Courage and Cowardice

Where does courage come from?  What does it look like?  Is living with depression an act of courage or cowardice?  I can see how it may be both.  Maybe it is cowardice if depression is a refusal of happiness, which it sometimes seems like.  Maybe it's cowardice when one is too afraid to live a life of happiness; when all you know is depression, the unknown possibility of happiness can be a frightening place.  Maybe depression is cowardice because one can hide behind depression and be excused from more meaningful relationships and be excused from having the energy and vitality that non-depressed people have.  Maybe depression is just an easier, more cowardly excuse.  And maybe there is cowardice in choosing to continue living a life in a depressed state rather than choosing death, because death is an unknown. 

But maybe, depression is an act of courage, because you wake up every day and take care of the children, the animals, the spouse, when really all you want to do is hide in bed.  Maybe it is courage to chose to try to interact with people, try to be engaged in a conversation, when really all you want to do is be alone, in the darkness of your thoughts.  And maybe depression is a harder, more courageous act because you admit that life is not always as good as it seems, and yet still you go on.  Maybe choosing life with depression instead of death is an act of courage, because life with depression is the known, and sometimes the known is more frightening than the unknown.  Maybe living with depression is an act of courage because you keep hoping that one day you will find happiness; maybe courage is the ability to hope.

Square Grapes

I am feeling sober right now.  All in all, it's been a good day:  I went and taught my ecosystems ecology class, I did some house work, took my daughter to school registration, and went to book group this evening.  In many ways I have been able to traverse across my different roles today with relative ease.  Yet I am feeling a bit lost; I don't feel like I belong here.  And this is all despite the different places that I should find community--the university, the public school system for my children, my friends in book group.  Somehow though, I still feel like I'm as strange as a square grape.  In a world full of round grapes, I am wondering if a square grape can find a sense of belonging.

Gum in my Hair

I have been trying to be more aware of my moods, feelings and any thoughts or events associated with them.  One thing I'm aware of is that my unhappy or anxious moods tend to come with sticky thoughts.  What I mean by this is that any negative or depressing feelings seem to stick themselves to all activities and events in my life.  Once I'm feeling anxious or depressed about one thing, it all spills over into other parts of my life.  It's kind of like getting gum stuck in your hair:  the harder you try to pull it out, the more hair gets tangled in it.  I'm not sure why that doesn't happen on the other end of the spectrum.  A good or positive feeling seems to be more ephemeral and fleeting. Whereas whenever I come across a more negative thought, it starts sticking itself onto multiple parts of my life and I can't seem to contain those more anxious and darker feelings.

Unfortunately being aware of this phenomenon doesn't seem to make my thoughts less sticky.  But maybe I'll learn to take these feelings less seriously; maybe being aware will help me get the scissors out sooner rather than later.  If I can just get the scissors out and excise the gum instead of getting the gum all over, maybe my depression will lose some of its steam and not last quite as long.

Today while I was trying to work on my dissertation I was hit with the thought that I don't want to do research and I'm not sure I want to teach.  The latter part of that thought makes me uncomfortable because teaching was the one thing I was sure I wanted to do.  But I'm not so sure now.  Somewhere along this journey I've lost my confidence and I'm not sure how to find it.  Maybe this is true for most people who work on a PhD.  Maybe most people feel like quitting at some point or another.  Maybe they all feel like frauds sometimes.  I don't know.  With the debt I've acquired, I better like teaching or research, because I'll have to get a job to pay off the loans I've taken out.  I can't afford not to work when I'm done.  But I think what I need is a class that I can truly call my own.  I'm teaching Ecosystems Ecology this semester, but I'm borrowing a lot from others and parts of my lectures/assignments don't feel like my own.  It's like I'm teaching from another persons syllabus.  Of course I've done this because I'm also trying to finish my dissertation and I don't have the time to do more than that.  I guess that's okay, but I feel like I'm not in complete ownership of the course.

So, I've gained an insight into my feelings and moods, but where does that leave me?  I either need to stop sleeping with gum in my mouth, or keep a pair of scissors handy.  Too bad I don't seem to know when to throw out my gum.

No promises

Maybe you can tell a bit about my mood by how often I write.  I tend to write more when I'm depressed, I guess it helps me sort out some of the confusing feelings.  And things have been okay for a couple of weeks, but now feel like they are slipping a bit.  However, this is supposed to be a blog about relearning happiness.  It could be that the title is a bit misleading.  I'm beginning to wonder if it should be "learning" happiness, instead.  I am not totally convinced that I've ever learned how to be happy.  Is it even possible?  I know how to get by and how to enjoy myself now and then, but I really wasn't happy in my teens.  I struggled with depression during my twenties.  I came into my own a bit in my thirties, but still struggled with depression.  And the forties aren't starting out so hot.

It's been over a year since my descent into my darkest depression and although my life isn't pitch black anymore, it's still far from where I'd like to be.  I still find myself wanting to cry for no reason; tired of life; having mini fantasies about dying (do I dare admit that?).  I'm just not sure that anything I've ever believed in is valid.  That may sound like a broad catch-all, but I do mean that some of the most core things I've believed in don't seem so believable.  I guess that's just another way to say I'm questioning the way I'm living my life.  I have always played by the rules and done all of the things I "should" yet I am unhappy with life.  So where have I gone wrong?  Would I have been happier bucking the system?  Probably not.  But if that's true, then where does happiness come from?  I've been taught all my life that it comes from making "good" decisions.  But when you make those good decisions and follow all the rules and you feel like crap all the time, or at least most of the time, then where's the benefit of supporting a system that promises happiness that I have yet to experience?

