Mental Health is a Destroyer of Dreams…#413

Being an avid reader on all subjects, once I was diagnosed with Multi Myeloma (Bone Cancer), I researched everything possible to make me more aware of what I could do to prolong my life. My son Chuck whom I have featured many times in blog posts, has made mental health one of his top priorities. I found that cancer and mental health many times go hand in hand. My family has struggled with depression and anxiety for as long as I can remember, and while doing this self-study, I had to look back before moving forward.

It has been said that my mother never had a problem, she was tough, and depression and/or anxiety would never have been a part of her makeup. With that being said, I believe that she did suffer from both. She was very good at hiding it because she would have looked at it as a sign of weakness; she was one of the strongest people I had ever known. She was not a good parent by anyone’s standards. She was controlling, demanding and selfish. It would be hard for me to write those words had I not been the one person she seemed to take responsibility for making miserable, a commitment she took seriously. I have written about her topics, poems, and general annotations of my life with her as my mother.

Throughout the years, I have grown to understand many of her actions. Also, what drove her to the actions she thought appropriate. She came from well-off people; however, within time, her father squandered his inheritance on women, whiskey, and being too lazy to work. She eventually turned into his fieldhand, married outside her class or though she thought, and never lived the life she dreamed of having. These all make depression and anxiety a front runner for her problems. She, on the other hand, never felt she had one and openly called anyone who professed to have depression and anxiety weak. She tried to live vicariously through two of her three daughters; she tried and never succeeded in dying without ever reaching her younger goals of wealth and affluence. I believe she masks her depression with extreme toughness, no matter who she hurts. Mental health is a destroyer of dreams.

My daddy was textbook depressive, and I would be an adult before I recognized it. He was quiet, withdrawn, and never reached his dreams, either. A sharecropper and truck driver’s life was not what he envisioned as a young man. Before he married my mother, he lived a colorful life of riding the rails, moonshining, and whiskey runner in the early 1900s. His dream of becoming a baseball player died when he married my mother. Becoming something, he was not shown on his face and in his actions. He wore depression on his sleeve like a suit of armor. He died, never realizing his dream. Mental health is a destroyer of dreams.

My own life was being born to a woman who did not want me, living with relatives until I was three years old, then coming under the control of my mother, who no doubt decided that all of her problems were because of my being born. Living in an arranged marriage to an abuser, never knowing love, unable to break loose from the marriage. Battling health issues, many due to the life led, all could be caused by depression and anxiety. Cancer had to align with all the other issues; the body was ready to be broken. Mental health is a destroyer of dreams.

Depression is known to run in families, genetic influences impact one’s health, and there is a risk of developing this disease and anxiety. Little is known, but the history of some families indicates the possibility.  

I have struggled with depression and anxiety all my life; it has gone untreated and undiagnosed until the last decade, with the previous five years leading up to cancer. Cancer does not just affect your body; it can also affect your mind. I have experienced considerable changes in my emotional health. This past year I have dealt with depression, anxiety, and fear; I am never confident I will win this battle. Yet, it is treatable. Unfortunately, I was not diagnosed until I entered the last stage of multi-Myeloma; there is no cure for this disease. Treatment to date has it in a holding pattern, not remission, holding! 

It is difficult to say if cancer, depression, or anxiety are the problems; all carry the same symptoms, fatigue, insomnia, and decreased appetite, and they all go hand in hand. It is well known that people living with mental health conditions worsen the outcome of cancer. I have read that mental health treatment can change the course of cancer, and I believe that it could.

I have undergone mental health screening and have been diagnosed with depression and anxiety. This diagnosis helps me in making life-changing decisions for the better. I have been lucky to have a family supporting me; I continue to write, paint, and be active when my body allows me to do so.

It continues to be a stigma. I have lost friends and relatives due to being open about depression and anxiety. However, I find that there is a great need to keep the discussion going and speak out whenever possible. In today’s world, we are losing too many young people due to that stigma; suicide is rampant among those who are depressed or experience various anxiety levels. Being open and honest about one’s mental health may lose your friends and relatives who believe you are weak. But, if I can save one person, young or old, it is worth people thinking I am weak.

Go to https://screening.mhanational.org/

If you believe you need help, do not be afraid to reach out to your doctor, the life you save may be your own. This test is free and takes only a few minutes.

