the golden arches in order to fulfill our need for fast food. It wasn’t long before a mother and her young son sat down at the table across from us. The little boy, I would say he was about 4 years old, had a happy meal and his mom had a drink and her cell phone. She opened the boy’s meal, took out his nuggets and left him to his own devices while she picked up her phone. It was the last time she communicated with her son during their entire meal. While mom scrolled and typed on her phone the little boy ate his food, looking around and smiling at people, making eye contact and swinging his feet back and forth like happy little kids do. He seemed to accept his mom’s preoccupation with her phone as the most natural thing in the world. For all intents and purposes he didn’t seem affected at all but I had to wonder.

For the record I don’t judge this mom. I relate to her.

Fred and I got our first computer in the early 90s and I was immediately hooked. I could explore the vast world wide web with a click of a mouse. I made friends from all over the globe and became involved in online communities. I sent emails like a crazy person and even learned how to create my own website. I’d found my niche. The problem was I got too involved with my new found love and it took over. I checked my email with ridiculous frequency and became immersed deeper and deeper into online communities, sometimes to my detriment. If I wasn’t on the computer I was thinking about what I’d find there when I finally got back to it.

It took years, and several unpleasant experiences, for me to learn to temper my online usage and put down my techie toys. I’m at a point now that I can just turn it all off and, much to my surprise, it has made life more pleasant. I no longer break out in a sweat when I can’t check my email. It has removed a lot of anxiety and worry that I’m missing something.

It seems kind of contradictory doesn’t it? Technology is supposed to make our lives easier and help us get our tasks done quicker, therefore giving us more free time. But in reality it eats up more of our time every day. We’re going forward and backward all at the same time.

Have you ever people watched at a coffee shop or restaurant? How many times have you seen two people sit down together and the first thing they do is put their cell phones on the table? On more than one occasion I’ve observed people chatting, really communicating face-to-face only to have one of their phones ring. They stop mid-sentence to answer a call or type a text, leaving their companion waiting, perhaps sending the message that the person on the other end of the phone is more important than they are.

Is this the message the little boy at McDonald’s was getting from his mom? Is it the message kids and adults alike are sending each other? That the people on the other side of the computer screen or the other end of our smart phones are more important than those sitting right in front of us?

There is a sign posted by the cash register at our local pharmacy that asks customers to end their phone calls before approaching the check out. Seriously? We really need to be told this? Are we not a polite enough society that we can’t put our phones down long enough to pay for our prescriptions? Are we not a respectful enough people to ignore our text messages until we’ve completed our transaction at the bank?

I’m not trying to diss technology. It’s brought to us a world we never had before. It’s allowed us to forge new friendships, keep in touch in real time and stay connected to those who live far away. We can get our news, sports and entertainment on demand. We can research every possible topic known to man and get the answers we need to make us more informed. We can give and receive support to anyone who is in need. For many who are lonely it is a lifeline that has brought great joy. Technology isn’t bad. The internet isn’t evil. But our obsession with these things has me wondering if we’re not headed toward a place and time when our face-to-face communication skills will become obsolete (okay, maybe that‘s stretching it a bit but I think you know where I‘m coming from.)

Will I give up my techie toys? Nope. Will I stop annoying my friends by posting pictures of my dogs on Facebook? Doubtful. Will I close down my email account, sell my computer and move to the woods and live off the land. That would be a resounding no. I just hope that as technology continues to advance at break neck speed we don’t lose our ability to be “in the moment” when we’re in the company of others. We are a species that craves companionship, touch and closeness and that is something that will never change no matter how much our technologically savvy world continues grow.

Harmony

Every year I put a hummingbird feeder on a hook attached to our deck. Usually I am organized enough to have the feeder up before the birds arrive but this year I missed the mark. I happened to be outside when I heard an old familiar humming emanating from behind a hanging basket. “Hello! I’m back, where’s the grub?”

Fred and I get a lot of pleasure out of watching hummingbirds. According to Professor Google the hummingbird is the smallest of all animals that have a backbone. Their wings beat 60 to 80 times per second and they have a heart rate that can reach up to 1,200 beats per minute. A hummingbird has no sense of smell but they can rotate their wings in a circle therefore they are the only bird that can fly forwards, backwards, up, down, sideways and hover in midair. During migration many ruby-throats, which is what we have at our feeder, make a 2,000 mile journey between Canada and Panama including a 500 mile non-stop trek over the Gulf of Mexico. Busy, busy.

