Faith

The idea of this blog was originally to journal about recovery. In the first post I said I would talk about depression, anxiety, panic disorder, bipolar, and life in general. I think that has been done and I want to continue writing those thoughts down, but I have found the common thread in all of the posts has been faith. Faith in something outside of myself.

Laying it out there, which is no stretch if you've been following my writings, I place the entirety of my faith in and on Jesus. I believe he was physically incarnate, born of Mary, lived perfectly, died sacrificially, was risen to conquer death, and is seated at the right hand of his Father in Heaven. He intercedes on our behalf so that God may judge my righteousness in light of Jesus' perfection rather than my total inability to accomplish any righteousness on my own. Left to my own devices life would be about me alone, with no thought of others, which is a truly lonely existence.

I really don't put it out there like that everyday. I'm not exactly sure why I am putting it out there today other than the realization that there is no reason to add unnecessary loneliness to an already lonely feeling condition.

Again, I'm not going to beat anyone up with a Bible or scream Jesus at anyone. It's not my intention to offend or hurt. It's not me to say to drop the pills and rely on Jesus to heal you of your phony depression. I know you aren't depressed just because you don't know Jesus. Depression, anxiety, bipolar, all of them as illnesses, are just that- illnesses. Sometimes God inexplicably gives miracles and illnesses are cured, sometimes he gives us doctors, and all the time he gives us good sense to know that seeking help is the right thing to do.

Faith is so important because, as I said earlier, it takes away an unnecessary loneliness. I find that faith fills a natural sense of being part of something larger than myself. Even when I am completely alone I realize I can play a part to change the world. I realize that, being in Jesus, I can offer myself in service to help people. I remember some of the great miracles, like feeding 5,000 with far too little food, and realize I can share water with the thirsty and bread to the hungry. I realize that offering myself to Jesus' service is where Jesus abides in me, then I am free of that loneliness.

If you are suffering, know again I would tell you to get help. Call me, call a friend, call anyone; just get help. If you just want to know how to fill a little piece of that loneliness that seems apart from your depression, know that faith is the solution to filling the gap.

Learning to Fly

I'm listening to Rush again this morning but I have a Tom Petty song on my mind. The song resonates well with me because it's somewhat hopeful in a less-than-perfect situation. It's the story of a man who made it but is struggling with his success and staying who he is.

There's a fear in "Learning to Fly" with which I am familiar. By no means am I Tom Petty rich or famous, but I have been blessed with a great measure of success in my life. I am thankful for parents who brought me up in humility, to remain thankful for everything, but I don't know that it helps when you have success and realize there are still failures and weakness in success.

I think I always thought success would save me from pain. I never believed it would bring me joy, I don't believe joy comes from anywhere but hoping in God's promises, but I really mislead myself to believe there was no disappointment once you reach success. The hard reality is that disappointment is a fixed circumstance I will always face at times.

So, like the song, success teaches you to fly without wings. The problem with flying without wings is you don't have a way to glide when the engines fail. No glide, no fly; you begin to fall like a rock. The great deceit was in believing, if I was successful, I would never have to fall- I'd never be disappointed. The problem is everyone falls, everyone faces disappointment; so when you are flying on a manic high and remaining successful the disappointment and depression that follows is absolutely debilitating.

I don't want to be a pessimist or a fatalist. I don't want to stay on guard for failure. What I want to do is have a healthy reality that both success and failure happen. They are neither the cure for the other, they are mutually exclusive realities which I should experience as they happen, not as I expect them to be or dream of how they were. Joy in where I am and hope for where I will be, simply living in the moments God gives me.

I really am learning to fly without wings. The lesson I have learned, but not practiced well, is enjoying the flight and the return to firm ground.

Sunday Mornings

Today is a normal day. It's Sunday, a week before Christmas, cold, and the sun is coming up slowly over our frost-blanketed neighborhood. There is nothing uncommon or exciting, yet I can't help but feel a unique anticipation.

My children, both boys, are five and seven years old. The seven year old is still sleeping at this hour while the five year old is awake watching television. Although he is still sleeping I know the seven year old is excited for Christmas. The five year old? He's already asked me if tomorrow is Christmas several times this morning. There is such a joyful anticipation in them.

