Dog Days

A mild spring has exploded into an unexpectedly blistering summer. The pine-scented air, once refreshed by breezes from the west, is now stagnant and noisome. Azure skies grow wan and oppressive. Trees droop; flowers lose their petals. Men and beasts wait upon the purple evening when they can exhale. At twilight flowers seem to sigh and the robin and the mourning dove resume their avian descant.

These are anxious times: with a tanked world economy, natural disasters, war, terror and an environmental catastrophe likely to have global impact. Closer to home, my agency is doing poorly. My roommate is moving out. The dog has allergies. I want to go back to school.

This is not the sort of day for exertion; but my mind is dangerously agitated. The general torpor does little to quell such fears.

In the hazy days of white hot addiction, I lived in this state: always expecting that something would happen to end this hopeless cycle. By that point the drugs had made my life an unhappy see-saw of fear and desire. Gutted with longing, I deceived myself into believing that I would die (elegiacally) with a pipe in my mouth (my mind is nothing if not dramatic).

Today we’d say that I wanted to hit bottom, but I still hoped to meet someone to love me into sobriety.

Though I prayed that SOMETHING might happen to change the monotonous conditions of living, nothing ever did. Each day was exactly like the last: painstakingly rolling myself up some exigent hill trying to get high, tumbling back down the same treacherous path from which I’d come.

Before discovering meth, depression had offered a kind of primal solace. Hoping for anything risked sorrow and frustration; so I convinced myself that all was hopeless. A preternaturally bitter young man, I was a rebel without a clue.

These dog days take me back there. The mutinous sun sends men scuttling for cover. Saturated air makes it uncomfortable to breathe and even thinking becomes enervating. Add to this the worries of our age and you find mere sadness hardening into intractable depression.

Summer brings out the best in many people: they slim down, shape up, relax, vacation, reconnect with family, enjoy patios and gardens and lay up resources for the chilly seasons ahead. But for the depressed, summer is a tantalus. All the fun is observed remotely; like a shuttered child through a smeary windowpane.

My mood has been downshifting for weeks now. I wake up sluggish and go to bed relieved that the day is behind me. In between there are a thousand worries and regrets that I return to over and again. These are the prodromal stages of relapse into depressive illness; for me, a habitual response to stress.

Like a summer cold, the summertime blues are distinctively unpleasant. Depressive symptoms are miserable enough without the added feeling of being out of step with the wider world. While explaining this to my psychiatrist, he noted that I used the phrase “my depression” as if I identified the unpleasant syndrome as a structure of my personality.

I must have felt a little defensive about this because I immediately leapt into a long explanatory digression, describing my childhood abandonment anxiety, social latency and the labile emotions of adolescence. When I finally came up for air, it occurred to me that my Dr. had posed an interesting question.

In addictions treatment, owning the problem is considered a developmental milestone, so why not mental illness? They share the same stigma, are both considered chronic and progressive, there are even 12-step programs for the mentally ill. But medical tradition and social conventions hesitate to label someone with a mental health diagnosis or speak about it in hushed tones.

Maybe in our culture we confuse depressive disorder with the passing feeling of depression. In my experience MDE or MDD are not transient mood states, but (like addiction) constellations of feelings, thoughts and behaviours that are relapse-prone and must be treated accordingly. Once the black dog bites, she won’t let go without a struggle.

While modern interventions for mood disorders like CBT encourage patients to investigate and question the validity of their thoughts, they rarely if ever suggest that patients identify with their disorder. Cognitive Behavioral therapies treat depression as a manageable condition that can be addressed with exercise, cognitive restructuring and self-care. So why not start from the place of saying “I am GuyinGHo and I have depression?”

Would this really do more harm than good? I know that personally so long as I saw my disorder as exogenous – something that originated out in the world; not inside my mind – I felt victimised by it. Somehow taking ownership of depression — like admitting dependence on chemicals – made treatment a personal responsibility and recovery possible.

The down side of this may be a certain emotional hypervigilance; a tendency to dial into thoughts and feelings that should just be allowed to pass. Admittedly, I become wary when a succession of negative thoughts start to roost in my brain. Afraid of becoming depressed again, I may be a bit too attuned to the rhythms of my mood. Perhaps I’d be better off to just distract myself or disengage from them.

