There was a point after Thanksgiving when I morbidly wondered what happens to the Christmas presents that were to be given to those who commit suicide. Do the relatives/friends return the gift? Do they keep it as a memory? If so, and it’s already wrapped, do they unwrap it? I imagined the pain of placing a gift-wrapped book away in the far corner of a closet or shelf. As the years went on, the sight of that wrapping paper would be like an unburied coffin, and at what point would you find yourself wishing you had simply thrown it away?
I’ve alluded to the Greys I went through toward the end of 2017, so me thinking about such things shouldn’t be that surprising. Deep down, I knew I’d be fine once I made it 2018. But while I’m optimistic, I’m not blindly optimistic. [Side note: I can’t find the entire clip but typing that reminded me of the scene in Step Brothers when the parents are in bed “He quit college his junior year and said he wanted to join the family business.” “But you’re a medical doctor…” “I told him that. But he just always says ‘It’s all about who you know.'” ]
While I could hold out hope until the new year, a 7 turning into an 8 wouldn’t magically solve everything. On top of that, I felt like I’d run out of options: I could switch meds but that’s always a gamble. Exercising more and drinking less has always helped but it’s never really tackled the root of the problem; it’s like pumping water out of a boat with a hole – it’ll keep you afloat for a bit but there’s still a hole in your ship.
I wish I could say the answer came to me in an epiphany or a moment of serendipity, but meditation has always been a fringe option for me. I’ve read about the benefits for years and passed articles about it to others. My therapist implored me to utilize it last year and while I legit tried I rather felt like a dog getting a bath: the permanent “oh shit” look combined with a semi-paralysis as the dog wonders when it will end. But around the beginning of January I saw there was going to be a Yoga for Depression and Anxiety class, and not long later a friend recommended Headspace.
The class was worthwhile. I’ve done yoga videos for years but it’s usually…okay, always…accompanied by a Batman soundtrack because I feel less silly doing it if I’m pretending it’s ninja training. But the class forced me to slow down and to understand there is still a calm within me. Typically I fight anxiety by running until my lungs give out – it’s the easiest way to force me to breath. While it might not have been the workout I would like, the class taught me to think of my spirit (aka central nervous system) as a muscle that needs to be worked out. Not by burning calories or breaking down muscle, but by re-centering it with breath and focus.
If you had told me two years ago that Donald Trump would be president and that I’d use a daily meditation app, I don’t know which I would laugh harder about. The first time I used Headspace, it felt like the first time I used a bidet: it must work because lots of people use it but there’s also lots of morons in the world. Unlike the bidet (which would join eating at Smash Burger, watching the Les Miserables movie, and eating the tequila worm as a NEVER AGAIN act), I came back to Headspace the next day and the day after. I’d book a mini conference room for two o clock each day just to keep it on the schedule. I liked that each session didn’t take long and it acknowledged that it’s okay to let your mind drift back to things important to you (guys apparently think of sex every 7 seconds; my stream of consciousness also has to cope with thinking about pasta and a combination of Star Wars/Lord of the Rings/Indiana Jones/Batman references). Using Headspace daily doesn’t get rid of my thoughts, but it does allow me to coincide with them.
And that’s been the main difference for me in 2018. For the longest time I used exercise and meds to fight the Greys. I still do but I can’t rely on it. Like Bane’s mask in The Dark Knight Rises, they might keep the pain at bay but what happens when the mask breaks down? What happens when I feel dread wrap its tentacles around my heart, squeezing until I feel like my lungs are filled with blackness?
Since I’ve started using Headspace, I’ve taken a few minutes before or after to go through some of the exercises I learned in the yoga class. I wish I could say I’m cured. I still get sad. I still get afraid. But it’s no longer crippling. I no longer fight or ignore the thoughts. I acknowledge they’re there…and that’s it. If that sounds anticlimactic, maybe it is.
I’m reminded of a Sorcerer Supreme quote the Ancient One says in Doctor Strange: “We never lose our demons. We only learn to live above them.” Whereas I used to exhaust myself fighting something within me that can’t be beat, I now just refuse to let it win.
FortressOfDawsontude 