Carrying Wood
Depression is an interesting beast, much like grief. It likes to stalk you when you least expect it.
Two weeks ago, I went to bed on a Saturday night, looking forward to a hike the following day. I felt fine, lying next to my wife, listening to her sleep just as I have done for well over three decades. Morning arrived and when I awoke, depression had visited me somewhere between 10:00pm and 5:00am. What happened? How did this occur within a seven hour period of somewhat restful sleep?
I knew it right when I opened my eyes. My head felt heavy against the pillow, as if it would take all the strength in my two hands and arms and neck to simply lift myself up. I laid there for a moment realizing that my depression had arrived, but not just some mild form of it, which I have had most of my life. This was the much darker kind. It was the cruel kind of depression that tests your self-worth. It is the kind that tests your resolve and reason, and your will to go on. I knew a test of resilience was on its way.
I entered my day and went to our yoga room, attempting to find comfort with slow movement, flowing from one asana to another. I did my breathwork but the dark fog filling my mind became heavier. I muddled through the day, seeking some light, and then went for a long walk. I did as I had learned, and walked mindfully, breathing deep, paying attention to the light in the clouds, the birds chirping, and the wind. I paid attention to each step, attempting to find gratitude in the life I have been given.
I then arrived home, I sat with my wife and told her what was happening. She knows me well enough over the years, or I should say, she knows my depression, that she can take one look at my eyes and see that the light has faded. She knew earlier in the day that my darkness had arrived. I told her, “I can tell this one is different. It’s bad.” We have been together since we were fifteen. She has seen it all. She is strong and non-judgmental of my darkness, and she offers her love unconditionally without ever trying to fix me, which is what is needed. And yet, I sit near her, confessing the arrival of this beast and am embarrassed. The feeling that many depressives have crept up quickly, and I told myself I was a burden to her. I was not worthy of her love. “Just hang on,” I told her, “I will be back. I just need to work through this.”
I found myself in a dark room in the basement, attempting to conceal my tears as I sat against a cool wall. I then found myself saying, “Momma.” I was torn between trying to stand and continuing the life my mother gave me, or wanting to end it all. Now, don’t let that surprise you. That is not for shock value. Most people with depression, at some point on their journey, have considered the thought of ending their life. It doesn’t mean they want to, it’s just that the darkness, the feeling like a burden, and the pain of depression, creeps in and tells you that perhaps the world would be better without you. If you are thinking right now that the thought I had is self-pity or weak in any way, then I am happy for you. You must not have to fight the darkness of depression, so you could not possibly understand the cruel dialogue that captures your mind.
The dialogue continued into the next day as I forcefully shuffled through the motions of getting myself ready and entering the school where I work. Staff and students started to fill the halls and I was convinced they’d all be better off if I just quit. I placed my darkness to the side so I could function, so I could teach and communicate and appear like I was fine. Later in the day, I found myself in my office and closed the door. I sobbed, wanting to pick up the phone and call my mother, only to come to the realization through all of my fogginess, that she was not there. She would not pick up the phone even though I was staring at her number. A number I cannot delete even after three years of her being gone. I sat against the wall for a moment and sobbed, keeping quiet in the process so no one could hear the man behind a closed, locked door breaking down.
That night the dreaded numbness arrived. It is one of the cruelest and misunderstood symptoms of depression. The numbness is not even sadness or hopelessness, it is the complete absence of feeling where feelings used to be. It is the feeling of leaving yourself, the good parts that you once recognized and liked, completely behind. You have abandoned yourself. The numbness is looking at the people you love, knowing you love them but wondering how in the hell they could love someone like you? You remember what happiness felt like but that emotion belongs to someone you once were. It is not that you don’t care but you cannot access the part of you that does care. It is as if someone turned down the volume on existence. The most dreadful part is the inability to explain the numbness. I remember hoping that my wife hung onto my words, “Wait for me. I’ll be back.” I needed her to remember the man I am, not the man before her now. Though, they are the same, which is part of accepting who you are fully. I’m fortunate she accepts me and remembers the love and laughter I bring her. “Wait for me. I’ll be back.”
Again, if you have depression, you may understand the dreaded numbness and how frightening it can feel.
I was never unsafe during this time. I confided in someone with what was happening. Someone I trust and that has experience in mental health, and she gently asked me in so many words if I was safe. Her words were a reminder that we need to check in on people and be direct with our words. We need to simply ask people that are suffering, “Are you safe?” Believe me, the depressives can handle it. They are already going through hell so they can handle your directness. If anything, it shows there is someone who cares. The numbness told me otherwise as I left this person’s office. The numbness said, “Why would she care about my life? My safety?” I still heard her though, and that’s what is important. However, I left feeling like maybe I was a burden to her as well. This is why depression feels incredibly lonely.
I muddled through the days and the last couple of weeks. I found myself in the woods, among the trees, my solace. I found a familiar rock that I’ve come to know that was deeper into the trail so I would be less likely to see anyone, and I sat and breathed. I searched for my worth. I searched for my purpose and reason. I carried a pack on my back and found downed logs on the way and carried them too. The weight in my arms countered the weight in my mind. I walked up hills carrying wood, the pain in my arms felt comforting because it meant I still felt something.
Then, a few days ago, I found myself in front of two classrooms of teenagers talking about mental health. My wife was concerned that I was doing this with what I was going through. I have been the keynote for many mental health events and it always drains me. However, as I stated to the kids, “It is helpful and important to find purpose in your trauma, depression, anxiety, panic, and grief.” For me, that purpose is to share a part of myself with others in hopes of helping them. I do not claim to have answers or some silly seven-step program to cure your depression and anxiety. What I offer is authenticity, stories that I hope make people feel less alone, and some strategies to build resilience. That last part is the most important piece. We must build resilience and do so throughout our lifetime because it is a matter of time before something comes along to knock us down. It could be depression, anxiety, a major change in our life, or the death of a loved one. To keep getting back up and learning from our suffering is crucial to live a good life. I do not try to give any false hope to anyone because depression and anxiety may be with you for a lifetime, and that is okay. It is about learning how to dance with it, or maybe grappling with it is a better analogy.
I was in our yoga room, flowing slowly, breathing well, and my body in rhythm with my mind, and at the end, I stood in front of a blown glass stone with my mother’s ashes. I held it tight against my chest. I then pushed a button on a little heart that held her voice. I needed to hear it and hear the words, “I love you!” filter through the space I stood in. Through my numbness and the darkness in my mind, my mother’s words made it through to my heart. It helped lift some of the fog that was absorbing me, and it also brought clarity once again. Meaning, the depression has not left. This one is hanging strong to my eyes, but between her words, my wife’s touch, and the students that I am honored to teach, I remembered that I was not a burden to the world, but had purpose. I needed to accept it all, and accept my pain and myself.
You have purpose. You are worthy. You are loved. Don’t let depression tell you otherwise. If able, I would recommend carrying wood amongst the trees, deep in the woods, until the discomfort in your body reminds your mind that you are alive and fully present in the moment.
Leave a Reply