Thank you to all of you for reading this post. Being open and honest has saved me many times and continues to do so. Have a great day and “good health.”  E.

Broken Bones and Tainted Blood…#412

Broken Bones and Tainted Blood

The screams are silent in your mind

silent to the world

Instant Insanity

Shattered –

Crushed –

Tainted –

Misery at its worse

Mind open to emotional

Tortured Screams within

Bringing the self-mind to

Unthinkable thoughts

Paranoid and unknown

People move about

Unknown unbelievable actions.

The mind searches for a way.

Run, run, run away

Fear clouds the mind and

The spirit, you – are hostage

In this place of grief, a

Room with no doors.

Something shredding the soul

Your body is moving objects

Make a sphere of death

cold? I hear and see s line

of trombones soulfully marching

into the distance.

The red rain fills the space and covers

the floor. Finally, madness rules

over the mind. You will swim for

eternity in the bloody vexation of the

soul.

copyright©2022.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

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https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/elizabeth%20ann%20johnson%20murphree

Flying with Broken Wings…#411

Flying with Broken Wings is about the life of Charlotte Jean Murphree. Charlotte was not a famous person, in fact, not too many people knew her, but those that did knew there were many facets to her life. the book tells of fifty-two years of daily testing of her will to carry on and the misfortune she faced. As a baby and young girl, she was made fun of by schoolchildren, her progress was slow, but she never gave up the fight to overcome her disabilities. As an adult, she fought Cerebral Palsy, Living with Bipolar, Depression, and Schizophrenia disorders. Charlotte lived not only with herself, but she endured the “Voices” that lived within her for over thirty years. This book is about the beginning, middle, and end of her life.

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Searching for a Miracle…#410

Searching for a Miracle …

It feels like a cold rain pounding at my heart

these hours before dawn. The grief is

fierce as it raises and consumes my spirit,

assaulting my senses. Memories emerge from

the darkness, becoming one with my soul.

In the depths of my wounded courage, I am

listing in a sea of sorrow, my life filled with

more grief than many can bear.

It is the hard cold times before departing

this misery. I search for a miracle; hope

merges with despair; my destiny is to

leave all I have ever loved. There are times

when I am uncertain and afraid. Hope

has expired. Sometimes waves of anger

and fear hang above me, like a cloud

circulating over the earth.

Many times, I speak of death. Although

much is written about grief, soft words

are meant to calm the grieving heart.

Some will say how lovely words are,

and I doubt this is true. Yet, I sometimes

hear the elderly; talk of death until they

see their own grave beyond the horizon.

Grief is not calm and lovely; the words

do not stop the pain. Words penetrate the

brain, shattering the heart. Most are choked

with emotions under the flesh where the

heart is sheltered by outward suffering;

they close their eyes, hoping to find peace

before disappearing.

The grief therapist in my group believes

the words that enter the ears will have

comforted the unhappiness. Grief has no

place to hide! We all grieve in our own

time, short, long, or forever; we just stop

talking about it. I mourn my daughter,

parents, and only sibling, friends. I miss

them all. I wait, soon, very soon!

Copyright©2022.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

Books by the author at Amazon.com and Barnes&Noble.com…

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/elizabeth%20ann%20johnson%20murphree

Living With Multi Myeloma…#409

Sharing with my followers a page from my daily diary…

A myeloma diagnosis can drastically affect the quality of one’s life. The disease gives me a feeling of isolation and being alone.

Myeloma has had a significant effect on the quality of my life, as well as my emotional well-being. I am managing it and have a close and meaningful relationship and conversations with my doctor. She has me on treatments that work and is slow in progression. She is my “rock.”

“Quality of life” is a broad term that describes a range of topics on exactly how myeloma affects the quality of my life or anyone’s life. Despite the impact of myeloma, I do everything humanly possible to make living with the condition more manageable.

About 99% of the time, I feel anxious and depressed, and stressed. I find it hard to exercise; mostly, it is slow walking, along with everyday chores in my apartment. I have no social life; it is difficult when you must ask someone else to drive you anywhere, including doctor and treatment appointments. I feel that most days, I am isolated and alone.

