The Black Dog

When Depression Visits

Photo by Warren on Unsplash

It’s spring. We’ve enjoyed lovely temperatures the last few days, and today, we welcomed some much-needed rain. (A little more than half of the country is in a drought. Folks, this is terrifying, especially when you consider the amount of water data centers use. It’s infuriating, but a topic for another day.) Normally, my mood is wonderful during this time of year as I go for nature walks, snap photographs of my beloved birds, and explore new places.

But right now, it’s more than melancholy that dogs my steps.

It’s time to admit the truth to myself: I’m going through a depression. The feelings are unwanted, but familiar. I first felt them the summer before I started high school waaaaay back in the early 1990s. I began seeing a therapist and taking antidepressants in college. They help tremendously. But sometimes, they don’t do enough, and the Black Dog, as Winston Churchill called it (though his could be described as more of a mild depression and melancholy), comes calling. Some years are better than others, of course. One particularly painful year, I had suicidal thoughts, but never even seriously contemplated it as I refused to put my daughter and my family through it. I hung on, talked to people, talked to my therapist, and recovered.

What I’m experiencing now isn’t nearly as bad, but it’s still affecting my daily life. The thing about depression is that oftentimes, there’s no reason for it. My life is a good one. I have wonderful family and friends, fulfilling hobbies, a place to live, food in my kitchen, and enough money in my account to pay my bills.

Yet for the past few weeks, the depression has been a constant companion. I’ve retreated into myself, doing the activities that bring me solace and peace: reading, writing, journaling, watching old movies or British series (I’ve become a huge fan of Doc Martin and yes, the next time I go to the UK, I’m visiting Cornwall!), enjoying my new balcony makeover, and listening to music.

I transformed my balcony space and just love it!

I thrifted the cute wooden cart and everything on it…it was so much fun.

I’ve actively avoided talking to people because I don’t have the capacity or the energy. (This makes me feel slightly guilty. I’ve become good friends with my upstairs neighbor, and we usually stop to chat while walking our dogs. I dodged her yesterday because I didn’t have the strength to put on a smile and act like everything was normal). I don’t want to talk to my therapist because I don’t have the capacity for that, either.

I have a coffee date with a friend this weekend, and we already rescheduled once due to my health. I can’t cancel again (even though I really want to), and I know we will have a nice time. I keep telling myself it will only be an hour or so, that I can get through it, then come home and switch off again. It’s also Mother’s Day, which means a phone call to my mom, more talking which I don’t feel up to. (OMG, I feel awful for even writing that.)

I’ve found that each of my depressive episodes calls for different remedies. Sometimes, I need to talk to my therapist, turn to family and friends, or be around people. Not this time. I want to be left alone. (Please read that sentence in Greta Garbo’s voice.)

I don’t necessarily want to be stuck at home, either. I love driving around with the music blasting, exploring my new home. I’ve also thought about doing my own writing retreat and driving to a B&B somewhere for a weekend. I need time and space to just process and think and write.

After dealing with this illness for nearly 40 years, here’s what I know: this, too, will pass. In the meantime, I will not berate myself or feel guilty for doing what I need to do to take care of myself.

Before I moved to Virginia, part of me wondered if my mental health issues would be as prevalent if I moved to a place more intellectually-stimulating, a place that I really loved. I knew the answer, of course. They’re still here. My therapist often told me, “Wherever you go, there you are”¹ and it is the absolute truth. The Black Dog didn’t stay behind in Nebraska. It came with me because it is a part of me. I’ve accepted that.

I’ll be okay. This I know. One day, one breath, at a time.

This is one black dog I am HAPPY to have visit! My beloved Blitz

1. The origins of this phrase are difficult to trace. However, its wisdom is timeless.