Geez, I don't know where I'm going with all of this.  Sounds like some stream-of-consciousness shit.  I'm not even sure why I should blog and why anyone would want to read this depressing crap.  Well, that sort of sums me up right there, doesn't it?  I'll post it, but just know that regardless of the title of my blog site, I've made no promises.

Food for Thought

My sister-in-law is reading a book called "Women, Food and God" by Geneen Roth.  The basic premise, as I understand it, is that our relationship with food is a mirror of our relationship with the spiritual.  It is a map to show us how we define life.  The product description of the book from Amazon reads "The way you eat is inseparable from your core beliefs about being alive. Your relationship with food is an exact mirror of your feelings about love, fear, anger, meaning, transformation and, yes, even God."

So I've been thinking a lot about this and trying to understand what my relationship with food says about me and my outlook on life.  I'm not an obsessive eater; although I like food, I don't think about it all the time.  I don't overeat, if anything, I tend to under eat the good stuff and eat too much of the sugary stuff.  I love my Dr. Pepper.  Cooking is a real chore for me.  I use cereal as a standby meal.  If anything, I keep myself from eating really good food, on the basis that it's too  much of a bother to make and clean up. 

After a week of pondering on this, I think I might be gaining some insight.  Here's some possible interpretations:  Depression, for me, is often the norm of my life.  And being a little bit hungry, or always lacking true satisfaction from food may be a reflection of my depression and my lack of satisfaction with life.  I often keep myself from getting truly satisfying food.  Maybe I keep myself from being truly satisfied with life; or keep myself from being truly happy with life.  Emotionally, as with food, I am getting by, sort of limping along, but I find that my life is rarely pleasurable.  And when it comes to my eating habits, I eat enough to get along, enough to keep my body going, but it's not really pleasurable. 

Now the one thing I'm still wondering about is my relationship with cooking and what that manifests about my life. . .food for thought.

It Could Be

So.  Here I am, no longer depressed, but no wiser on how to find happiness and meaning in life.  I'm not sure why I'm no longer feeling so depressed--it could be because my medications are working; it could be because this depressive episode was finally spent (although it was an incredibly long episode); it could be because my advisor is finally acting like an advisor; it could be that I'm finally settling down in my new home (again, an issue of enough time passing); it could be prayers were answered; it could be that certain aspects of therapy are finally clicking into place; it could be any combination of things.  But does the reason matter?  I think it does because if there is a specific behavior or event or some concrete reason, then I can use that for future depressive episodes.  But if it's merely a function of time, then the important thing is to hang in there long enough.  If it's merely a function of time, then I have no control over my depression and that thought, in and of itself, is depressing.

How does one go about unraveling the truth from something as complex as human emotions/nature?  The scientist in me recognizes the necessity and impossibility of having a true control group and controlling all possible combinations of factors that might effect ones mood.   The poet in me laughs at the scientist for even thinking there is such a thing as "control."  And I'm left wondering.  Maybe the cause isn't as important as the lesson learned--that my depression doesn't last forever, regardless of how it might feel at a given moment.  Actually, I think that is closer to the truth than one might think.  I distinctly recall the time when my depression was first recognized as such and the first time I saw a therapist and the first time I came out of a major depression.  It was very clear to me then, that depression was one part of me, but that it wouldn't last forever.  My twenty-something self remarked that I should remember this time, the time when I worked through my depression, remember it for future times of depression--there would always be that knowledge and, dare I say, hope.  And in truth that is one thing that plays in the back of my mind, with varying degrees of power and influence, when I'm depressed. 

I learned that depression was something I'd deal with off and on throughout my life.  Sometimes, just knowing I've gotten through it before can at least stave off any thoughts of self-harm or death, if not give me hope.  Hope is often impossible when I'm really depressed, but it can be a foggy memory that at least keeps me going.  So now, what do I do?  What do I do without depression as a familiar, if not comfortable, companion?  I prove to myself, one more time, that the depression won't last forever.  I remind myself that I am more than my depression.  I find the power within myself to be disciplined, work hard, and most importantly enjoy the moments I have that are depression-free.  Over the last several days I've actually caught myself singing (and not my beloved dark songs), just singing for no apparent reason.  I've also found myself freely laughing with my children.  What a wonderful gift that is!  Maybe I shouldn't worry about the "why" and I should just enjoy what is.

Feeling Better

So, I've been feeling better these last several days. Part of this is due to finally having a detailed plan on what needs to happen for me to finish my degree. For the first time in over a year I feel like I know exactly what I need to do and I feel like I can accomplish it. There's still stress, but this is the stress of having a lot of things to do as opposed to the stress of not knowing what to do. The crazy thing is that I have been depressed for so long that I'm not sure how to deal with stress in a normal way. My first reaction is to start thinking that I can't do it. But I'm working very hard to not fall into that trap. I think that as long as I can break down my "to do" list into discreet projects, I'll be fine. And by next May I should be Dr. Hamblin-Hart. Not bad.