On the Road Again

Some time ago, I received a bookmark at church.  Being an inexpensive piece of lightweight cardboard with a glossy print job and a Bible verse, it is something my Baptist minister father would normally call "sanctified junk."  For some reason, I decided to attach it to the edge of my computer monitor on my desk at church, where it goes largely ignored as something I see most every day.

But yesterday it caught my eye and I took a moment to read it.  And re-read it.  And read it again.

"Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight."  ~Proverbs 3:5-6 (NIV)

While sitting in the waiting area of my doctor's office, I pulled up that chapter on one of the Bible apps on my phone.  The beginning of Proverbs 3 also resonated with me:

"My son, do not forget my teaching, but keep my commands in your heart, for they will prolong your life many years and bring you peace and prosperity.  Let love and faithfulness never leave you; bind them around your neck, write them on the tablet of your heart.  Then you will win favor and a good name in the sight of God and man."  ~Proverbs 3:1-4 (NIV)

Make my path straight.  Straight generally means without bends, but it does not mean without hills.  Straight can also mean without diversion, without detour.  And straight can take us through places we might not normally go, or might not want to go.

This road to recovery I am on is different than anything previous.  It isn't because I feel for the first time in my life I actually have a broken heart.  I am at an understanding right now, confirmed by my doctor, that the majority of the depression I am feeling is due to the Depo-Provera.  It is a different kind of depression than what I usually experience.

Depression 101: there are two basic kinds.  The first is major depressive disorder, which is what I was diagnosed with years ago.  It is the blues, the sads, the everything you hear about during the TV commercials for the current popular anti-depressant drug.  You are down, disinterested, and if you come "up," it is usually just short of normal.  For some people, it is a one time occurrence.  Others will deal with occasional and/or periodic episodes for the rest of their lives.  The second kind is manic depressive.  These folks are the crazy train ones, wherein you go from the darkest depths of depression to soaring happy highs so quickly you give yourself whiplash.

The Depo has caused me to be manic depressive.  No wonder the ex was on the first train away from Crazyville Girlfriend.  But I just came to that realization last night.  I walked into the gym I teach at on Monday nights feeling low but okay.  When I entered my classroom, a gift from a student put me on the edge of a waterworks episode.  Being a yoga class, I used my pre-class time to practice some easy, restorative poses.  Then at the beginning of class, I explained to my students -- who are like family in many ways -- that I'd been put on a new drug that caused depression and as a result my boyfriend dumped me and cut off communication.  My throat was full of tears as I shared that.  It was obvious I was hurting.

They told me to "do whatever I needed to do."  I had done a little research on yoga asanas for depression, and knew that Sun Salutations would be good.  We do those quite frequently in my class anyway, so that's where we started.  After 3 half salutations together, as usual I let them go on their own, following their own breath and needs.  

I got to my first forward fold and lost it.  I was silently sobbing, my body wracked with the convulsions of tears.  I was convinced I wouldn't make it through my class.

I went and changed the music.  The student who had brought me a gift (he is a Facebook friend and knows what is going on) had put a CD on and it was one I don't remember hearing before.  It happened to be violins and guitars playing love songs in minor keys.  So I plugged in my iPod and pulled up some of my power yoga music, which is still all new-age and stuff, but at least it isn't vaguely familiar sappy songs reminiscent of a romance movie soundtrack.

Halfway through the class, the pendulum swung the other way.  I was cracking jokes and laughing.  My class, groaning at some of the more challenging things I was having them do, made some comment about the ex.  To that, I replied that I'd be glad to give them his address and they could go and "talk" to him about all this.  They decided they'd grab the muscle-bound weightlifters from upstairs and do just that. 

But by the end of class, the manic high was short-lived.  Normally I do guided shavasana, but last night I just couldn't.  I couldn't bring myself to walk them through the release of negativity, of anxiety, of problems, of tension because I knew while I desperately need to do that for myself, while I was the teacher that was not the time for purging.  I gave them a few tools and said they were on their own.

I taught Zumba and then went to my car, where the suffocating fabric of dread wrapped itself around me.  When I'm depressed, night is what I fear the most.  Sleep evades me.  The part of the day when I'm supposed to be restoring my body and blissfully unaware of the passage of time becomes a yawning canyon of endless hours where my brain goes into overdrive.  I pray, I read, I watch TV, I take copious amounts of over-the-counter medications.  Sometimes I'll get an hour or two here and there, but most of the time I'm racing, panicking, and... well, depressed.

However I am NOT letting this get on top of me.  I was proactive enough to go to my doctor and insist on a same-day appointment  (Actually, all I had to say was I was in a depressive episode and hadn't slept for 3 days.  Not much "insisting" happening.)  My doctor called in two prescriptions, two drugs I've been on before.  One helps quiet the brain and puts you to sleep.  The other is a more traditional anti-depressant.  One for night, one for day. 

I slept.  Thank God, I slept.  A little shy of 8 hours, and I need 12.  But, I slept.  I didn't have crazy dreams, I didn't toss and turn for hours, my brain didn't keep me up with the worst scenarios and "realizations" about my situation.  I did have another brief crying episode when I got home; my friend L (the one who introduced me and the ex) texted to let me know that she and her husband had prayed for me.

Back to the Proverbs verses and other things about me.  Normally in a situation like this, the person who was dumped would, at some point, be angry, furious, mad.  I'm not mad at him at all.  I bear no anger or resentment, even though he's hurt me, even though it feels like he cut my legs out from underneath me.  Allowing anger and hate into my heart means there is less room for love, forgiveness, and reconciliation.  So I thanked her for praying for me, and I asked them to please continue doing so -- and to pray for the ex as well.  She said they had been (of course).  I told her all I wanted was God's will.  If that was reconciliation, I'd be ecstatic.  If not, I was praying he'd show me the path I should be on.  She, in her wisdom, said she knew that "waiting is hard, not knowing the future is worse."  She sent their love and "prayers for grace to receive faith & hope for good things to come."

I do not know how long this road will be.  I do not know how many hills I will have to climb, and what scenery I'll see along my way.  I have taken those first few shaky steps, though.  I have confidence that every step -- well, at least most of them -- will grow more secure and assured.  I am not alone.  I am loved.  I am not defined by either my depression or by the attentions of a man.  In the darkness, I see the occasional slivers of light, and I know they will eventually become stronger, brighter, larger.

"Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight."  ~Proverbs 3:5-6 (NIV)