Their anticipation and excitement gives me an extra sense of excitement. There is also a bit of additional excitement, too. I was awake shortly after 4 this morning not hardly able to wait for time for church. That may seem odd and boring, but I have really been recharged and renewed to the idea of worshiping God. It isn't about the songs, it's not about the preaching, it's not the beauty of the place; it is the raw joy of enjoying the Living God by His Spirit and through His resurrected Son.

A year ago I can honestly say I didn't feel this way. There have been other times I didn't feel this way and probably times I won't. A year ago I was still dread for life. I was fighting my way into church on Sundays and fighting the strife in my head to the point there was little joy to be found.

The honest truth is there is hope. I wouldn't share how I feel to beat you over the head with the Bible, shout JESUS! at you, or anything else. Each should work out their own salvation, but I'm here to chat if you would like to understand more of mine. All I say is, if you have given up hope, know that joy can exist- get help.

Help takes time. Help takes commitment. Sometimes on the road to recovery it feels like everything is getting worse. Believe me, I had plenty of those days on the way to here. I can also tell you it has taken every day of the past year to get this far. Don't give up, joy can be found.

Pray, not Prey

Spelling and grammar have gone down the tubes. I'm not pointing fingers, I do it too; in my last post I put affect where I should have used effect. When I noticed it this morning I almost fixed it but I decided against it. I decided against it to remind myself just how important the small things are.

Perfectionism is a disease most will suffer from at some point in life. I have mentioned I have a pretty good case of it. I think it is common for the depressed and bipolar among us to tend toward perfectionism. Being an artist, I hang out with a lot of artists and study great artists. There is a common thread that most, especially the best-of-the-best, tend toward perfectionism and mood problems. I'm not sure which comes first or which feeds the other, but I'm pretty sure it is rare they are mutually exclusive.

One thing I have noticed, being a perfectionist, I tend to notice the grammar, spelling, and misuse of words. In doing so I've seen some appalling errors, but I have seen some truly hilarious things too.

I remember receiving an email once that made me literally laugh, which was quite awkward while waiting on a funeral to begin. A co-worker's wife was going in for a kidney and liver transplant when my boss sent out an email to notify the team. He was kind and thoughtful and asked any of us who would to "prey" for the co-worker and his wife. Now forget the irony of being at a funeral while praying for someone's transplant to go well (for all I know she was getting this dead dude's liver and kidney), all I can think of is "preying" for someone.

Pray and prey are homophones; they sound the same. Problem is they mean something really different. I know what my boss meant, but now I'm thinking of the spelling and the predator/prey mentality. All I can do is think of myself stalking some game in the wilds of northern Alabama to bring meat back to Tennessee for my co-worker and his soon-to-be-on-the-mend wife. I'm sitting there with a completely inappropriate case of the giggles while other members of my family are weeping.

Is it some sickness to notice those things and be inappropriate? Probably, but I think it's fairly obvious that I'm not bashful about acknowledging my ill nature. Once all the morbid giggling settled off I thought about it some more. Often when we pray we are simply desiring we not become prey; prey of illness, prey of enemies, prey of mistakes, prey of whatever. We have every desire to be predator and not prey.

There isn't anything wrong with praying not to be prey. The Lord's Prayer, Jesus' model of how to pray, specifically petitions the Lord in heaven to "Lead us not to temptation, but deliver us from the evil one." He is specifically showing us that we should ask to be the victims of our world. It is not a problem to not want to be prey.

The question then becomes is whether we should seek to be predators? We want everything to be black and white, it's our nature, but there are alternatives to victimizing our enemies. In the same model prayer, before asking God to deliver us, Jesus asks His father to forgive our sin "...as we forgive those who sin against us." How much does that wreck our typical thought process? Forgive our predators? Forgive those that would make us prey? How unlike us to do such a thing.

So it boils down to this, my prayer this holiday is to make peace with the times I become prey while desiring not to be prey unnecessarily. Over and over I have said I believe I have this illness so I can share with others that they aren't alone. If continuing to suffer with being its prey is something I can forgive, and the Lord forgive me of, then be it so. What predators can we all overcome and what makes us prey from which we asking to be relieved?