During their four to five month visit to our area they spend a lot of time at our feeder. The thing about hummingbirds is they are quite territorial. And mean. In the mornings I sit under the canopy of our deck and watch the show unfold. Two or three hummingbirds will hover in our crepe myrtle tree and wait for their first victim. As soon as another hummer comes to partake of the rich nectar they buzz in at an alarming speed and proceed to dive bomb their intended target. Needless to say said bird takes off like a bat out of hell. Once their mission is accomplished they turn on each other. There is much wailing and gnashing of beaks as they bump, push and otherwise bully each other in midair. They make quite a bit of noise for such tiny birds. Many a time they have brought their brawl under the canopy and dangerously close to my head. I have visions of Fred coming home in the evening to find me still on the deck, in shock with tiny beak holes peppering my forehead.

Hummingbird at our feeder

I feel sorriest for the male hummers. One no sooner appears and the females lose control of their faculties and kick his sorry butt to the curb. No wonder hummingbirds don’t mate for life.

Sometimes they are much braver and simply perch on the hook that holds the feeder and wait for someone, anyone, to fly in and try and get a drink. They fluff out their feathers to make themselves look bigger but in reality it makes them look fat, out of shape and in dire need of a good grooming.

Watching the hummingbird equivalent of an epic world war in my back yard this summer left me more than a little surprised when I witnessed something different. A female hummer was perched on the hook when another approached. Expecting the same kick-ass approach that had been so prevalent all summer I was shocked to see the second hummer perch next to the first one. Holding my breath for what was sure to be a fight to the death I was slowly calmed by what I observed. These two females who had been hurling bird-like obscenities at each other all season were suddenly in synch. They quietly sat together, rubbed beaks gently and watched the world go by. It suddenly seemed so normal, so much more normal than the near constant fighting.

This change in behavior threw me off a bit. How could such harmony coincide with so much animosity? Perhaps I was wrong in my thinking. What I saw as animosity was really survival. What I saw as harmony was actually the way it was supposed to be when they weren’t fighting for the food they needed. Everything really was the way it was meant to be by nature.

Mother Nature is a beautifully complex, intricate system with a remarkably simple outcome. Animals fight for what they need in order to survive but they also rely on each other for the same purpose. Strength in numbers and all that. It’s survival and companionship melded together. It is the ebb and flow of nature, the yin and yang, the good, the bad and the ugly. It’s the way things are supposed to be.

I’ll miss my little hummers when they fly south for the winter but what remains is a certain insight. That in the midst of chaos there can be found harmony. I have to work (and it is work) to cultivate the things that bring harmony to my life and weed out that which does not. We are not built to be in overdrive all the time, our wings beating 80 times per second, flying in circles up, down, forward and backwards. Nature is our built in quiet time, our time to nurture ourselves so that we have the strength to fight for what we need and the balance to foster our relationships. It is, I believe, the way things are meant to be.

Failure Is An Option

When I was a little girl I wanted to be a rock star.  Not just any rock star but a bigger-than-life rock star.  Bigger than the Stones.  Better than the Beatles.  I wanted to be the rock star to end all rock stars.  Anyone who knows me now knows how absurd this is but in my little girl mind it’s what I dreamed about.  But also looming in the very back of my little girl mind was the fact that it would never happen.  I’m not sure how I knew but I did.

Looking back I can see how far-fetched my dream really was but as children we view things differently.  As I grew older and the dream faded I never felt as if I was a failure for not achieving rock star status.  Some things are not meant to come to fruition.  Even if this was considered a failure it didn’t matter.  It’s not like I actually relished the idea of life on the road with a band of musicians with bigger hair than I had.

From a relatively young age I loved to write.  As time went by and I was encouraged by several lovely school teachers to set free my creative juices, my dreams turned to writing for a living.  This is not a dream I shared with anyone.  It wasn’t a practical occupation at the time for someone like me so I wrote in my spare time; poetry mostly.  (As an aside, many years ago I came across those poems and was so stunned and horrified by the pain I had revealed on paper that I destroyed them.  Stupid I know but I never, ever wanted anyone to see the explosive emotions I had laid out in print.)

