Coping with Depression: When the "Black Dog" Bites.

My God, my God... What is wrong with me? I have chest pains. My heart flutters crazily within my chest with alarming regularity. I cannot breathe; I am chronically short of breath. I feel dizzy.

My legs feel weak, almost rubbery. I feel as though I can't take that next step. My joints hurt with a relentless consistency.

My stomach hurts. I have no appetite. When I eat, I cannot digest food. I am plagued by chronic indigestion and diarrhea. I am steadily losing weight.

I cannot sleep. Every night l go to bed at my normal hour - eleven o'clock on the dot. I fall asleep quickly, but then wake up just as quickly... at midnight; at two a.m.; at four. Then, unmercifully, it's time to get up and go to work again.

I have no energy. I am lethargic to the point that I sometimes cannot move. My muscles feel like wet bags of sand attached to my bones. I feel the need to sleep twenty-four hours a day, yet I cannot fall asleep. It is an effort to drag myself out of bed in the morning. Sometimes I lie there in bed, my body wracked by chills, paralyzed by... something I cannot comprehend.

I cannot remember things. I try to do a job, but I cannot remember how; I am given instructions, but I cannot follow them. My wife asks me to bring home a gallon of milk and a loaf of bread on the way home from work; I forget her request even before I pull out of the driveway.

Sometimes my vision dims almost to the point of blindness; other times I see spots floating in front of me. Many times, the world seems to spin away from me. At times I feel like my tongue is a large, clunky wooden object fastened firmly to the roof of my mouth. Words escape my lips clumsily, and only with great effort.

Days seem to drag on endlessly, while at the same time, paradoxically, racing by with fearful speed. I am curiously detached from people and surroundings. I hear, but only the muffled voices of friends and family.

I am afraid... afraid to live, afraid to die. I feel the need for control; yet everything seems totally, hopelessly out of control. I cry at the drop of a hat. There is no solace anywhere. My friends, my family, my co-workers... all try their best to bring comfort, but they must ultimately stand by helplessly and watch my torment.

Sadness is my constant friend. So is boredom. I try mightily to raise myself from this Stygian place that houses my spirit, using normal everyday activities as my means. Reading, writing, playing my guitar and singing, running, lifting weights... all are, at very best, anodyne. Yet, no matter what I try, the pain remains. All seems meaningless...

I am reminded of the words of Qoheleth: Vanity of vanities! All things are vanity! What profit has a man from all the labor which he toils under the sun?" It seems as if the writer of Ecclesiastes knew the very core of my being as he penned those words.

I there no way out of this spiritual and psychological morass?

Dear God... rescue me!

The answers come slowly, in tiny steps. I get a thorough physical examination. No, I am not dying. There is no heart disease, no cancer, no central nervous system disorder. Mine is an affliction of the mind.

I seek counseling. I am told that my ailment is normal, affecting many, many others. That "Black Dog" - depression - and its dark twin anxiety have been my constant companions. Now is the time to focus on the why...

And so I ponder. I am told that depression can result from chemical imbalances in the body; tests, however, eliminate this as a cause. So mine is a melancholy of the spirit. I must find its source and eliminate it...

I am told that depression can be caused by anger, a rage turned upon myself. A wrath that has no means of release. Like a steam valve stuck shut, my spirit withstands the pressures of this internal, seething, self loathing for year after countless year. All the while, pressure steadily builds, until that "spiritual steam valve" can take no more...

And depression sets in. Or anxiety. Or panic. Or all three.

Why am I angry? Why do I despise myself? That is another story. Suffice it to say here, after months of counseling, prayer, and meditation, I found many of the answers I needed. For now, I will only say that I embarked upon a voyage of discovery that led me to understand myself and to re-align my life.

Many years ago, I embarked on a lifelong pilgrimage to seek serenity between the whispers of creation and the whispers of my life. Today I understand that simplicity in living is the key. Loving my family and friends, and accepting their love for me, has been my constant source of consolation. So is trusting in the unfathomable, immeasurable, eternal love of God.

The wounds left behind by that "Black Dog" those many years ago have healed. The scars are small... but large enough to remind me of my past. Even now, in my fifties, I find that old "Black Dog" nipping at my heels on occasion. But somehow, I usually manage to escape the grasp of his vise-like jaws.

At long last... tranquillity.