Pagans and Depression - Sweat, Tears, and Squirrels

For several days I've been pondering a follow-up entry to "Prozac and Polar Bears," but have been unable to narrow down the topic of Paganism and Depression to anything I could cover in a blog post.  My experience with the subject has been so deeply personal that it's impossible to generalize.

I did happen upon a couple of insights I thought I'd share, but first I feel I should say this:

I am not a therapist.  I do not have a college degree in anything at all (I majored in getting high and eating tacos).  Nothing I say should be construed as medical advice or really any kind of advice. Enormous grains of salt all around.

If you're feeling suicidal, don't wait for my blog to help you--go to the damn doctor.  Call the National Suicide Hotline at 1-800-784-2433.  (Thank you, Nadia, for the reminder.)  Find someone who can medicate you long enough for you to get your feet back under you, then get some therapy and address what's really going on.  Any spiritual relationship between suffering and enlightenment should be considered after you've put down the gun and had a minute to breathe. 

And if you've tried that already and it hasn't worked, try again.  There are a hundred meds and thousands of therapists out there.  Set your intention with the universe to regain your health and then make the calls, research possible alternative treatments, and keep trying. Nothing truly worthwhile comes easily. 

I say this because years ago when I was suicidal, it wouldn't have mattered if you had told me that my depression was going to lead me to mountains of cash, world peace, and sweaty monkey sex with hot celebrities.  It wasn't so much that I wanted to die as it was that I just didn't want to live anymore.  Those who've never had serious depression might not recognize the difference, but there is one, and in my case it helped keep me alive. 

Of course, so did God. 

If you have over the years of my online presence followed the story of me and Jeff, you probably already know that we met face-to-face in my living room one night, the first time I ever danced myself into ecstasy. 

What is not as commonly known is that I actually had an encounter with Him before that, on another night that involved me, a bottle of pills, and the cold tile floor of my tiny apartment bathroom.

It was then that God informed me in no uncertain terms that if I went through with it, I was going to have to do all of this over, and over, until I learned what it was I am supposed to learn from depression.  So I could either put on my big girl panties and deal with it, or I could stay on the Bipolar Coaster for as many rides as it took for me to get it right.

Believe me when I say that in that moment, the old Christian threat of hell as punishment for suicide was nothing compared to the idea of having to endure my early 20s again.

It's rather telling of my mental state at the time that, presented with the voice of God in my head, not only did I not think I was imagining it, I completely believed what He was saying.

Which is why when He said, "Get up," I got up.  And when He said "Stick your finger down your throat," I did.  And when He said "Now go back to bed," I did.

And despite recurrences and setbacks and tragedies and violence and despair and repeated existential crises and Fox canceling Firefly, I’m still here.

There’s something about having a deity take a particular interest in your mental health and personal evolution that gives everything you do a feeling of importance that can, I'm sure, lead to self-importance, if you have the sort of patron who tolerates such silliness.  It doesn't stop the breakdown from coming, but it does lead you to ask, "Okay, what is the meaning in this?" much sooner than you might have if there weren’t a snarky Fey God hanging out in your living room with his Cosmic Cattle Prod.

You know, it occurs to me as I type this that I might be more insane than I think I am.  Or rather, I might be, if other people I know whose sanity I trust hadn't met Him too.

(Of course it's possible we're all just "nuttier than squirrel turds," as my coven sister Squishy would say.  But in a worldview that involves casting spells and talking to Faeries and making offerings to old half-forgotten gods, I suppose it's all relative.  To vaguely restate something Lupa said, it's not really so important what your kind of "crazy" is, as it is that you're a functional and sensible adult who can hold down a job and have a conversation without making people twitch.)

But I digress.

At this point I've officially wandered so far from my original point that I'm going to have to split this into another post, but now you know a little more about where I'm coming from with this subject, so hopefully those going through dark times who read these posts will understand that I'm not approaching from the outside, I'm digging my way up just as hard as you are.  I don't have all the answers, but I'm beginning to understand that life isn't about answers;  answers imply finality where there is none.  Life is about change, and in that realization I have found immense and powerful hope.

One of the most important things that God ever said to me was, "The antidote for tears is sweat."*  Depression is a disease of inertia; the only way to cure it** is to get the stuck and stagnant energy of your life moving again.  It may seem impossible from where you sit, but even the smallest effort on your part to meet the gods halfway can change everything.

* - Actually I think God was paraphrasing e.e. cummings.  But it’s still true.

** - I'm not sure there's really a "cure" for chronic depression so much as it's something you have to deal with throughout your life; but then, it depends on the person.  So I'm not being flippant with the word, but your mileage may vary.

Comments

[Nadia]

A person can also call the National Suicide Hotline which is open 24/7. Their number is 1-800-784-2433.

[sravana]

Thank you.
I'm depressed as hell right now after the breakup a month ago of a 7-year relationship. Dammit.

Now that the rain has FINALLY STOPPED (I live in Austin, too), I'm going to take the K9 for that walk. And then sit down and have another boohoo

[Jess]

Thank you for posting this.

In addition to finding therapy, I'd like to add--get medication if you need it. I've struggled with depression for years, and in all of the treatment I've undergone, I've met at least a hundred, if not more, women with serious depressive or other psychiatric disorders. I was the only one who was not on medication, every single time. I refused to take them for a bunch of different reasons--America is overmedicated, I didn't want to become dependent, I didn't want my body to be not-mine, on and on. In the end, I'm still just trying to stay afloat and live my life with this extremely debilitating disease, and I've come to realize that it's a strength, not a weakness, to accept help when you really need it. Even in the form of little white pills.

Oops, now I'm off topic. But thanks, Sylvan, for the post--it's so easy to think that you're alone in feeling depressed, or not being able to fix it through positive thinking, because no one ever talks about it.

[mama kelly]

First, thank you for baring your soul, yet again, on such a vitally important topic. Second I would like to "ditto" your sentiment that the threat of having to come back and do it all over again is much more persuasive than simply being damned to hell.

Mama Kelly

[Koshkaphoenix]

Thank you for this... yet again. You seem to have the knack for putting what people are going through into words that people can make sense out of if they have never been there.

I've been diagnosed with depression and I have been struggling with a lot of things with it.

Reading things like this really does help.

[Oniongirl]

Thank you.

=0-0=

[Derek]

Further evidence...

When I was diagnosed with depression, I was advised to exercise regularly. They told me that depression was caused by decreased levels of serotonin in the brain, which induces the calm happy feeling. My doctor told me that regular exercise would help restore those levels.

And of course, good diets go along with exercise, though during that time, I was living off water and hotdogs. But anyway...

[Racu]

Have to agree with Derek on this one. I was just about to post something along this line when I read his comment. I know it sounds trite and straight out of Shape mag or something, but when I exercise regularly, dance, small weights, elliptical trainer, whatever and SWEATSWEATSWEAT, my depression level goes down phenomenally and the energy level and ability to tackle problems head-on --instead of hiding in bed with a pint of Cherry Garcia--go WAY up. So that could be what God meant by "the only cure for tears is sweat." Also makes ya think for just a minute that those mags, despite the skinny bitches in way-too-skimpy shorts on the covers, just might be on to something.

Don't get me wrong, I'm in no way trying to minimize the impact of depression. It can be debilitating--I know, I've been there--and trying to tell someone who is contemplating the oven door for the 3rd time that day--been there, too--Oh, you just need to go out and run...I'll show you run, beeyatch....