Did I fail at writing the book I’d dreamed about?  Yes, I suppose I did.  But I didn’t fail at writing.  The book would have been the end product of something I was already good at but with or without it I’m still a writer.

My poetry took on a whole new tone and meaning when our first greyhound Misty Blue died.  I wanted to pay tribute to this special dog so I wrote about her and the pain of her loss.  In 1997 I decided to venture into the world of website creation and put my work on the internet.  What started out as a small memorial to a dog that meant so much to me has morphed, in 13 years, to one of the most substantial and helpful pet loss websites on the Web.  Did my poetry end up in a book?  Nope.  Did it make a difference in the lives of countless people mourning the loss of a pet?  Yep.  I failed at writing a book but did not fail at writing.  A side effect of my website is that I was able to learn enough about the subject to help others by creating their sites which has been fun.

Several years ago I tried my hand at jewelry making.  I was pretty good at it but didn’t succeed in a business sense.  Did I fail?  It depends on how you look at it.  In some ways I failed but there are people out there enjoying my creations and that counts for something.

 I actually hate the word failure although I’ve used it to describe myself when I have, indeed, failed miserably at something.  The word evokes a sense of hopelessness, as if because we failed there is no hope of moving on from it.  According to William D. Brown, “Failure is an event, never a person.”  I think he may be on to something there.

Failure is a matter of perspective.  What I see as a failure you might see as a glitch in the road.  What you see as a fatal failure could seem to me a crossroads to something better.

Life is a series of setbacks and recoveries among other things.  Whether we’re writers, designers, inventors, store clerks, talk show hosts, truck drivers or rock stars we are going to fail at something sometime in our lives.  The question is what do we do with it in order to accomplish something else?  If we can look at our failures as a means to a greater end we just might find the answer.

Failure comes from trying and that’s really all we can do.  As long as we try there will be successes and failures.  Perhaps we should spend more time looking at our successes, no matter how small, than our failures.  These little successes give us the hope that the word failure tries to take away.

Failure is in the eye of the beholder.  How we look at it will determine what we do with it.   So let’s forge ahead and keep trying because in trying we succeed.

Things That Bug Me

Movies that suck

I’ve noticed lately a number of movies that are only as funny as the trailers used to preview them.  Case in point, Men Who Stare at Goats with George Clooney.  The previews looked promising with lots of humor.  It turns out the joke was on me.  I’ve gotten more laughs from a hairball than this movie.  Hell, most of it didn’t even make sense but I could have lived with that if there had been something to actually laugh at.  Another movie that previewed well but basically sucked was Cop Out with Bruce Willis.  I like Bruce and enjoy his humor in movies but in this case the trailer held all the guffaws and the rest of the movie caused my eyelids to droop.  I shouldn’t complain, I had a really nice nap and woke up refreshed.

Lipstick

I don’t wear lipstick often but when I do I want it to actually stay, you know, on my lips.  I don’t want the rim of my coffee cup laced with an imprint of my smoocher.  To minimize the grossness factor I have to wipe the rim off with my thumb.  Then I have to wipe my thumb off with a napkin so I don’t get lipstick on my keyboard. Lipstick and keyboard keys do not make for a good combination.  Of course then I have to reapply the lipstick and the vicious cycle continues…lather, rinse, repeat.

Windows Vista

When I got my laptop it was loaded with Windows Vista.  Whoever came up with this operating system should be forced to listen to Tiny Tim’s rendition of Stairway to Heaven for 24 hours straight (including potty breaks.)  I consider myself savvy when it comes to computers but even after a year of having Vista I can’t find my way around.  It’s like trying to navigate a complicated maze situated in the bowels of an ancient pyramid located in the lost city of Atlantis.

Friends who aren’t friends

If you’re going to drop me like a hot potato please tell me why.  If I did something wrong let me know so I can own it, explain it, apologize or do whatever needs to be done to try and fix it.  If I did nothing wrong, tell me so I don’t feel like a worthless piece of dog doo.