What a Year

It's getting close to the end of a year and the start of another. Everyone will be talking about the past year and what the next one holds. I might do that, but this is not the time. This is time for something entirely different.

One year ago today I was in the peak of the worst episode of pure mental breakdown I have ever experienced. I think the toll of too many hours at work, huge deadline pressure, a lot of visibility on my projects, and a major health scare around that time certainly contributed, as did stopping my depression medication some months prior. Even with all of that, and a lot of experience with mental anguish, this breakdown of my mental state was probably the most frightening thing I had ever faced. I was quite prepared to die because there was no way to live as I was living in those days.

To talk about all of this now, with such freedom and boldness, is a testament to how much healing has taken place in the last year. I had come to the point of at least having been on medication for a while, but for years I really denied the depth of my illness. Even last year I was denying it again, quitting my medication because I really didn't believe it was helping anything. I was fine, I didn't need help at all. I was keeping up with my life just fine.

When it all started we really felt like we knew what we were doing this time, too. Both Shelly and I were so stubborn we believed we could manage things and get through this thing on our own. I remember day and night, hour after hour, where she was simply consoling me without even knowing what the issue was. To be honest, I didn't know what the issue was.

When I entered the hospital, a year ago today, I think Shelly thought she failed. Sometimes I think she still feels like she might have. It is not true, she, I, no one failed. These are things that happen and, one way or another, it comes out that things like this are more than we can handle. I'm thankful that she and I both let go of the situation. Failure is only true when nothing is learned.

Learning is something we have done a lot of since those days. It was a short stay but a lot of follow-up counseling and doctor visits. I went through a couple of months of pretty intensive counseling and Shelly went through some as well. I've been on five different medications, two of which I must take daily and a third I still must take from time-to-time. Shelly is learning how her actions affect my mental state, I'm learning how to let go of some of those things while also communicating instead of shutting down.

All of the ups-and-downs, both real and "imagined", it really has been a year and I really am still here. Before Christmas last year, when I started this blog as part of my therapy, I wrote that I wanted to stay here in the about me section. I'm not sure I really meant that at the time; all I know is it was what I needed to put. I mean it now, and I'm not too afraid of what tomorrow brings. Today I know what I believe and will stand upon those blessings which God has provided in the past year, in the years before, and in the years to come.

Maranatha, come quickly Lord Jesus!

Fresh Outlook

Well, I said earlier in the week that Wednesday was the big day and it was. I was correct that an adjustment was needed, just not correct in stating my other medication had "pooped-out". It appears, from talking through everything, the medication is working as intended and as best it can in the circumstances. Problem is that my condition is slightly more than the medication can handle.

I think I've stated it before, but we've finally determined I'm mildly bi-polar- specifically a mild bi-polar 2. Since my most intense symptoms have been panic, anxiety, and depression, those are the "diseases" we have had to sort through to get to the bottom of things. First it was having panic attacks (at the time I didn't know that's what they were called) and getting those under control, then it was a lingering anxiety that would cycle into depression and back around again. Of course last year it all cycled out of control, and that's when the process of really getting to the bottom of things started.

Even though we knew it was more than depression, we found an anti-depressant that worked for me. Taking that, along with a milder mood stabilizer as needed, had been working. Since everything was working well we stuck with it. Of course lately the depression has been getting darker, even with a pretty high dose of anti-depressant, and the swings getting more intense. I knew for some time something needed to be done, I just hate medication changes so I delayed until I had no other choice.

Wednesday I got put on my first real bi-polar medication. So far I have no huge complaints. The nice thing is it's not a change; I take it in addition to my anti-depressant so I don't have to do the whole withdrawal bit. Typically I am the lucky one that gets all of the side-effects in a single onslaught as soon as I start something new. This time I haven't had any rush of side-effects and am pleased. Five days in and I am seeing a huge difference without any extra craziness.

The long and short of the follow-up, I guess, is hanging with it pays off. I hate doing the med shuffle, but it does work. A year ago today, literally, I was unable to function. Ups and downs, a hospital stay, many counseling sessions, lots of prayer, not sure how many doctor visits, and five medications later, I'm not only rounding a corner but seeing a real light on the horizon.

The Big Day

Tomorrow is a big day. All I can do is wait and hope things turn out a little better than lately.

