Welcome Back

I've really stunk at posting lately. I think I've felt good so I haven't felt the need to post anything. Strange, really, because this has been such a necessary exercise in my health for the last couple of years. Nonetheless, here I am today with a new tale to tell.

I'm back to not feeling so great. As of today I'm feeling a touch better than I was but I am still not quite up to par. I have been in the throws of a pretty deep depression for a couple of weeks now and I'm just ready for it to be done with.

Depression is such an odd thing, at least in my case. Sure I get down sometimes because of situations or stress, but most of the time I get completely despondent for absolutely no reason. I have every reason in the world to be happy and yet I'm sad, despairing life itself. It makes no sense to me. This time around has been no different.

Two things are helping. I say helping because things are getting better everyday. First off I have friends praying for me. Whether you are the type that believes in such things or not, there is great relief in knowing someone cares enough about me to lift me in prayer. Whether or not you believe a higher power is doing something is up to you, but the knowledge of deep concern they have for me is as comfort from a higher power. Second, my medications have been adjusted. The medication adjustment takes longer to work than the prayer, at least in my experience, but between the two of them I am starting to turn the corner.

I move on from here, knowing each day will likely be an improvement. If you would pray for me. I'm praying too and would love to pray with you.

Discomfort

My wife is far away, literally. Distance, whether emotional or physical, makes us uncomfortable. Thankfully this is a physical distance (she is in East Africa), nonetheless it adds a level of discomfort in our lives.

I have been thinking a lot about the things that make me uncomfortable. I'm pretty good with physical discomfort, but emotional discomfort is tough for me. Thinking about abstract things, while something I enjoy in principle, often brings me discomfort. There are times I feel myself pushing away from the things I love the most just to avoid emotional discomfort.

In the physical realm I have been enjoying more muscle workouts lately. I have moved away from the cardiovascular routine I used when I was losing weight to more weightlifting. This type of exercise brings a lot of pain, both immediate and longer lasting, but makes me physically stronger. I am seeing the fruits both in my strength and body shape.

Applying the idea of physical exercise to emotional is another thing. I generally have not equated the two, but I am starting to think I need to apply the principles of my physical routine to emotional things. Possibly, instead of running from the things that make me uncomfortable, maybe I need to sit in them and build my strength. Maybe the discomfort of emotional work is the strengthening of the soul.

On another note, I passed another birthday this past weekend. Last year I spent the day in Kenya with some really beautiful people. It really helped me search my soul and gain strength. This year I spent it alone, working in my yard and watching racing. Both were good experiences for my spirit, and I can only look forward to continued strengthening in the days to come.

The Next Step

I had an exciting opportunity yesterday to sit in training with my counselor. No, it wasn't more counseling in the traditional sense, it was counseling on how to better help other people who face many of the struggles I have, and still, face. It was a fantastic afternoon.

To say it was non-traditional would be a definite understatement. We focused on getting outside of moving from bad behavior to good to a place where true forgiveness and reconciliation are preexisting. A place where we realize God's love for others no matter the circumstance.

So often when I try to help I either focus on listening or fixing. To realize my wrong-headed thinking on this was really enlightening. I realized, going through the training, my approach often leads me to take sides and empathize with one over another. Yesterday afternoon I realized I don't have the answers or the perspective to change anything, this is God's job. I realized my sole job in helping is to love as God loves.

Loving as God loves is easy to say. Loving as God loves is not easy to do. If I really think about the implications of that, it means I have to get outside of myself and let God work. It means love is completely forgiving and without satisfaction in my own accomplishment. It means I am simply a worthless vessel unless God is filling me and pouring His love.

I am truly excited about this continuing opportunity. This is the next step, certainly not the last step, in a journey to love well.

A Wild Day

Saturday evening I started having a pain in my right side. Nothing too bad, but with my history I tend to pay close attention to these things. Anything with my abdomen is worth my noticing, but I didn't have too much concern. It lingered into Sunday and then Monday.

Monday morning, around 11, I thought I'd call my surgeon to run it past him. He was in surgery so I talked to the nurse. The nurse immediately started asking a bevy of questions and sounded a bit concerned. She then asked me if I still had my gallbladder and appendix, to which I answered affirmatively. She had me go to the emergency room immediately.

Mind you, I was paying attention, but I wasn't too concerned. I thought it was nothing, but now I'm a little worried. My pain level is telling me Tylenol, the doctor's office is telling me ER. I'm thinking minor, they're saying CT scan. I'm perplexed and anxious now.