Catalog companies that won’t give up

It happens every year right before the holidays.  I get catalogs in the mail from companies I’ve never done business with before.  You name it there’s a catalog for it.  What bugs me is that even though I don’t order any holiday wares from them they continue to send me catalogs throughout the year.  Seriously, don’t they ever check their records to determine who has never ordered from them and then eliminate such slackers from their database?  There is always the “this is the last catalog you will receive from us” catalog to look forward to.  Then there is the “this is your VERY last chance to order before we never send you another catalog” catalog.  This is followed 6 weeks later by the “order NOW or you will NEVER be able to order from us again EVER you schmuck” catalog.  Ho hum.

The little piece of lint the vacuum won’t pick up

So there you are, running the vacuum and minding your own business when you see it.  One little piece of lint that you know in your heart is stuck to the carpet and is not going to allow itself to get sucked up by your almighty Dyson.  Experience tells you that if you run the vacuum over the lint it is not going to budge but you try anyway.  Nothing happens.  You try again with a little more gusto and still the lint remains.  You are determined that this time the lint will not beat you so you run the vacuum over the lint again and again and again.  By now frustration is mounting because you cannot fathom how something so tiny be so much more powerful than a vacuum that can suck up twenty pounds of dog hair.  Finally, sensing defeat, you reach down and loosen the lint from the carpet and…throw it back on the rug to get vacuumed up.  (Or maybe that’s just me.)

For as many things that bug me there is much more that doesn’t.  I don’t mind melty ice cream or when a bar of soap disintegrates in my hand in the middle of a shower.  What kind of things bug you?  Tell me; nine times out of ten they bug me too. 

Taking Stock

So I’ve been doing a little personal inventory.  I’m amazed at how much I’ve changed over the years.  It’s funny how you don’t realize you’ve changed until…well…you’ve changed.  Things that used to matter so much to me in the past just don’t anymore.  Things that didn’t concern me back in the day now play a more prominent role in my life.

Am I happy with the changes?  Yes and no.  I’m happy that I don’t worry about certain things as much as I used to.  In the past I worried myself silly over what people might think of me.  I was very much a “yes” person; saying yes to just about any request for fear that someone would think badly of me if I said no.  Now?  Not so much.  If somebody is going to think badly of me simply because I choose to say no then it’s on them not me.  It’s not that I want people to go around thinking I’m an ogre or anything but I would like them to accept me for who I am.  Take it or leave it, like it or lump it…I yam what I yam.

I’m happy with the fact that I can let things go more easily, especially things I disagree with.  I don’t have as many hills to die on as I used to.  I have strong beliefs and I stand up for what I think is right but I don’t shove my beliefs down anyone’s throat.  I am better at agreeing to disagree than I’ve been in the past; in other words I don’t feel the need to have the last word in everything.  Go me.

I think I’m better at meeting people where they are as well.  It’s not my place to push people toward where I want them to be.  I’m certainly no expert in telling people where I think they should be at any given time in their lives.  Shame on me if I even try.

One thing that’s changed about me that I don’t like is that I focus more on my regrets than I used to.  I know it doesn’t do any good and it won’t fix anything but I do it anyway.  I also worry more about the end of my life.  I’m going to be 50 this year and I think my thoughts on these issues are part of the process of realizing just how limited my time here on earth really is.  It is disconcerting and something I have to fight in order not to get depressed.  I think a greater consumption of chocolate would help with this.

I pay more attention to the world more now than I did in the past.  I seem to absorb more of the…I don’t know…pain that’s around me.  Pain from people I don’t even know but whose stories touch me.  It causes me to pray more, that’s a fact.

As odd ball as this sounds I find I enjoy pretty things more than before.  I used to be all form and function; everything being black, white, brown and gray (such as my clothes, hair etc.)  If it didn’t have a function then it had no room in my life.  If it was too crazy with color then it wasn’t for me.  I’ve changed in this department.  More and more I like pretty things; not expensive things but pretty things.  (I’ve become quite enamored with the color yellow; the medium to pale shades.  I can’t quite bring myself to wear the I-am-a-screaming-yellow-school-bus hue though.)  Anyway, I want to feel pretty.  I think most women want to feel pretty and feminine.  Femininity does not equate weakness or submissiveness or any such nonsense.  It’s simply part of being a woman.  It may not be for every woman, and I say to each his own, but for many of us feeling pretty and feminine is fun.

