Melancholy and the Infinite Sadness

This post was originally a venting medium for me from years ago; a place to rant and explain myself and say things to sound them out. It was never published or even finished because each time it did its job: it worked me out of the mood I was in. It's amazing how writing things down can be so effective at loosing the knots of my mind and heart.

This time of year is hard, from November through April. And so I find myself here again, editing, adding, deleting...wondering if this will be the time I finally pull the plug and publish. Some winters are harder than others, and this is shaping up to be one of the harder. I feel the malicious weight of depression settling over me again, the rasping whispers of anxiety: "Something bad is going to happen. Something bad is happening." 

I'd like to think I've improved since the very beginning of this post. After all, if we're not progressing we're essentially regressing. But I still find myself falling into the same pits: letting a word, or an imagined slight, totally devastate me; wondering if I disappeared, would anyone notice? Why try so hard when it doesn't seem to matter. I know this funk will pass as spring approaches; it usually does. This restless darkness that hovers over my soul this time of year makes it hard to see through to the other side, to banish the desire to burn all bridges and run away.

It's inevitable that we suffer disappointment in this life. Only God will never let you down, and each difficulty should remind us that we really don't belong here. These lessons are often learned the hard way. I'd like to think God keeps allowing upsets to occur to illustrate for me how much more I should trust in Him, and not expect so much. He's asking for greater humility. Maybe the lack of success I've seen in nearly everything I've attempted recently are lessons that will eventually bring me unfathomable happiness. It's comforting to think that God wants me for Himself. "I cannot promise to make you happy in this life, but in the next."

My temperament, melancholic, makes me feel the strong need to explain myself in great detail. I have an overwhelming desire for people to understand me, to know what makes me happy, and exactly how I hurt. This often leads to oversharing with those who are close to me. Knowing this about myself helps curb the tidal wave of emotions that sometimes threatens to drown me and everyone in proximity to me. It's one of the reasons I was hesitant to start a blog in the first place. There's a constant battle against my nature, to not explain everything away.

Understanding one's own temperament is a huge key to happiness and success. I expect the worst of my melancholic temperament to rear its ugly head during the cold months and try to leave for myself as many crutches as I can. I've even considered giving up blogging entirely through the winter, simply because it's so difficult to keep my tone positive. I set out the most helpful books that have proven to get me through in the past. I make sure the porch is outfitted with well organized winter gear early so getting outside for fresh air isn't such a hurdle. I fill my calendar with events that could get us out of the house so I'm not spinning my wheels wondering where we should go. I light candles, I play calming music, I pray, and I fight.

I had never heard of the temperaments until a young man I was writing to flew across the country to meet the 19 year old me. We had gone canoeing with my brother as chaperone. As I sat on a sandy beach half-heartedly searching for agates to fill the awkward gaps in our conversation, he suddenly asked what my temperament was. I sat there doing the "Ah...er...huh?" number as he awkwardly tried to explain. (Awkward was the word that ultimately defined our relationship, in case you were wondering.)

There are four fundamental personality types, called temperaments: choleric, sanguine, melancholic, and phlegmatic. The Greek physician, Hippocrates, implemented the temperaments as part of his medical theory in the 4th century BC; later the physician Galen developed the temperament typology.




The Four Temperaments: Choleric (extroverted and short-tempered), Sanguine (optimistic and social), Melancholic (introverted and sensitive), and Phlegmatic (relaxed and peaceful).

These depictions are comical, but so descriptive. I'm afraid I give my boys the "Melancholicus" face quite often. 

I highly recommend the book The Temperament God Gave You to discern your own temperament and what makes you tick. If you have kids The Temperament God Gave Your Kids is great to help them control themselves, help them thrive, and find the discipline method that works best for each child.

My lesser temperament, phlegmatic, helps balance me out. I try to draw as much as I can from my deep desire for peace and restfulness and aversion to conflict. It's always a balancing act.

The truth is, if all of us gave in to the nature of our temperaments, the world would be a very ugly place. Fighting for moderation, for balance against our inclinations in a world that is constantly screaming at us to "be ourselves", is increasingly hard for people to understand. When we step out of our comfort zone and adopt virtues (which are simply good habits) that oppose the weak points (bad habits, which are vices) of our temperaments is when we can accomplish great things. We were not created as great beings, but with the potential to become great by much hard work. Our quest for true happiness will only be made easier if we understand the building blocks we were given for that purpose.

God revealed to St. Catherine of Siena in the Dialogue:

To one person I give charity as the primary virtue, to another justice, to another humility, to another a lively faith or prudence or temperance or patience, and to still another, courage. These and many other virtues I give differently to different souls, and the soul is most at ease with that virtue which has been made primary for her.... Thus I have given you reason -- necessity, in fact -- to practice mutual charity.