If the tenor of my posts has been a tad disconcerting over the past couple of months, it's not without reason. I do my best to hold things together on the outside, mainly so I keep a job and family, but on the inside I have been a total wreck. If not for the all-sufficient Lord Jesus I would have long ago fallen apart. Thankfully these are the struggles and sufferings we face in His service, so that knowledge and steady guidance have held me together. That said, prayer and this forum are quite often the outlets I have been granted to share in these struggles with others. Because of the outlet, and because I use it to let other folks in the same boat know there's someone else out there struggling, the posts often reflect my darkness.

Of course, with this being a sharing of my mental struggles, I want those struggling with me to know they aren't the only ones who have medications "poop-out" on them. My primary maintenance medication has been slowly quitting on me for about two months. It's not completely gone, but most days I'm only seeing relief in the couple of hours immediately following a dose and again around bedtime. I have periods of either deep depression, needless anxiety, anger, overconfidence, or all of it at once, for about half of my waking hours. I also have returned to the joy of being awake for hours during the middle of the night. So, if you're in the group whose medications just quit, I'm right in there with you.

On to tomorrow. I have an appointment with the ole headshrinker to revisit medications. Thankfully through all of this I have been able to hold onto the stuff I've learned in counseling, but I'd really like to go beyond that and not have to talk myself off of ledges quite so often. So I'll get to share this whole process as it has happened and decide, with the doctor, where we go from here. Heck, we may stay with the same medicine at a different dose. I don't care what we do, I'm just ready to get some relief before I get into a really bad spot. I've been there and I really don't care to go back.

I'll check back in later this week to let you know how it's going.

I Want Off!

Have you ever been at a fair or theme park and been talked into riding a ride you wouldn't have chosen to ride? Your friends talk and talk, goading you into doing something you aren't comfortable with, and you cave. Walking up to the ride you're anxious, but as you stand in line the chatter takes your mind off of the fear and you are alright with things. You get to the front of the line and decide that, well I'm here so I'll go. The ride starts and gets to the first frightening part and it hits, "I WANT OFF OF THIS THING!!!"

Never having been a classic thrill-seeking type, I have had this experience many times. In fact it was not long ago my four year old son and I shared one of these experiences on Tower of Terror at Disney's Hollywood Studios. I had gone through riding it once when I was younger, being egged-on by my older brother, and had no plans of riding it ever again.

In our most recent trip to Disney World we went with my entire family, so my wife had someone to ride with other than me. She also talked the four year old into joining my brother, niece, and her on the ride. When it came time the four year old started to back out so I told him I would ride if he would. Turns out we would've both been happier with our feet on the ground. The photo of it is perfect- a 40 pound 4 year old and a 200 pound 33 year old cowering, stricken with fear, as the ride plummets back toward earth.

Of course you don't have much ability to think in those situations. You're pretty sure the ride operator's not going to care unless a body part is lopped off of someone, so you close your eyes and hang on for dear life. For me it usually sounds something like this, "Nobody's gotten hurt on this thing, well maybe they have... Most people that get on this thing get off just fine. You'll be fine, you'll be fine, it's almost over...."

Even some thrill seekers I know sort of go through what I do, but when it's over they are happy and want to go again. I don't understand it at all. If I got scared of something that was completely voluntary and meant for fun, I'm not getting back in line. Listen, I don't run in the candy shop to grab some cauliflower, I'm not going to the "Happiest Place on Earth" to have the (expletives deleted, this is a family blog) scared out of me.

Just imagine, though, you feel as I do about certain thrill rides. Then imagine, instead of being coerced into riding, you get hijacked at random times and strapped into one against your will. You have no control of it, there's no reason behind it, someone just grabs you and tosses you in the seat. You never wanted on, now all you want is off.

That is a lot like the feeling you get when you have no control over your own emotions. Like anyone else there are situations where we can't control our circumstances and our emotions follow. Those are sort of like the ride you chose to get on. Maybe you enjoy, maybe you don't. If it was a fun ride you walk away with a smile on your face, if it wasn't you say that you'll never do that again. But for me, so often, the reaction makes no sense to the circumstance. In fact, the emotion has nothing to do with the circumstance because it has been hijacked.

