Michelle W. of The Daily Post At WordPress.com posed a daily prompt question today regarding the ways in which we as writers make changes in each of our lives. The question asked was whether we make changes in tiny increments, or in a blinding flash of thrown down cold turkey. Having recently made some major life changes while desperately trying to get healthy, I thought that I’d take on today’s daily prompt.
My December 28th addition to this blog was, for all intents and purposes, a lie. In that post, titled Ownership, I set about reassuring myself that my bout with depression was under control. The disease was tamped down, put to rest. I owned my depression. So the story went, anyway. Within a month, I was being hammered by the deepest, most intensely pervasive funk that it has ever been my misfortune to wade through. The mind I’d grown accustomed to, the one that has produced from its rich, organic soil years upon years of laughable word pictures, was beset with confusing masses of thorns. After a year of trying to deny that anything was wrong in my skull, there was no way of avoiding the truth: I was no longer functional. Yes, I could get out of bed each day. A wonderful start, but…then what? The routine was simply to keep the appearance of routine. When a person is in denial about depression, managing the lie is the easy part. Get dressed, go to work, drive home, stare. Then you start all over the next day. A stranger to my family and friends, a walking clothes hanger to myself. I’d always been the preacher of hope, the man who survived depression and lived to help others. My first words to anyone when the subject of depression came up were always “Go and get help.” Could I live by those words in practice, as well as preaching? I had a choice. Get help or become completely lost.
I finally gave up and gave in. What I was reminded of during treatment was a very simple, yet profound truth:
The lie that has filled my mind, and told me for a lifetime that I wasn’t good enough and wouldn’t amount to anything was just that. A lie.
I gave up and gave in, changing in the process. The advice was taken, the medications gratefully accepted. Change is nearly impossible, especially when it’s wholesale and from the outside inward toward the mind. The change is doing me good, though. The soil in my mind is slowly being tilled for Spring. I may not yet own my depression, but at this bright moment of change, it doesn’t own me either.
01 Everyday (Single Version)