We're all waging battle as long as we're earthbound. Some of you may personally understand my battle, others will not. One thing we all share: not one of us can ever really know what another is grappling with. This makes it all the more necessary to always be kind to one another.

Scale Sunday: Week 11

I am more than a number.

I'm doing something a little different this week because I need reminding.

I am more than a number.

I am a unique person who cannot be compared to anyone else.

My journey is no one else's.

I am struggling lately (yet?) with low self-esteem.

I am struggling with feeling like a failure in multiple areas of my life.

I am struggling with being kind to myself.

I'm struggling with feeling like I will never do or be enough.

I am struggling with a cold dark world view where the majority of people are my critics.

I'm struggling with the conviction that the majority of people don't really like me and are here hoping for a train wreck.

I'm struggling with depression.

I am struggling with guilt for things that are out of my control.

I must look beyond the narrowness of right now.

I am more than a number.

I am more than the feelings and the worries that twist my mind.

I will not let a hard day/week/month tear me down.

I will not let it discourage me.

I will not let it erase all the progress I've made.

I will not allow a small disappointment or fluid goals I set myself become my dictators.

I will not let others' opinions change what I enjoy doing.

I plateaued this week after being sick last Sunday and missing splurge day.

I sat far too long looking at these photos, telling myself I can't possibly share them.

I am crippled by embarrassment that I let myself get to the point that I needed to lose 60+ pounds.

I promised myself I would never be in that position again, and I broke that promise.

I let depression take over. I let my appetite take over.

I gave up on myself.

I am burning bridges so that will never happen again.

I am more than a number.

The Downward Spiral

"Are you feeling alright? You haven't exactly been yourself lately," asked my husband recently.

You can feel yourself falling, slipping into old patterns; bad habits are sliding back into every day normalcy. You can feel the irritability and frustration at almost everything creeping in. You want to snap at the smallest things. Tears spring to your eyes at the littlest perceived offences. No one understands. Rooms are too small, clothes are too snug, nothing is right. You remember how refreshing it is getting together with friends...but this dark hole of seclusion that has built itself around you holds you in as if powered by some kind of magnestism. Sleep does not cure the exhaustion you feel. You know fresh air and sunshine have amazing restorative benefits, but it seems like too great an effort to pull yourself out. After all, it takes over an hour to get everyone dressed. The littlest will be crying on the floor and bathed in sweat by the time you get yourself bundled up. Beside that, all those dishes won't wash themselves; all this homework doesn't mark itself. You still haven't taken down the Christmas tree, for Pete's sake, why would you think it's ok to run off? Catch up a bit and then you'll really deserve a break. Later...you'll do it later. Next week you'll see if someone is free to get together. But only if you finish the ten projects you've secretly committed to in your mind. Later.

You see the tidal wave surging toward you but feel powerless against it. Why can't you just be that person who always lifts others up? Why can't you just be the joyful one? There's hope...there's always hope. But from where? Which direction do you turn? How do you fight an enemy you cannot see?

Up. Look up.

On Life and The Black Hole

Life for most of us is a long and winding road, filled with numerous potholes, hairpin turns, and steep precipices. About the time I start doing a victory dance over some small battle won, a bad habit nixed, or victory in a fight with my will, reality slaps me in the face with 10 other flaws I need to get control of. This is life. It is a battleground. And though we may be weary and fatigued, beaten, broken, caked with the muck of this life, we cannot give up. To give up is the ultimate act of cowardice and selfishness. As I've heard over and over from my Dad throughout my life, "Pull yourself up by your bootstraps and move on".

There have been so many points in my life though, when I couldn't find my bootstraps. Stuck on rock bottom, but rock bottom was really quicksand, and I couldn't break free. Anyone who has experienced depression knows this dark feeling. It's so overwhelming you can't remember what happiness or excitement feel like. Laying in a hospital bed for seven days, feeling like someone was trying to split my head open with an ax, and morphine barely touching the pain, I saw the other side. The side people must get to to think it's ok to take your own life. I wanted to die. And it terrified me. I was so ashamed of those thoughts I couldn't tell anyone for years....I'm not entirely certain I ever have. I cried to God for help, in anger. This I'm also ashamed of, and I resolved to silence my mind after that before prayer. God allows only what we can handle, and it's our choice to be brave or cowardly about it. God allows adversity to test and strengthen us. As loving parents, we do not want our children to ever be in pain, or have troubles, but we also know we're doing our children no good by sheltering them from it all. We are refined by fire. We are not given a good life or a bad life, we are just given a life. It's up to us to make it good or bad. You are captain of your own soul.