My circle of people has grown smaller over the past two years. I try not to let that stress me out, as stress is a killer too. On top of all the things that harm one who has MM is the unrelenting pain; it never goes away; it goes up and down in degrees. Like the medical team that works with me, always ask on a scale of 0 to 10 how your pain is. I always answer that it depends on what time of day it is and what I have done to aggravate my body. On a good day, my pain level is a 5; on a bad day, it is off the charts.

I know my doctor is trying to slow down the disease. I have great emotional support from most of my children and grandchildren; they have become why I continue to fight. The disease has also caused the family to pull away. I do not fault them; watching a loved one slowly die must be very difficult. My sons and grandchildren allow me to talk to them about my dying. Everyone should stop thinking that death is all I truly know to be certain in my life. Dying is like a divorce; no one wants to talk about it, hoping it will go away, that time will take care of it.

I write this to hope that if you have someone in your life that has or is dying from any disease or reason when these relatives ask, you say, “I am OK?” Well, that means that we are in control of the pain. It never goes away.

The dying individual does not want pity; they do not want anything but your love. They want ask for anything but listen if they talk to you. Take the time to remember that they were once active people who have been thrown into the pits of fiery hell because of their sickness.

May each of you have a great Wednesday. E.

©2022.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

Books by the author at Amazon.com and Barnes&Noble.com…

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/elizabeth%20ann%20johnson%20murphree

Casualties of the Times…#408

It’s turning cool in Wisconsin; the mornings are damp, with the sun showing its face late in the afternoon. When the day grows dark, the moon looks like it is covered with ice, light in the distance where life does not exist. Then, the body finds comfort in the warmth of the day. Today I watched a TV program about homelessness; it’s crucial to remember that homeless people are our brothers and sisters, cousins, aunts and uncles, parents, and children.

(Based on internet statistical information)

©Every night, more than 300,000 men, women, and children in the U.S. stay in homeless shelters. An additional 200,000 or so spend each night unsheltered, whether on the street or in other locations, subway trains, vehicles, etc. Families with children represent 30% of the U.S. homeless population.

I do all that I can financially, buying bags of food sent to my hometown’s food bank. I advocate when possible, for the homeless. I am thankful that my children are adults and have decent jobs. I live in a Senior Housing complex with a food box in our lobby. Seniors here sometimes reach into the box, retrieving one or two items. I put things in this box as well. I wrote how I feel about this enormous problem worldwide.

©Casualties of the Time…

The homeless cannot sleep on winter’s cold nights.

They gather around a burning barrel,

men, women, and children, forgotten, shattered,

and despised, in the distance, a hungry baby cries.

Begging for food, being homeless, no jobs to be found,

families no longer sound, the government talks end

up in contradictions, poverty is the prediction.  

The spirit freezes, the fruit of labor rots, life

squeezes and struggles to persist, bad luck smothers

heart and soul, and hope ceases. 

Shifting winds turn into storms. Will the world

grow wiser or be humbled and beaten into servility? 

Trust departed, a cardboard box in the streets is

where the homeless make their beds, hope disappears,

and the future appears dead.

©2022.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

Books by the author at Amazon.com and Barnes&Noble.com…

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/elizabeth%20ann%20johnson%20murphree

Queen Elizabeth II is Gone…#407

Before it, all began…

Americas have always been lands of immigrants, lands that have been “discovered” time and again by different peoples coming from other parts of the world throughout countless generations—going far back to the prehistoric past when a band of Stone Age hunters first set foot in what indeed was an unexplored New World.

Christopher Columbus and his fleet of three small sailing ships had left the Canary Islands, heading west across the uncharted Ocean Sea, as the Atlantic was known. He had expected to reach China or Japan, but there was still no sign of land. The Ocean Sea was also known as the Sea of Darkness. Hideous monsters were said to lurk beneath venomous sea serpents and giant crabs that could rise from the deep and crush a ship with its crew.

Finally, the men demanded that Columbus turn back and head for home. When he refused, some of the sailors whispered of mutiny. They wanted to kill the admiral by throwing him overboard. But, for the moment, the crisis had passed. Columbus wasn’t the first explorer to “discover” America. His voyages were significant because they were the first to become widely known in Europe. They opened a pathway from the Old World to the New, paving the way for the European conquest and colonization of the Americas, changing life forever on both sides of the Atlantic. Five hundred years before Columbus, a daring band of Vikings led by Leif Eriksson set foot in North America and established a settlement.

