The Knock at the Door

Just don't answer the door.

Yet the knocking continues.  Persistent.  Recognizable.  Ominous.

It's a familiar caller, been  here before.  But its been a while.

The signs are there.  A heaviness--as though my skull was made of lead.  The weight bearing down from above.  Sleep disturbances.  A growing discontent.  Irritability.

Depression, that lifelong companion, has come calling once again.

And you just don't know why.  Take the irritability.  The strawberries are coming on now.  Last night we had strawberry shortcake.  The other night we had it at the kids, with a pound cake that I loved.  Karla in recent years has been making biscuits of sorts for shortcake.  And she did last night.  Not the pound cake.  "Didn't she hear how much I loved the other?  Doesn't she care?  And now I'm not happy.  I ask so little."  I know its a little thing, and the shortcake was fine, and there is no reason to get irritable.  Except I was not happy.  Depression.  That's not Karla's fault.

There truly is no reason to be depressed.  As days went, yesterday was a good enough day.  We'd had a wonderful night at the kids, Friday night.  Tri-tip BBQ.  Our grandson.  On Saturday I got some honey-do projects done.  Nothing major: fix a light, rewire a lamp, hang a blind, and varnish the oars.  Accomplishments.  Something to feel good about, yet I didn't.

Diversion is a good tool.  Dream.  Live in hope.

Jens and Ker are buying a home in Sagle, out of town.  A nice place with a view.  And enough land for a shop, which one day Jens would love.  My mind schemes.  Perhaps I could take out a home equity loan and finance one.  Move the tools out of my garage.  Have space to work.  It makes sense.  In town I can only run a business out of my home.  A detached garage shop isn't allowed.  If I built a shop at Jens' place maybe one day Olson's WoodWorks would be viable again.  Hope.

Nope.  Not enough.  The weight descends as the day goes on.  No reason.  There's never a reason.  Depression just happens.

I check my calendar.  Thursday I see my therapist.  Not scheduled to see my psychiatrist until August.  Might have to change that.

It's been quite a few years since I've had to change meds.  I was hopeful that these would continue working.  Perhaps an adjustment is necessary.  Though with Lamictal there is not generally any adjustment in dose.  Perhaps a change to to Lithium, that old standby.  Or other more contemporary options.  Don't want to think about it, though, and changing meds can be a crap shoot.  Trial and error.  Some work.  Others don't.  The ones I have been on have been working.

What I hope is that the depression I'm feeling is short lived.  Maybe it was just a bad day.  Oh, but it wasn't a bad day at all.

Part of the difficulty is that depression itself is depressing.  Its a vicious cycle.  The thought alone that life's little pleasures may escape me for a while is a downer.  Knowing that in the past cycles of depression have lasted for extended periods of time weighs on one.

Wait.  Do not answer the door.  I feel better this early morning.  Never mind that I woke at 12:30 am and am not sleeping.  Denial has been one way I've fought off depression.  I take humor in some small things.  "Its all just in your head."  Well of course its in my head.  That's the problem.  I also humor myself with the thought that maybe this will help with my weight.  I've noticed my belly becoming more prominent, lately.  Anymore and I might need to name it.  I lose weight when depressed.  Though I don't recommend it as a weight loss program.

Work through it, forcibly if necessary.  I've done that alot.  And with the two jobs I have, losing myself in my work is not hard.  I could use more people contact at church, though.  My little band is a low maintenance group.  A woman lost her husband recently.  She's fine.  He was ready.  Her husband was not part of the church and so no funeral was scheduled.  What might have been a few weeks of intense ministry was greatly reduced.  Ministry is about responding to their needs, though, not mine.  But it would do my soul good if I felt more needed.

Focus on those things that you know give you pleasure.  Jasper is certainly one of them.  "Opa!"  Who can be depressed hearing such a greeting and feeling that embrace?  Well, a depressed person can still feel depressed.  At best such pleasures suspend the mood for a bit.  And then it returns.

I must admit that the one thing that gives me the most hope is simply the knowledge that "this too shall pass."  The merciful side of bipolar disorder is that there are two sides to bipolar disorder.  The depression will not last indefinitely.  And a manic phase is not inevitable.  Though, quite frankly, mania can be preferable, to say the least.  At least one 'feels' good, even if there are pitfalls.

Trust.  Medications and therapy seek to limit the extremes and provide a safety net.  Depression may not be as deep, mania not as out of control.  Even though they continue to be experienced, they likely will not be as intense.  Hope.

And then the dark side.  It doesn't help that prominent people fall prey to such a disease.  Anthony Bourdain, dead.  A reminder of the seriousness of mental health disorders.

And the world doesn't help.  Knowing that Trump is in power is not good for my soul.  Most depressing is that some support his erratic behavior.  I shudder as I remember the statement of a friend that "he voted for Trump because our nation has become so divided and something needed to change."  As though Trump would be the great uniter.  Depressing.

I do feel better this morning.  Writing does my soul good.  A couple of hours on my blog is as good as a session of psychotherapy.  But I say that with caution.  My cycle when depressed is that as the day goes on the depression worsens.  I have written in the past about the wave of depression that overwhelms me in the late afternoon, rolling in like the San Francisco fog.  That could be where I'm at, feeling good in the morning, overwhelmed by night.

The knocking at the door persists.  This is not a welcome guest.

I formulate a list in my head of things that would make me happy.  Unfortunately, many of those things are on another list, symptoms of mania.  I wonder how much study has been done about that relationship.  The high risk adrenaline pumping adventures of mania are an antidote to the weight and burden of depression.

And so I listen to the knocking at the door.  Part of the solution is to open the door and face the demon.  Call it by name.  Recognize it for what it is.  My own thought is that depression is more likely to be catastrophic when it is not recognized.  It is helpful to recognize that I only 'feel' depressed.  In truth, life is not that bad.  Emotions are real, but they do not define reality.

I will sleep some more.  And then face a new day.  Worship this morning.  Recognizing Jesus.  One of my themes in the sermon today is that we see through a mirror dimly, meaning that our human nature is to see a reflection of ourselves even as we seek to see Jesus.  We cannot see the real Jesus in the mirror, though.  We look to the cross.  And in the breaking of the bread their eyes were opened.

This is my body, this is my blood, given, shed, for you.  Comforting words.  Words that speak of redemption.  Faith sustains during the dark night of the soul.

One of the ministries of the people of God is to believe on behalf of the besieged.  When we, in our weakness are overwhelmed to the point that faith and hope evade us, others maintain that faith and hope on our behalf.  And that is sufficient.