A few years later, after suffering the loss of another much-prayed for baby, I gave everything to God. I sat out on our deck steps and could feel peace in knowing God was taking care of it all for me. Someday I know I'll see His Grand Design for my life, and how little I could see of it here on earth. Someone must have been praying very hard for me at that moment. I handled everything so much better than I had through my first miscarriage. However, during the following month I slipped into a horrible depression and I couldn't seem to break free. I gained 15 pounds. My poor boys lived off of quickly prepared frozen food. I tried talking about it to a couple of the people closest to me. They were sympathetic and tried to be helpful, but who really knows what someone needs during their darkest hour? Depression isolates you like none other; it's an invisible leprosy.

How do you pull yourself up when you can't even find your bootstraps? I thought a lot about this after hearing of celebrities who had taken their own lives, and media was buzzing with opinions. "It was just too hard for him," people said. "He couldn't be brave any longer. Depression is a disease". Now, what is the point of ever being brave if you can't be brave to the very end? Taking your own life is a choice, and one that comes with horrific consequences. Your loved ones are left picking up the pieces you shattered all over. Life is too hard for us all if we go at it alone. I approached our priest during a particularly rough time for me, and he told me I wasn't asking God for enough help. He's there, waiting with all the help we need, if only we ask. It may come in the form of a subtle realization that you need to swallow your pride and get help from a professional source, the mere thought of which makes your very soul cringe. It also applies to our loved ones, and the help we refuse to ask from them. For me there is always a voice in the back of my mind, telling me to shut my mouth, don't be narcissistic, your friends are tired of hearing about all of your troubles.

I've thought a lot since then about what I needed most at my worst times. In my experience, reaching out to someone is the best cure for depression. It's almost impossible to be a friend to someone suffering from depression, but you can't give up. Don't try to fix them, just be there for them. The types of depression people suffer from are as complex and diverse as the person. But most importantly, if you are struggling with depression, DO NOT HIDE. It may be the hardest thing you do, but the most important. Keep looking till you find that one person who will grab onto you and not let go until you're on the other side. They may need to drag you out kicking and screaming and give you a slap in the face, but you will not be alone. There is always hope.

I'm not always depressed, it comes in waves. And I can't just snap out of it, or get over it. Logically I can reason away any reasons for being depressed, but it doesn't make the darkness go away. There are triggers, and there are long stretches of time that I'm not depressed at all. Or there seems to be, anyway. When I'm happy it's hard to see how things could ever get so dark. These moments help me see how people who don't suffer from depression cannot fully understand it. If you ask me why I'm depressed, there won't be an answer because even I don't know why. I've told people "I'm okay" when I really wasn't because I just wanted them to go away. I often feel like I'm not doing enough, not smart enough, not pretty enough, even though deep down I know I'm doing the best I can most the time. Depression does not operate by the laws of reason. There are natural ways to help stave off depression. Fresh air and sunshine are therapy for me, and my mood is greatly affected by smells. In particular, bacon, onions, coffee, basil. and lemon or lemongrass comfort me. Avoiding sugar helps me tremendously as well. The months of November and April are so hard for me, probably partly from SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder), and partly because the babies I lost were both due in November. I try to surround myself by beautiful things as throw-ropes for when the black cloud overwhelms me.

If you know someone who is prone to depression, be the one to reach out to them. Even if you think they don't want anything to do with you. I know too well this can be a painful experience, but if you are close enough to them you cannot give up. You may be the one person who keeps them from being lost. I once tried to reach out to someone who I thought was having a rough time. I wanted to build rapport by sharing some of the troubles I've had with depression, to show that I was truly empathetic. In my effort to be the comforting shoulder, I got my metaphorical hand bitten off. I realized we were not as close as I assumed we were, and I approached from the wrong angle. I was swiftly told I was not going to find a "Molly-coddling" there, that I should put my big girl panties on and go see a doctor. To this day I cannot help but think the words came from a deep-seated hatred for me.

In another instance, I had a co-worker who was a chronic pessimist. Think Eeyore, in person form. This person made an off-hand remark about killing himself one night at work. Another co-worker was extremely disturbed by it, as I probably should have been. She made the decision to call "Eeyore's" father and tell him what she had heard. It made "Eeyore" extremely angry and embarrassed, but I believe she made the right decision. How would either one of us have dealt with the situation if he had really gone home and killed himself? Opening yourself up to attempt to help someone is rarely pain free. But if you find that you were the one person that helped get someone to a new, brighter day, it all becomes worth it. Even the scars.

Midwest Center for Anxiety and Depression

As isolating as depression is, more and more people are coming forward with their own stories. I've read my share of them, nodding my head most times in agreement, and feeling not so alone. If sharing our stories helps to lift even a corner of the invisible stigma that is attached to those depressed, we are obligated to do it. You're here for a reason.