In the early 1600s, the British king began establishing colonies in America. By the 1700s, most settlements had formed into 13 British colonies: Connecticut, Delaware, Georgia, Maryland, Massachusetts, New Hampshire, New York, New Jersey, Virginia, North Carolina, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, and South Carolina. British America comprised the colonial territories of the English Empire, which after the 1707 union of the Kingdom of England with the Kingdom of Scotland to form the Kingdom of Great Britain, became the British Empire in the Americas from 1607 to 1783.

There was no hope of conquering America — the territory was too big, and available resources too meager. At the outbreak of hostilities, the British Army numbered just 45,000 men, spread over a substantial global empire. On September 9, 1776, the Continental Congress formally declared the new nation’s name to be the “United States” of America. This replaced the term “United Colonies,” which had been in general use.

The ancestors of the American Indians were nomadic hunters of northeast Asia. They migrated over the Bering Strait land bridge into North America probably during the last glacial period (11,500–30,000 years ago). Before the arrival of Europeans, the Native Americans lived as autonomous nations (also known as tribes) across the continent from present-day Alaska, across Canada, and throughout the lower 48 United States. These were my ancestors, North Alabama band of Chickasaw!

This brings me to today, we lay to rest a grand lady. Had things been different today, we may have all been speaking with a British accent and flying the Union Jack.

I wish King Charles the best, may his reign be long and successful.

E.

The Typhoon Of Education…#406

Another post from the website of Chuck Murphree, published YA writer, Mental Health speaker, Edcuator.

It has started again, the feeling of a faster heart rate, the inability to catch a proper breath, the tension that comes from a tight jaw that causes pain in my neck, the squeezing of my lower back which seems to mimic a vice grip on my spine, and then the almighty psoas muscle, tightening against my will, causing a lingering pain in the quad muscles in both legs. I cannot help but sit back and sigh and then giggle toward my pain. After all, it is my mind that is the source of it all. It’s my thoughts and emotions coming out in the form of stress. Stress, oh how I wish it was a four-letter word in stead of five because it should sit beside that most infamous of curse words, F&%K!

I felt it coming on slowly. For those of you who feel the world, you know who you are, it started to pile on after the first few days of school. It’s when anxiety caught me off guard, giving me surges of adrenaline that seemed to be injected in large veins by a tiny needle, slowly releasing it all, and leaving me on the edge of panic. Not quite a full-blown panic attack, just a little nudge reminding me that it’s there, waiting to interrupt my life if I don’t find a way to calm down my stress. And yes, depression decided to join the party because what fun would it be if my little dark friend didn’t come to play?

I suppose I could blame it on the start of another school year. Perhaps it is me starting a new position in the world of education. Maybe “world” isn’t the right word these days. It’s more like a typhoon that makes landfall in August and continues until June. Yes, the typhoon of education. Why? I sit and wonder why we haven’t figured it out yet? We educators have a repeated cycle of stepping into the fire, suffocating on the smoke, year after year. We start off with our professional development and encouraging words from worn-out administrators, which is part of the repeated cycle, and then the dam breaks. We are then flooded. We rush and feel rushed. We are given a plethora of insurmountable tasks to do, maybe I should say unsustainable tasks, and it just keeps coming. And all of this has nothing to do with students or even parents. Yet, they are there. The most important purpose of all, our kids are there, waiting for us to engage them. They are there to tell us about their lives, emotions, and mental health. They are there to share their experiences from their sometimes chaotic home lives, and yet, when we give them our all, we are piled on with more. It makes me wonder what our true priority is? Is it meetings? Is it data? Is it paperwork? Is it politics? It often does not seem like it is students because we are worn out with everything else that is required.

Let’s go back to that word “blame” for a moment. I cannot have blame for anyone but myself for the stress that is unfolding. It is me who feels the world deeply, so while I am being flooded by all the training, meetings, paperwork, parent phone calls, and on and on, I am worried about my kids. They sit before me, some struggling daily with their own depression and anxiety. Some are struggling with their self-worth, and it is them that I keep as my priority. They are waiting for my ears and my heart. They are waiting for my words and my experience. They wait patiently for me to teach them but what they really want is the connection. And so I am to blame for my stress. I am to blame for my anxiety and allowing myself to be flooded because I care. I care deeply for the young human that has come through my classroom door and needs me. It has been suggested that I should let much of my work go and do only what I can while there. I am not sure about this statement. It tortures me actually. I am uncertain if I can lower the expectations that I have set for myself. I am uncertain of it all. This, I am afraid, especially during the moments where my body is screaming at me, when my jaw is tightening to the point where I strain to talk, will be my demise. Maybe not my demise as a human just yet, but my demise as an educator.