The capacity to name things that threaten us makes them at least seem more manageable. I encourage my sponsees to identify what’s bothering them, to recognise that feelings are transient, but that depression like other DSM diagnoses is a reliably-studied sometimes chronic, relapse-prone behavioural illness that must be treated actively, just like addiction.

After all, as many addicts die from suicide than from the sequelae of substance abuse.

Recently a friend of mine asked about something I had mentioned at a meeting on “Active Change.”

“Guy, I have a question for you: you mentioned ways of assisting yourself to be happy in sobriety! One was a gratitude list….What else did you mention?”

Here’s what I wrote back:

Dear B——,

For me happiness is serious business. Without some measure of acceptance/equanimity my recovery comes to a screeching halt. Depression is my oldest and most faithful relationship :-), so if I want to stay sober I have to find ways of staying happy.

For me it fundamentally comes down to change. Obviously I can’t keep doing the things I thought were making me happy while I was in active addiction. Instead, my 4th and 5th steps gave me an opportunity to survey my life and find out what really matters most.

The times I felt happiest (not merely pleasurable or unconscious), were times of intimate relations with friends and people I love. They were times of self confidence and an intuitive feeling of rightness about where I was headed and what I was doing.

Bonding with a dog. Caressing a lover. Appreciating a friend. Being kind to strangers. Lending a hand to a newcomer. Visiting a friend who is ill. Loving someone and showing it. Writing. Learning something new. The kind of conversations that make you want to reach across and spontaneously hug the person you’re with.

Being conscious of the natural world. Asking for and receiving help. Forgiving and being forgiven for mistakes. Doing something nice and unexpected for someone. Feeling grateful to wake up sober in the morning. Traveling and exploring different cultures. Meeting new people. Sharing laughter. Not taking myself too seriously.

Once I discovered these things, I needed to figure out ways to make them more possible in my life:

1. Staying sober was most important because all of them required consciousness.

2. Next was gratitude, making sure I appreciated positive things I am doing and experiencing in my life. Not only feeling grateful, but saying it. Thanking friends for calling. Thanking HP for a beautiful day. Thanking a colleague for lending a hand. Thanking my sponsor for his time and attention.

3. Recognising the unity of all things. Whenever I am uncomfortable in a situation I try to remember that others feel as I do and that my job is not to rid myself of feelings, but to learn from them. Though it doesn’t always feel like it, our feelings connect us with others.

4. Focusing on service. I try to ask myself how I can add something to every situation. Can I listen to someone who needs help? Can I ask someone out who feels lonely? Can I let a person know their share or something they have done affected me? It’s a win-win, in affirming others I affirm myself (see number 3).

5. When I feel tempted to give advice or voice my opinion, I try to remember to ask if the person wants it. That is an important component of humility.

6. Savouring and acknowledging good times and feelings. Look for the positive in everyday experiences. Even things that seem lousy give me an opportunity to learn.

7. Stopping negative self talk and complaining. These are just empty habits left over from depression and addiction. They don’t do anyone any good. Throw away the half-empty glass and see the world differently.

8. Cultivating compassion for others. Instead of constantly taking my emotional temperature, I can focus on how others are feeling and how I can be of help to them. Approach the world with an open heart and clear mind.

9. Showing up for things even when they scare me.

10. Letting go what I can’t change or control.

11. Investing in relationships. Cultivating friends. Keeping in touch with people. Staying close to their lives. Making sure they know that they matter to me.

12. Finding humor in adversity or disappointment. I make lots of mistakes. Laughing helps.

13. Seeking balance between mind, body, society and spirit. I try to learn something every day. I try to work out or do something physical, relax and take care of my body every day. I try to have a meaningful connection with someone. I cultivate silence or gratitude or meditative perseverance every day. It sounds silly but sometimes I bless things – sort of like thanking HP for the gift of living.

14. I try to remember that life is a large canvas and it’s never too late to start again.

15. If all else fails, there’s always prozac. ;-)

Wishing you happy, mindful days,

Guy

Now that I’ve gotten that down; it’s time to take some of my own advice. Here’s a start: “My name is Guy and I am a grateful recovering addict with depression.”