I suppose for anyone who would read this it's not news, but mood disorders are not something anyone chooses. They aren't people who blow things out of proportion or like to feel a certain way that is different than everyone else, they literally don't have control of it. That's the difference between being depressed and having depression. That's the difference between being hyper and mania. The list goes on but the fact remains, this is not a choice someone makes, but an illness not unlike flu, diabetes, or cancer.

This is not intended to be a soapbox or sermon. I guess I feel like I need to throw that last bit of information in, from time to time, because there is still such a stigma around mental conditions. I understand there is and I know there is often fear among the ill and caregivers about sharing. While I'm comfortable with my place in this story, I know there are people close to me who prefer nothing ever be mentioned about my condition; much less the fact that it has landed me in a psych hospital. The thing about it, though, is it is real and ignoring it does not make it go away.

If you are hurting and you want off, please reach out. Please call me or message me, call someone close who would understand, or call a help line. If you have no idea what it's like to feel like this, but someone close to you does, be tender. Realize they are on a roller coaster they would have never chosen and were never given a choice about.

Signs Along the Trail

Self-conflict is a way of life. Maybe it isn't for everyone, but if there is someone out there who never experiences conflicted feelings and is always content, I suspect they are probably crazier than I am. Personally, as lazy as I am, I can't even be lazy enough to not feel conflicted. Conflict is one of the parts of the motor that makes us go.

I guess it's only appropriate to use the overplayed analogy of life as a trail. It moves, it winds, it forks, it offers side-trips. The other thing it offers is the chance to grab a machete, turn off, and make a new path to somewhere no one has ever been. It all sounds like fun.

Conflict, though, is funny. All of that stuff sounds fun, but it means you have to get up and move. The conflict comes in and says, "I'm so comfortable, I don't want to go. It sounds like fun, though, maybe I should. It seems like a lot of effort, though, I don't know." In turn we get locked down in complacency while making decision of whether or not it makes sense to be complacent.

We do the same thing when we decide to go. We finally work through the conflict of whether to stay or go and head off down the trail. Along the trail there are signs, this way to here, that way to there. Arrows, warnings, cautions, exhortations, distances. There's also the innate knowledge there may be something exciting just over that way that no trail leads toward. We stop to think, "Hey, maybe we should try it. We have the gear, we don't have anywhere else we have to be, and it would be way cool to be the first to see it."

Then comes the conflict, "But if we go, there won't be any signs. Nothing really points us exactly where we want to go and, when we get to where we think we want to go, it may be way less cool than what was at the end of this trail. Plus, there may be tons of danger. No signs to tell us to look out for ledges or falling rocks. There's no path so there's probably some poison ivy." So, as a result of conflict, we spin back into complacency after earlier deciding not to be complacent.

All of that is exactly what it is like dealing with mood disorders. It's not just deciding whether to go or where to go, but a knotted up mess of anything from putting on a shirt in a very particular way to being so excited you bounce off in any direction without having given any thought to it. Wildly fluctuating from one thing to the next, often you suffer from a paralysis so deep the functions of everyday life become impossible. Everyday is the choice between a clearly marked trail of dread and a making a new path without direction or goal.

Here we stand frozen in conflict, whether literally on a trail or struggling with living our lives. Either way, how do we proceed? The key is knowing there are signs along the trail that is and signs along the trail that isn't.

My post a couple of days ago talked about monuments, or ebenezers. Signs on a trail that exist are easy enough, you've either passed them or see them ahead. They offer guidance along the way to a known destination. Signs on a trail that doesn't exist are different, but that doesn't mean they aren't there. We all carry a lifetime of experience with us. We know what has gone well, we know what has not. Both that which has gone poorly and well brought us to this place, why can't that knowledge carry us forward?

I guess that is a rambling way for me to say there is no excuse for our paralysis. Be it everyday conflict or the conflict that comes with mental disorders, the time comes when you realize you aren't moving. We must begin to recognize more quickly the paralysis of self-conflict, realize any trail we take is well marked, and move forward with confidence in that which has brought us thus far will carry us through to our destination.

Monuments and Markers

This week is the 25th anniversary of our church's founding. To lead into the week our pastor spoke about our ebenezers, or the times we can point to as reminders of God's faithfulness. I thought it an interesting topic, quite honestly because that is something I have been thinking about for a couple of weeks now.