I recently had a parent send an email to my district administrators. She basically said how thankful she was that I made a strong connection right away with her son. He is someone who struggles functioning because of his mental health, and she said in her email that I was the reason he wanted to continue coming to class. This gave me a little of my breath back. It helped me distinguish just a little of the fire. However, I realize if I focus my energy on him, helping and connecting with him, as well as my other students, and then attempt to do my best with all of the other tasks that I am required, I will fall head first back into the fire, perhaps burning myself so bad it will ravage my body. The signs are there. I feel this year may require a large extinguisher to put out the flames.

My hope is that someday the typhoon of education will level, or at least become a large wave. Yes, we educators are strong swimmers, so a large wave would be manageable. However, I am uncertain if the powers that be, the community and nation as a whole, and the families, quite understand what is happening. Education is the foundation of what builds this country. I believe we just saw the impact and reality of that during the pandemic. If we continue to have this mass exodus. If we continue to drown our teachers in unnecessary training, paperwork, and lack of support, we will crack our foundation until it crumbles. Actually, the crack is already happening. The levee to the dam is about to release. My regret, the thing that makes me sit in tears at times, is our children will suffer. When they do, teachers will be to blame for taking care of themselves and leaving the field. Why? Well, we often look for blame in situations that are totally in our control but we let it get out of control. If I could ask the nation, the politicians, the school boards, administrators to reflect, to be mindful, I believe they would see that teachers aren’t to blame at all.

As for me, I will find a way. I always do. I find a way to come to the brink of what I feel will be my extinction from being an educator and I manage to hang on. However, at what cost? I recently sat with my wife, told her about the pain in my body, the anxiety and depression, and how I feel that no matter how much I take care of myself, exercise, eat right, and be mindful, that stress may catch up to me. It may kill me. As we hugged and shared tears, she said, “Is it time to do something else?” The thought haunts me.

I love to teach. I love connecting with my students and showing them a new way of thinking. I strive to help them navigate their mental health and the struggles that they face as young people. I am good at it. I prioritize building relationships because I know that is what truly matters in my field. I am the educator who finds that one student sitting alone, looking desperate, and I reach out to them, offering them my compassion and empathy. I have had students tell me I saved them. I helped them to the point that made them want to live and heal and find a better way. I have tried to deny that impact for years because it is difficult for me to admit I have had any impact, but it’s all there. My students’ pictures are hanging onto the wall in my mind reminding me of my purpose, and they are my reason to keep going. That is why it haunts me to think about leaving education. I think, “What if there is a kid out there that needs me? Maybe next year or next month, but what if they are there? They may not know it but they wait for me to make that connection that will help them build the skills needed to survive and take notice of their worth.”

But, to what extent? Will all of the other debris in the typhoon tear me up and continue to bruise me? Will it lead to my soul drowning? Will the pain caused by stress in my body be worth it? The pain in my mind and the torture that anxiety brings? Will my depression lead to more thoughts of leaving this world and sparing all of you my words?

My plea to all of you is to notice that this is not unique to me. It is why we have a crisis in education. Our teachers suffer and have chosen to not perish among the flood. Stop it before our kids do too.

https://www.chuckmurphree.com/

untitled image
Today is my Waldo day. My students love it when I go into a character they recognize.

#Mental Health #Education

Thought’s in the Day of a Writer…#405

I am in my second year after being diagnosed with Multi Myeloma (Bone Cancer). The life expectancy is as low as 2.5 years and tops 4 years. I kept the depression and anxiety levels down the first year, not because of denial but the sheer strength of my mind. In the second year, the depression and anxiety returned with a vengeance. I have gotten weaker and fatigued and have this sense of urgency about accomplishing what I have wanted since retirement: writing. I have published several books of poetry, including an autobiography about my daughter, who passed away in 2010. I have begun my own life story this past year. Then this cloud that many carry above them, depression, and anxiety. I have found that poetry is making a comeback, but slowly. Sales have not been at the top of my money chart. Another worry is that I am starting something that I will not have time to finish. My life has been long, more of a saga, filled with bits of happiness given to me by my children and emotional and physical abuse woven in and out throughout the years.  