I need more sleep than when I was younger.  I hate it but I need copious amounts of sleep to function.  Trying to tell my body differently results in a very crabby Terri.  Boooo.

I think I appreciate the people in my life in a deeper, more meaningful way than ever before.  Time goes by so fast and I’m at a point where I don’t want to miss a minute of time with those I love.  I don’t want to waste my time on trivial things.  I don’t have that much time to waste!

In taking stock of how I’ve changed I can see that most of the changes have been for the better.  I have a long way to go and a short time to get there (can you say Smokey and the Bandit?) but I’ll do what I can with what’s been given to me.  I am greatly blessed and I see it every day.  I know I’ll continue to change and evolve and I hope I can keep a positive outlook.  The way I look at it, if I get enough sleep I will not become a crabby old lady who hates change and the color yellow.

For Better Or Worse

I often marvel at the way marriages and relationships come and go on the Hollywood circuit.  The other day I saw a story on TV about Charlie Sheen and his wife’s prenuptial agreement.  Apparently he paid his wife $500,000 as a sort of signing bonus when they got married.  He also reportedly agreed to give her $300,000 a year for each year they are married.  According to the entertainment news powers-that-be the Sheens have been advised by their lawyers to negotiate terms of a possible divorce now so that if their marriage fails everything will be in order.  Excuse me while I cough up a hair ball.

I realize not all marriages are happy ones but come on people.  If a person needs a signing bonus to get married along with a big ass lump sum of change each year they are married then something is not right in Whoville.

Dare I mention Tiger Woods and Jesse James?  These men need a clue-by-four upside their respective heads and a size ten permanently implanted in their posterior regions.  Let us not forget the likes of Larry King and Elizabeth Taylor.  Between the two of them they’ve been married something like 14 times.  That’s a lot of wedding cake.  And divorce papers.

Marriage, any relationship for that matter, is a job that takes hard work.  Change occurs constantly and people have to learn to adapt.  Sometimes the relationship works and other times it doesn’t.  I think most couples at least try to make things work before coming to the conclusion that it’s not going to fly.  In Hollywood it seems that marriage is a fair weather event that involves copious amounts of moola.  Seriously, if someone had to pay me to marry them (and stay married to them) then I’m not feeling the love.

Relationships take love, respect, empathy, cooperation and compromise to name a few.  When we first marry/get together everything our significant other does is cute and adorable.  “Ohhh look how he leaves a puddle of water on the floor outside the shower for me to slip on and bust my ass.  How sweet!”  But one day we wake up and find that the toilet paper holder has been left empty one too many times and the honeymoon is over.

My husband and I have been married for nearly 19 years.  We have struggled for many of those years and we made a lot of mistakes but we worked and worked and worked at it and we are now at a time in our lives where we enjoy each other more than ever.

We can’t just love a person; we have to like them as well.  We have to respect them as a human being and try to put ourselves in their shoes when things get wonky.  We can’t expect them to read our minds (I’m still working on this one.)  We have to find compromise on some issues and stand our ground on others.  It’s a balancing act to say the least and being the uncoordinated individual that I am, it’s not always easy.

One thing I’ve learned is that it can’t be my way or the highway otherwise I’ll be cruising down that highway on an empty tank of gas.  My marriage isn’t perfect.  Fred and I still spat around and get on each other’s nerves.  Sometimes it’s fun to annoy your significant other.  (Ask me how I know.)  I think we both found out we are stronger than we thought we were and that’s how we get through the hard times.

Hmph…my whole rant was supposed to be about fair weather relationships in Hollywood but I went off in another direction.  I go off in more directions at once than an ant on speed.  I’m not sure how Fred keeps up with me.  Maybe that’s part of what a relationship/marriage is all about –  keeping up with each other, working with change, showing a little love and not losing sight of what’s important.

What’s important to me right now is the hot fudge sundae from Dairy Queen I want my husband to bring me on his way home from work.  I didn’t tell him I want a sundae but he’s supposed to read my mind.

Right?