First, some parameters. This is only **my** story. It in **no way** should be construed as a way for **anyone else** who suffers from depression to handle their affliction, or diagnose depression in anybody else (because I'm in no way qualified). It is a testimonial of my personal and ongoing battle with the disease/addiction.
Yes, I suffer from depression. It's chemical and likely genetic--thanks to those good Scandinavian genes. I've been fortunate through a lot of meditation, brutal honesty and some timely therapy to discover that I've known my depression from age four on. I remember at age four, there was an ongoing message in my brain: "I'm sorry"--and not the kind where one apologizes. It's the "I'm sorry" as in, "you're no good and you don't have what it takes". Where it came from? I still don't know. Perhaps that's a discovery for a different day. But I distinctly remember that message at age four. From there to about first grade, it morphed into, "You're sorry, and no matter what you do, it's not going to be good enough, so you'll always be sorry." Without going into detail, those two destructive statements pretty much summed up the belief I took into almost any athletic, academic or social endeavor from grade school, through junior high and high school, through college and even into my professional life as a TV sportscaster. Yes, while trying to prove those messages wrong, I also suffered major depressive episodes about every two years, and severe ones about every 4-to-6.
Yet, hardly anybody ever knew.
That's one of the commonalities for those of us who suffer from depression: hardly anybody knows, and we become masterful at hiding it. Robin Williams hid his with humor and his vast talents. I hid mine with watching sports and talking about sports, and creating my own little world where I would **always** win--and thus disprove that message of, ".. you don't have what it takes." However, when I'd get push back of any kind outside of my land of make believe, or even just some gamesmanship from an opponent, it'd send me back into my comfortable little world of depression, where I was faceless, and comfortably in despair--where life was familiar and predictable. After all, I'd been there so many times before.
Yet, hardly anybody ever knew.
I was outgoing, confident, even awkwardly gregarious when you first met me, only to see me withdraw after the newness of our acquaintance wore off. I can't count how many relationships I either ruined or just ignored because my depression took a hold and repeated those lines, "You're sorry. You don't have what it takes, and no matter what you do, you'll always be sorry." I simply feared that's what other people would think if they ever got to know the real me. The depression turned my anger inward toward my spirit. And the churn downward then spiraled. It'd start with what I now call the "molasses rain"--the feeling of being slowed down as if it were raining drops of deep brown molasses, with the sky turning from blue to deep smog, with my movements being labored as if walking through the molasses--sticky, awkward, slowed. Very distorted. I saw the world as hostile, and it was my fault because, once again, "You're sorry. You don't have what it takes, and no matter what you do, you'll always be sorry." I wouldn't want to wake up in the morning. I feared going to sleep at night. So, along with a distorted view of the world, I would have sleep deprivation problems on top of things. Which, led to a lack of concentration on studies in school, of focus on the basketball court, which, led to less-than-excellence academically, spotty performance athletically, and no dates on the social scene. Which, in turn, increased my self-loathing, which confirmed, "You're sorry.. ". And, after all, since it was my fault, the vicious cycle then repeated. And repeated, and so on, and so on..
Those who suffer depression are saying, "Uh-huh!".
My first major depressive episode was in 5th grade, the year I got into three fights, and got my ass kicked in one of 'em--suffered a busted up jaw. I took up for the kid who did it--because I somehow thought I deserved it. (Take heart, he picked another fight a few months later and this time, I gave him a kick to the jewels he never forgot). It took several months to come out of that one.
Yet, hardly anybody ever knew.
My first severe depressive episode came in 7th grade--when I was in the middle of a growth spurt where I was basically tripping over doorways. I had a girl call me **ugly** to my face for the first time. I experienced "the molasses rain" for a good 9-months--well into my 8th-grade year. It was during this episode I had ever considered ending my life.
Yet, hardly anybody ever knew.
Then, there's "**the big one**--1996. I had a job and a relationship go south at the same time. I had so much of my identity wrapped up in my job, and the prospect of losing it, once again, confirmed: "You're sorry. You don't have what it takes.. ", which started the molasses rain, and since it was my fault, I turned my anger inward so hard that I went from hopelessness to despair--and actually started to plan my suicide.
Yet, hardly anybody ever knew.
Thank goodness one person did--and this person encouraged me to seek help. I did. And, it saved me.
That was 1996. Thanks to a fantastic pastoral counselor's guidance, recovery began. And it's continued to this day. Yes, I've been in recovery for 18-years.
Yet, hardly anybody knew--until now. And you heard the easy part of the story.
Once again, my path is different from everybody else's. I can tell you what worked for me, and what works for me now.
First, know that it's not quick and easy. It's work. It can be years of work. It's tireless work, and it's tireless work when there's paychecks to earn, kids to be reared, a wife to be loved and cared for, and prayers to be offered for anyone who suffers from any affliction. It's like a train that's been chugging downhill off of a cliff, and then stops just before going off the cliff. Stopping was the easy part. Now comes laboring back up that big hill to safety. It's that climb back to normalcy that claims so many of us who suffer from the insidious disease. Remember, "You're sorry. You don't have what it takes.. " didn't go away just because the train stopped short of going off the cliff.
Second, it's recognizing the triggers and behaviors that induce the molasses rain. This is where I recognized my manic-depressive cycle. I have named the cycle two things: 1) The sine wave; 2) The roller coaster. Go up waaaaay high (top of the sine wave and/or roller coaster) and ride that wave as long as I can because I know it's going to crash anyway, and you know, what goes waaaay up must go waaaaay down--to the depths of just not wanting to go on because the emotional pain was too much, while feeling no one can or will help. It was during my early recovery I learned how to "drive 55"--in other words, keep things even--not too high, not too low. Mind you, I'm not wired that way, but God works miracles--and this one was one of mine.
Third, it's recognizing what is NOT yours--and not owning other people's projections of themselves onto me. This is where the healing of, "You're sorry. You don't have what it takes.. " started and continues to this day.
Fourth, we MUST be able to talk about it, and keep it out of the shadows. Secrets flourish in the dark. Depression flourishes in living for appearances. If you've ever wondered why you see posts on my social media pages that go something like, "Appearances mean nothing.. ", now you know. We MUST keep things real no matter the cost materially. Because, the alternate cost is a life. Look at Robin Williams. He had what appeared to be everything the world of shadows says we should have: fame, millions of dollars earned in a career, elite-level talent, et al. Yet, in the end, he had nothing. Like I said, recovery is hard.
But, it's worth it. Especially when one comes out the other side a changed person--and draw strength from the pain one just conquered.
Finally, for my brothers and sisters who suffer from depression or any mental illness: please seek help-- and know that you're not alone. For those who want to help someone who suffers from depression and/or mental illness: please encourage us to seek help, and be generally encouraging--however, don't allow yourself to get sucked into our circle of despair thinking you can cure our disease/addiction. You can't. That's our job, with our counselor's help and God's grace. Know your limits, or the disease will destroy you as well. With all due respect, you've been warned.
In conclusion, I have definitive feelings baring this part of my soul. My battle, whether easier or harder than somebody else's, is still my battle. It's unique to me--no matter what anybody else says about it. If you consider my revelation weak or less-than-manly, well, that says a lot more about you than it does about me. And yes, it feels good to know **today** I'm not sorry, and I do have what it takes. Today is all I have. Tomorrow is not promised. It's what keeps my recovery going, and the cruise control near 55.
And now, everybody knows.
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