The urgency involves my writing. I have been writing since I could print words, simple words. Poems for my aunt and daddy, which she would destroy if found by my mother. I had been told since I was old enough to remember that I would never be anything because I was not as beautiful as my sister Billie nor as bright; all I could hope for was to marry and have someone take care of me. This non-encouragement caused me to work toward good grades and educate myself if schooling was not available. Like many southern girls, I was married “off” to someone much older than me, an abuser. I never gave up wanting to write. I was a closet writer until I retired from the public workforce, fearing that it would be destroyed if it was found.

This brings me to when I give thought to be a writer. Also, what type of writer did I want to be. I have always loved poetry; my poetry books are filled with heartache and anguish that was my life. Many have said that it was “dark” poetry. It was mainly dark as it was given birth from that dark place within me. Many have suggested that I seek help and counseling. Don’t we all need counseling in some form, depression, and/or anxiety?

To be a writer, one must have good communication skills and be able to share a point concisely and clearly. I began years ago by keeping a daily journal; with this journal, I could draw upon incidents in my life that would allow me to put them into my poetry or short stories. I have been told that writing is never a lonely activity; for me, it was because I have always thought of myself as a loner. I turn within, thinking about what I wanted to say, how I wanted to write it to bring others into my “dark” world of reading what I wrote. I know I am not alone; many carry the same burdens that I do, much worse than mine. We may not be alone, but it is a lonely world for me. A world where I can hide and play the part needed to be played.

I have never looked at my writing as a job, one I could make a living regularly doing; be another Sylvia Plath or Grace Paley. That was why I waited until retirement to pursue my desire to write. I write because I love to create, to share with others. Yet, to share those, others must buy my books; maybe poetry was not the best choice. Perhaps a collection of short stories would have been more profitable? However, once again, urgency raises its worrisome head. There are constant changes in publishing and marketing, and I try to keep up with those when necessary. Writers must have adaptability when needed. Discipline is something that comes naturally to me. However, with cancer, treatments and the side effects that come with it does override discipline. It overshadows time, fatigue takes over no matter how committed I may be, and my challenges are health problems I have no control over.

I am organized, have a designated workspace, and have all the proper writing tools; I research what is needed to put out the correct information. I edit, edit, edit…I know what I want to write. I follow all the principles and have proofreaders. I copyright my material. I have had this blog for years. I am a people watcher, listen to tones, and am always mindful of syntax. I try to switch topics, poetry, short stories, newsworthy information, and opinions in my blog. I try to think critically, change styles, and learn new techniques. I follow some social media. However, I am a loner and a lone thinker.

There are two things that I need to observe. Slip away from fatigue and pain; my work may be more productive. Secondly, sales!

It has been a very long day for me, so I will leave you with this, never give up on your dreams.

©2022.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

Books by the author at Amazon.com and Barnes&Noble.com…

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/elizabeth%20ann%20johnson%20murphree

The life story of Charlotte Jean Murphree 7/13/1958 – 7/21/2010

When Monsters Come To Play…#404

Chuck Murphree -Author & Blogger

When Monsters Come To Play

This past week alone, I have heard about several people having depression and some having suicidal ideation. I have also had a few people reach out to me about my novel and thank me for speaking up about mental illness because we are in a critical time where depression and anxiety are dramatically on the rise. No need to thank me, I simply know the darkness that depression can cause and if I can help even one person by sharing my story, then I gladly will. People are suffering and they need to know they are not alone.

