Summer 2010

And so the summer is rounding the corner to Labor Day. Two weekends left before the community pool closes and the beach parking fees are suspended. The beach club set is packing up for another year. Chairs, umbrellas, towels and sporting equipment are stored away until next year. There are some goodbyes to cherished summertime friends until we meet again on the sands to catch up with the births, deaths and marriages within our clans. The collegiate adults among us, can't wait to return and arrive on their campuses. We say adios to them and catch you on parents weekend and over the holidays. Don't forget to write or email or text. Go have fun, for these are the days of your lives, to make memories and friendships that will sustain you throughout your lives. It's quite joyful to watch your eyes sparkle and broad smiles crease your faces as you anticipate the start of another school year. Go in peace and don't forget to get an education in the process!

For me, dear readers, this has been a long difficult summer with health challenges. A serious depressive episode, long in the work, gripped me and sent me spiraling downward. Crashing. What triggered it, you may wonder? With bipolar depression, its hard to pinpoint exactly when or where or why an episode begins. It just is, what it is. (Personally, I deplore that statement, but there are occasions where it's fitting.) This summer was one of them.

I've made no secret about being partially hospitalized. I believe being honest without burdening others is what's important. However, the triggers were multiple and it was time for me to face a new reality and not delude myself any longer. I'm getting too old for that. Time is too precious a commodity to waste on maintaining illusions and wanting things to be different. My desire is to live without anger, bitterness, shame or a need to manipulate people or situations. We all have a spin on our life stories, don't we? I chose not to have hurtful feelings control or influence my inner world. My journey here on Earth, at this time is history is a spiritual mission, not a secular one. That's been obvious to me for a very long time. So this summer, I put the baggage down that's accumulated over the past 15 years since I first was diagnosed and started treatment for this incurable, hereditary disease. Stigmas be damned!

Wait. It's treatable you've heard, but it is NOT like diabetes which it is compared to all the time. It is not like cancer or heart disease. It is far worse because it not only attacks the body (the whole body) but one's emotions, one's mind (if you will), and it mightily attacks the soul or spirit of the individual. No other disease packs the whammy of an attack on the spirit. Except maybe alcoholism or drug addiction. These two common afflictions are known as a duo-diagnosis of depression.

Thank God, for my dear grandmother who sat me and my siblings down, one by one, and told us explicitly that we carried the gene for alcoholism. We were warned and I heeded her warning. However, this summer I met a number of individuals of all ages and walks of life who were unable to avoid this tragedy. They are now sober and alcohol/narcotic free. They're hyper-vigilant with the support of AA/NA. However, there's no such nationwide - world wide organization for individuals with depression. However, go to an AA meeting and quickly one realizes that the elephant in the room, (not talked about)  is... Depression. Recovery from any illness is a process not an event. As any cancer survivor will tell you.

So the journey out of a severe depression is a not achievable without crying, feeling hurt and giving voice to anger. With a regimented routine, empathetic and compassionate professionals, an ever changing group of individuals fighting a common enemy, a commitment, determination and a reliable support system of friends and family, recovery is probable. It takes time, a lot more time, than you might guess.

So what did I learn this summer? First, I had to put my stoicism, stubbornness, and a self-reliant attitude aside. I needed help but in order to get help, I'd have to humble myself and ask for it, something I've historically have found difficult to do. I learned that being "high-functioning" doesn't mean denying myself a therapeutic medical program. I'd bumped along for way too many months and then was bombarded with a series of triggers beyond my control. I felt scared, being unable to care for myself, and surviving in isolation. This is no way to live but it is what depression does to people. Being able to tolerate way too much suffering, seen as "high functioning", courageous, and with an attractive public appearance is a handicap. Heeding the advice of my closest friends, I was able to be forthright with my doctor, who recognized my distress and sent me off to a local hospital, as a day-patient.

So while everyone else went on or prepared for their summer vacations, I was doing a daily tour of the psychiatric departments. Two different hospitals. Two cities. Two medical programs. Four weeks. How or why these day hospitalizations work, baffles me. But I'm regaining my strength, able to go out and socialize plus I've collected a green folder, an inch thick of handouts, and many inspiring insights to write about.

My desire and pleasure in writing has returned. I missed our tea times together. Two weeks until Labor Day. I'm on "vacation" so I intend to take advantage of it. Stay tuned.