Off I go to the ER. I see the triage nurse and she's immediately concerned. They send me straight back to a room and I see a nurse practitioner in less than five minutes. Next think I know I'm drinking fluid for a CT, getting blood drawn, and being shot with pain and nausea medicine. I'm less anxious, because I no longer care about much of anything, but I'm still pretty perplexed. I was thinking quick once over and tell me to go home and take some acetaminophen and rest. An hour later I'm having a CT.

After the CT I'm enjoying my high and waiting for the news. At this point I figure I'm in for the long-haul, probably about to have my insides opened or something. Mind you I still don't care, the pain medicine was that good. I wait in silence for another hour.

The hour passes and I get the news- CT was normal. Good deal, I think, but they still want to talk to my surgeon. I'm waiting in silence for another hour.

The nurse practitioner strolls in and tells me the next news- nothing to see here, go home. I popped a couple of Tylenol and went back to the office.

What a weird day.

Of All the Things I Wish I Said

It's been 18 years since I talked to Tracy. Most days I just remember him, some days are so busy I feel like I never knew him. This time of year I wonder if I could've said or done anything differently. I know so much more now, but I still feel like I don't know anything at all.

Tracy, who my youngest son is named for, was my friend. He taught me to ski, he taught me to catch bass. Tracy turned me on to night fishing with a fly rod and running the flats for trout. Tracy was passionate, but if you weren't close to him you would never know it. He loved the Georgia Bulldog, his old dog Winston, and being a dad. He thought all babies were cute.

Most of the time when I cry I think about Tracy. Usually when I think about Tracy I smile and cry. I never saw Tracy cry, but that doesn't mean he didn't. I'm pretty sure, if I'm as much like him as I think, he cried when his son was born. I know he had a lot of heartbreaks, so I'm sure he cried then. A lot of the time I saw him smiling, sometimes he was a little pissy. Tracy could be pretty moody.

Sometime early in the morning on March 15, 1994, Tracy took a rifle and ended his own life.

There are no days I don't miss him. Some things you can't take back, some things you don't get a second chance to do. I only wish I could have let him know how much I loved him.

My little experiment

Medication is a funny thing. Anti-depressants help prevent panic, anxiety, and depression, but they can cause you to go too far the other way sometimes. Because of that, you may need another medication to keep that in check. Of course there are the panic attacks that still happen, even with the anti-depressants, so you need another medication just in case. Those medications are called benzodiazepines.

I've been having panic attacks lately, as I've said, so I've needed my benzodiazepines. The benzo my doc changed me to is Xanax and I like it. It works much faster than the one I was on previously. The problem with any of them is they make me depressed. I can have panic attacks and get depressed from those or I can take a Xanax and get depressed from it. Neither option is good, although I detest panic attacks so I go with the Xanax.

Over the last week I have gone for the Xanax at the least little hint of anxiety. It keeps me from having an attack, but I don't know if I might have avoided it altogether if I just used some therapy techniques.

That had me concerned I might be getting a bit hooked on them, so I decided to do something. This week I have stopped reaching for the Xanax. So far no panic attacks and today, my third day without them, I'm starting to come out of the haze. I didn't realize quite the fog they were putting over me. I'm really feeling a lot better.

I'm not going to toss them out. I'm not saying I'll give them up completely because they really do work to break the cycle, but I do like coming back to life. Now if I could just get a normal night's sleep instead of too much or too little.

History Lesson

It really shouldn't be a surprise, but all of my demons have chased me around for longer than I care to admit. Thus far I have admitted to you and myself that I have had panic attacks since I was at least 16 or 17, but I've really only been coming to terms with the other parts of my story for the past year. This weekend I find myself admitting those pieces were there all along.

Nearly eight years ago I started writing a song that I have fought with ever since. I picked it back up and, for the first time, admitted the depth of depression it took to write both the music and those few lyrics. That was an admission that I have been working through this for a lot longer than I even thought.

I knew when I first wrote it I was depressed. I knew, in that moment, that is where I was. What I didn't understand is that it was more than just a moment. When I looked a the lyric again, though, I realized it was much more than a moment- it was a daily thing. I was, even then, being consumed by these monsters.

So yesterday I understood the place where I was, the place where I am, and how to control the circumstances. I wrote more, I enjoyed it more, and I played it through a couple of times. I was comfortable with where it came from and where I am today.

The song is now finished. The story that put me in the place to start writing the song isn't over.