I recently had someone approach me, out of good intentions and with sincerity, and say, “You seem to have a good life. You are happily married, love your students, seem to smile a lot, and your book is doing well. What do you have to be depressed about?” That’s the problem with depression, it does not discriminate. It wants to ruin you and take your smile away. It wants to deflate and crush you, and tell you everything will not be okay, leaving you hopeless. It’s an illness, and deadly, not unlike any other deadly illness. It’s just invisible, well, for the most part, it’s an illness we cannot see. I’ll challenge that briefly. When one has depression or when you are close to someone who has it, you can see it in their eyes and mannerisms. You can hear it in their voice. Yes, it’s mostly invisible but there have been many times that I have approached someone because I see, and often feel, their darkness. Sure enough, after I talk with them I discover they are suffering, not from wounds that bleed, but from something that is much harder to heal. A wound that goes deep. My wife can take one look at me and say, “You have eyes.” It’s her way of saying, I know you are in pain.

One of the worst parts of having depression is the dreaded numbness that comes with it. It’s when you stop feeling anything at all and often your thoughts drift toward killing yourself. You may not actually want to kill yourself, but dying is all you can think about. It’s because you are desperate for the pain to go away and you believe producing your own death is the only way out. This is a frightening place to be in your mind. It feels like you are trapped and hopeless like you will always feel this way. You won’t. It’s impermanent and I will discuss that more in a moment. Hang on!

When depressed, your thoughts are often intrusive. It’s as if you have no control over them and they continue to come at you, overwhelming every sense that you have, and taking away your light. The intrusive thoughts can make you feel like you are losing it, as if you are stuck, without a clear path to move forward. Those that believe depressives should just be able to “stop thinking bad thoughts,” which I have heard more than once, have never had depression. It’s more than just being sad, it’s being a prisoner in your own mind, and you are both the inmate and warden. A cruel match of wills. One wanting to escape confinement and one wanting to hold you captive behind the bars in your mind.

Another difficult thing to admit with depression is that when you are feeling better when you are able to find some relief, you realize the pain is a thought away. If you haven’t been in the dark dungeons of your mind for a while, you know it’s there and even the anticipation of it returning can often hinder your happiness, or contentment, with life. I was diagnosed years ago with dysthymic disorder. Basically, an ongoing depression of more than two years. I have been diagnosed with PTSD and trauma, mostly from childhood and other events as an adult. I have come to accept that I have had depression for most of my life, and will have it for the remainder of my life. Knowing this brings a strange sense of relief. I like to know what I’m dealing with and what’s in store for me, and with depression being a lifelong companion, I have sometimes referred to it as my “dark little friend.” Except this friend rides my back often trying to put me in a chokehold, suffocating me, and taking away all hope. Friends can be tricky.

Depression can often feel like having two selves, a lifelong, continuous play if you will, on a creaky stage with poor lighting and two characters dueling it out. Except, the actors are both of you. One the protagonist and one the antagonist. It’s an epic battle that exhausts both actors, and in the end, the curtain falls and you still don’t know who won. For your loved ones, the audience, it leaves them feeling helpless, wondering what the next act may bring.

Depression is also mysterious. It is sometimes difficult to comprehend or understand the storm that is happening in your own mind. I have found that people I speak to about their depression struggle to articulate it. When the pain is so deep within, and you are in agony, it is hard to find words for it. It’s also exhausting to even explain to others how you are feeling. The agony is not unlike grieving for someone that has died, except with depression, you are grieving for the loss of yourself, and you eagerly want yourself back. For the witnesses of depression, the loved ones who stand by waiting for you to return, this can be most difficult because they desperately want to understand what’s causing the depression. As if knowing the cause they can help “fix” it. I feel for them. Over the years my wife has stood in front of me, holding me and asking, “What can I do?” In the midst of the storm, it is hard to say what she can do. However, simply asking, holding me, being non-judgmental, accepting, and loving me for all that I am is enough.

For those of you that suffer from depression, I offer you these things that I have written about and speak of often. I hope they help you find peace. It’s part of my “map” to survive this illness. A gathering of tools that I have gathered for my life’s journey, pulling them out when I need them. Some I use daily and some when the darkest times arrive:

  • Mindfulness: Check out Thich Nhat Hahn or anyone else that can teach you the way to live in the moment. Being in the present moment helps because I like to say, thinking about the past causes depression, and thinking about the future can cause anxiety. It doesn’t mean we do not reflect on where we came from or think about where we’re heading, but the focus changes as does understanding.
  • Therapy: I have had the same therapist for over twenty years. I’m fortunate that I found him as he has helped me gain the skills to cope and understand my thoughts, schemas, and cognitive distortions. He has helped me accept my trauma and try like hell to move forward. If you don’t find the right one, keep searching. Your healer, your guide is out there somewhere.
  • Exercise: There is nothing like a good hike, bike, or trail run to calm the storm.
  • Yoga: Because it’s so much more than simply stretching. It’s moving in unison with your mind, body, and breath and focusing to calm yourself. The benefits of yoga can be hard to explain, especially to men. Perhaps they think it’s not masculine enough. However, try holding your body weight up for an hour while maintaining your balance and focusing your mind all at once. There’s really nothing like it.
  • Get out into nature as much as possible.
  • Journal and write, even if it’s random thoughts that you will never share. Just get it all out on paper and tell your truth. Never judge your thoughts.
  • Read. Read everything because words are healing.
  • Meditate. Yes, this is similar to mindfulness and is often practiced in yoga. It’s all connected. However, practicing sitting or walking meditation, where you focus on your breath work can bring you back to your true self. Mediating can be extremely difficult and frustrating. That’s because we humans have a monkey mind. Keep trying, it gets better. Breathe slowly with a four-count in through your nose, hold, and then a four-count out through your nose, hold, and repeat. Warning! Meditation can bring a plethora of emotions as it releases energy and feelings that are often carried deep down. Let every emotion happen naturally, don’t fight it, and accept it. Calmness typically follows.
  • Acceptance and Impermanence. These two concepts can heal your mind. Once I started to accept my depression and anxiety for what it is, healing began. The more I fought it, the more I struggled. The idea of impermanence allowed me to be mindful that when I am in a dark place, I once felt good. I know that my darkness will eventually subside and I’ll return.
  • Nutrition. our body and mind are one. Okay, when I talk like this, I’ve been called a “hippie” or Earthy crunchy” or “leftist” or a “tree hugger.” However, those comments are usually by lost souls, trying to hang on to bruised egos. I am a firm believer that with exercise, one must eat healthy foods, mostly plant-based. Eat those veggies, especially the greens, and fruit. When depressed, it’s quite easy to drown yourself in sugar and alcohol to escape the pain. However, the shitstorm returns once the temporary high is over. Why not feed your body and mind the things that will make it feel good.
  • Build a Routine. My best days are when I get up at 4:30am, write and read, followed by yoga. Before my work day even starts, I have already accomplished so much, and it releases thoughts and endorphins, along with gaining knowledge. Then, after work, I exercise again and possibly write and read some more. Of course, this is just part of my daily structure, but it is crucial to building a routine into your day that starts positive and healthy.
  • Talk to someone. Reach out to that person you trust and don’t worry about the stigmas that surround mental illness. Those stigmas are not helpful and damaging. You are not weak. For you men out there, your strength is not defined by what society tries to tell you. True strength is knowing yourself and having the courage enough to live life on your own terms.

*By the way, our military’s special operations and special forces use many of these same strategies, as did Samurai Warriors, in order to have a stronger mind and body. Weak? I think not!

  • Medication is often needed and can help. For me, I do not look for a pill to “fix” me. It is why I created my map of coping strategies. Medication is a tool in my toolbox.

Build your own coping strategies and find what works for you. I have found that I need to have many to choose from because one day my mind might not allow me to write but it will allow me to practice yoga or walk in nature. I might be in the middle of the storm and reading a book is a monumental task but breathing mindfully is welcomed.

I’ll end by saying, I sit here today, sipping coffee, Nick Drake on my playlist, thinking about the several current and former students that I have heard from recently, trying to describe their depression and anxiety. I think about parents of students that I once had, desperate to help their now adult children, not unlike when I had their kids with me within the schoolhouse walls or on a run. I think about my former classmates and colleagues, along with current ones, who have reached out, opening up about their own anguish. I hear them all and feel their suffering, and try to offer some of myself in order to help them, possibly guide them through the tidal wave in their mind or the storm they are witnessing in those they love. I do not have the answers and I don’t claim to. All I can offer is my experiences and what has helped me survive, hoping that something I have to say gives others a chance to fight their own demons. You are not alone!

Read that again and repeat. You are not alone and you will be okay. Never give up. Always keep moving forward, and when the monsters come out to play tell them, “I’m ready. Bring it!”

Copyright – Chuck Murphree

https://www.chuckmurphree.com/