Not mine but ; Finding lessons in depression..

In the fall of 2018, I got up in front of group of 75-80 men at a weekend retreat and gave a 2-3 minute talk about the perils & destruction of depression. It wasn't easy, but I needed to share. It has caused much destruction in my life, but we all have destruction in our lives. 

What is important is that I recovered from the destruction & perils, many abandoned me, so be it, but it was my talk therapy, faithful medical professionals, proper medication and most of all my FAITH in GOD that got me through the despair & darkness of depression. That was the message I was trying to convey. FAITH is our rock. Read on...

FINDING LESSONS IN BIPOLAR DEPRESSION

BY Melody Moezzi

Battling depression includes working with your doctor, paying attention to your sleep hygiene, eating healthy, exercising regularly—and, above all, fighting self-doubt.

I’ve always believed in setting high expectations: in school, work, relationships—everywhere. Whenever someone tells me I can’t accomplish something—whether because of my gender, psychiatric condition, ethnicity, or anything else—my instinct is to face the disbeliever head-on, strike my best Wonder Woman pose, and say, “Just watch me!”

Not being a 5-year-old, I don’t actually do this, but it’s how I react internally when others doubt my abilities. Far from discouraging me, a challenge emboldens the superhero within.

Doubting myself, on the other hand, is an entirely different story. For me, self-doubt is often one of the first signs of depression, awakening the villain within. This past winter, as simple decisions like what to eat or which shirt to wear became increasingly difficult, that villain emerged and quickly took to mentally paralyzing me. Like a fun-house mirror, it inspired my internal critic: You’re worthless. You’re hopeless. You’re a fraud and a coward. You’ll never accomplish anything worthwhile. You’ll always be sick. And so on.

From my extensive experience, I knew that these thoughts were irrational, not to mention counterproductive, but that knowledge alone wasn’t enough to stop them from filling my head. So I applied lessons I’ve gathered from countless hours of psychotherapy, lessons I’ve often rolled my eyes at but which have helped nonetheless. Accepting that I couldn’t magically expel these thoughts from my brain, I committed instead to acknowledging them, voicing them (aloud or on paper), and then discrediting them.

When I imagined my thoughts coming out of a stranger’s mouth, I quickly wanted to punch that stranger. My natural “just-watch-me” Wonder Woman instinct took over, and I started to apply it to my own negative self-talk. I tried to do my part in other ways, too: scheduled more appointments with my psychiatrist and psychotherapist, began more strictly regulating my sleep, upped my fish and vegetable intake, and made exercise, prayer, and meditation higher priorities. I wasn’t perfect on all these fronts by any stretch, but I was trying, hopeful that my efforts would keep depression at bay. They didn’t.

Sometimes, even when we try to do everything right, depression still sneaks in.

By early January, my most impressive daily achievements were waking up, brushing my teeth, and showering. Here we go again, I thought to myself, the beast is back. Will I be able to fend it off again this time? Depression had sunk its talons into the back of my neck, like a vicious, yet all-too-familiar, vulture. Everything felt heavier and darker by the day.

Soon my psychiatrist and psychotherapist recommended that I consider a “medical leave,” and I agreed. As a freelance writer, speaker, and activist, I couldn’t exactly file a form with Human Resources, so this meant contacting different editors, producers, and event organizers and canceling or postponing interviews and speaking engagements. It seemed overwhelming, but I knew I had to do it.

Around that same time, I received a call from a television producer who invited me to New York for an interview—an opportunity I would normally jump at—and I was tempted. But I knew the trip wouldn’t be good for my health, so despite the producer’s repeated attempts to persuade me, I declined. Empowered by that action, I made my other calls. With each deadline extension or cancellation, I felt a weight lifted. The depression was still very real, but I had now made the decision and the time to fight it. Before long, I won.

Looking back on that harsh winter from the comfort of a sun-drenched summer, it seems so long ago. But it wasn’t, and I know that my win—like depression itself—is likely temporary. Still, I take solace in the fact that each depressive episode I’ve faced, no matter how bitter, has also taught me something new about the world and my place in it.

Most recently, I learned that meeting the high expectations that I set for myself includes knowing when to say “no,” standing up for myself to myself, and making allowances for variance—for slow days, slow weeks, slow months, and sometimes even slow years. I collect these lessons, save them up like pebbles for next time, when I can throw them at the sable sky, tearing holes in the heavens, stars shaking off the darkness.

Printed as “Flight of Ideas: Finding Lessons in Depression,” Summer 2015