The Path

I already have about three stories (future books) going at once, but when an idea for a new story rushes through my brain refusing to leave until noticed, I have to start writing.  Here is a new piece of writing that will turn into a full blown story soon.  The working title is The Path; I have to wait for it to name itself.  The good news is that it won't stay this dark. It's about hope, healing, and the power of friendship and love.

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It always happens when everything seems to be going well, when everything is “right” and good. That’s when the depression grabs hold with both fists, latching on to the neurons in my brain with such force as to block out everything else worth thinking and feeling. I’ve tried in the past to hold on to the positive and happy thoughts, but they melt away leaving only a faint residue of hope behind. Life had been better these past few weeks. I found a job, an apartment, and a new friend all in the matter of a few days, but that’s when everything turned as sour as a rotting lemon. I might as well sprinkle some salt on for good measure.

The self-doubt and loathing settle in and take comfort in my misery. The more the hate builds, the more comfortable the depression. My mother’s voice comes back to me often, “Just think happy thoughts.” Her voice is sweet and confident. Her resolute determination to fix me with those simple words is like acid being poured on my bleeding heart. Just go to hell! She has no idea how damaging those simple words are. She doesn’t know depression. She has never had intimate dates with despair or kissed its hot, hungry lips. She has never lost herself in the depths of its soul-searing gaze or had her body succumb to its devouring touch. She has never nestled in its warm, welcoming embrace to have all reason melt away and vanish, leaving a vacant soul behind.

So many times I walk in a haze of dark loneliness. I stumble along the sidewalk oblivious to all around me but the shroud of darkness that looms above my head and lingers around my heart. I know what he wants. I know what he is demanding of me. He wants me to tell his story.  How do I do that when I don’t even know my own? My story began years ago and has been a tangled mass of here and there, regrets and hopes, pain and joy, but when will I see it take shape in linear form.  My path has been a tangled labyrinth of single events detached from the continuity of a life story.

A Police lineup!

It has been safely locked away in a vintage, sea green suitcase.  The edges of the case are frayed, the stitching worn, and the handle nothing more than rusted, cold metal.  I know it’s still there, resting between fragmentary, faded memories.  Every few years I pull it down from the top shelf of the closet; lonely, half-forgotten.  The dust filters through the air and invades my nose as I breathe in the musty odor of antiquity.  The rusty locks are intact, secure, and untouched.  It has not moved, has not been touched by another, nor has it been freed from its confines.  But how can that be?  Years have passed; ages it seems, but, still it finds its way back to me more often than I care for.  I thought, in my foggy, weak state of mind, that locking it away would keep it from coming back time after time.  I thought I was freed, but I know; I’ve always known that it cannot be contained, controlled.  It slips out of its confines to make its way back to torment me.

“My head is whirling in the darkness, yet it’s not dark but an overwhelming void.  I search frantically through the void, groping, stumbling on the corpses of others who could not find the light.  It is a heavy quilt suffocating the innocent sleeper.  Self-loathing wraps its long, writhing tendrils through my soul, squeezes my heart, injects its dark, heavy ink into my veins.  My heart aches from the wound I made with a sword molded and fired by the Devil himself.  I tear my heart desperately trying to ease the awful pain.  I want to stop the pain!  PLEASE STOP THE PAIN!!!  The void tightens its grip, squeezing life from my body and mind; leaving me in nothingness.  Nothing.  Darkness has won another victory.  I was its prey and it overcame.  Victory to the darkness, its victim has fallen.  Nothingness consumes my mind.  I feel and see nothing.  The darkness has control.  No pain, no fear, no regrets.  The darkness has won yet another battle.”

Don’t panic, don’t worry… This blog is about Hope, Love, and Recovery!  If you have never suffered from depression, please keep reading.  Knowledge and understanding breed compassion.

Depression is an ugly shroud of deception!  It takes over an otherwise logical and contented mind and fills it with doubt, paranoia, anger, defeat, self-loathing, fatigue, worry, and uncertainty.  I have lived 43 years with Depression and it has been a battle that has not yet been completely won, but I am one hell of a fighter!  I don’t give in easily and I won’t lose this battle!  As a matter of fact, I’m ahead on the brightly lit scoreboard.  The Home team is in the lead and the visiting team is struggling to stay in the game.

Depression is a fog that creeps across the soul and into the mind; slowly and deliberately.

It’s a fist that slams you in the stomach swiftly and unexpectedly. 

It has no playbook, no coach, no offensive coordinator, no specials team.  It’s a rogue out to steal your sanity and happiness! 

It shocks me sometimes how stealth depression can be.  Life is moving along just fine and suddenly one tiny, little thing happens and Depression attacks full force, without notice, without compassion. Then there are those times when you suddenly realize that depression has slept with you, walked with you, stalked you for weeks and even months and you were clueless to its presence.  It was soaking in, seeping into every pore, every cell, and every atom ever so slowly saturating your core.

And, I have to say, one of my Pet Peeves is when people say: “You don’t look depressed or act depressed.”  Everyone’s depression is their own unique experience.  It’s not quantifiable. It’s a police lineup and every person in that line is guilty.  Every one of them has a different face, a different MO, a different victim, but they are all called by the same name:  Depression.

I know people whose souls and hearts are suffering greatly from depression, but their outward appearance is one of smiles and positive expression.  We have great actors in this world and they are not all on the silver screen.  They do not all win Oscars for their stellar performances.  They are sitting next to you in class, they eat potluck with you at church, they live in the same house, and they work in the office next to you.  They suffer every second of every day in silence. 

One of my favorite quotes I’ve seen on Facebook is:  “Sometimes when I say, “I’m ok”, I want someone to look me in the eyes, hug me tight and say, “I know you’re not”.”  My burden, so often, seems too heavy for me to bear; I couldn’t stand knowing that I might have passed my burden on to someone else.  That is why so many suffer in silence.  I know it’s not the ONLY reason, but it is one.  There are times I’m ready to burst with the pressure of holding in so much depression.  There are times I want to talk to someone and let it all unload, but I don’t.  The thought of sharing my burden with someone else makes me even that much more depressed.  I don’t want to be the next dump truck unloading on an unsuspecting, innocent person.  I’m tough, I can handle the load, I can carry it further, longer, I can suffer some more. 

Or at least that’s what I tell myself. It’s the lie that springs too easily from my lips, travels the highway of neurotransmitters in my overwhelmed brain, and sears itself in my limbic system. 

To Be Continued…

Copyright © 2012 Life's Casual Observer blog, Lauren Espinoza