The origin of the term ebenezer comes from the Hebrew Eben-Ezer, meaning stone of help or thus far God has helped us. There are two narratives on Eben-Ezer in the Old Testament; one detailing the capture of The Ark of the Covenant by the Philistines upon being taken into battle by the Israelites, the second is of Samuel offering sacrifice to God and Israel defeating the Philistines. After defeating the Philistines it is said that Samuel placed a stone as a remembrance and calls it Eben-Ezer.

I have not been focused on the past 25 years of our church, the seven years we have been part of the church, or some ancient rock a prophet set in place. I have, though, been thinking of the times when I realize God's faithfulness in my own life. God is always faithful, it's me who is unfaithful, and to that end I have looked for markers to remind me of the times when my blindness to his faithfulness was returned to sight.

There are so many markers to remind me of God's faithfulness. My wife, my kids, and my family all remind me of his blessings. My home, my health, my comfort, and my possessions remind me of his provision. These are constant, sustaining graces bestowed on me. While there are times any one of those things can be frustrating, I cannot think of a time when I have not been able to thank God for those things. I don't think those are my ebenezers.

Depression and bipolar, though, that is another story. Perfectionism is yet again another. Many of my years I stewarded those little kingdoms unto myself. I protected, sheltered, and grew them because I feared that part of my story was unacceptable to God. Those were some of the things where I relied on myself, where I worshiped at the alter of my own heart. I held closely to that brokenness for fear it would reveal my lack of faith.

Over the past year I have come to realize entering into brokenness, recognizing it for what it is, and accepting it as part of my nature have really set me free from myself. In setting me free of myself I have become free to be myself. Sure I still struggle and hold on to those broken pieces. They are my little idols and it takes a lot for me to hand them over. The difference is, time and time again, I find myself able to hand them over. When I do hand them over I find myself wrapped in loving arms, not the deep condemnation and contempt I drowned in when I was holding them. In not living for me, I find I am loved so much that I like being me for once.

Handing myself over, stewarding the brokenness by giving my heart away, is where I place my ebenezer. I even picked a physical marker to remind me of it. I'm not sure everyone needs to do that, but it's helpful for me. I can think of all the years when I felt so alone, so unloved, so reviled, and realize, even in the darkness of my own idol worship, God was faithful to bring me to today.

Co-existing Realities

I'm going to blame this on my brain chemistry, too. It's not as much blaming but accepting it in those times when I don't love it and cherishing it in those times where it is most helpful. It is certainly one of those things that can come across as a blessing and a curse, but again acceptance helps pair that down to what it is, something that is.

What in the world is this lunatic babbling about? I have a weird trait where I tend to be pessimistic when things are good and optimistic when things aren't so great. I'm starting to believe depression isn't as much about always being negative, but rather a constant attempt at rationalization. You see, whether we admit it or not, most of the time life is pretty good. Since life is pretty good most of the time, depressed people end up evaluating the other side of things. On those rare times when life is (and excuse my frankness) at its shittiest, we are often able to rationally see the other side and help people see hope in their misery.

I came to this idea as I was reading a book on negotiating. The book teaches negotiation shouldn't be based on managing a position, rather it should be started in looking at shared values while maintaining individual core values. Thinking about application of that idea I realized it is something I do all of the time. I constantly look at the other side of an equation to understand the value before I judge merits. That lead me to realize my brain is constantly taking a position against itself.

Maybe that isn't the case for everyone. I have said it before, I am not any sort of psych- anything; just a nut with an idea or two. I do realize, however, that it really is a blessing. If I can keep focused on the idea I can grab positives out of any negative situation, I can encourage someone else who is really hurting. What is it that we really need when we hurt more than comfort?

Something Completely Different

It concerns me, particularly as a person who speaks about mood disorders, that I keep hearing the same term enough to make me think a trend is forming. Whether in conversation, prayer, or written articles, it keeps popping up. The term I keep hearing- anxiety.

I'm quite certain the current economic uncertainty is a big part of our anxiety. People are concerned their families have provision. That is a fair concern. People are concerned about their ability to sustain and grow income in the future. Another fair concern. If those (and others) are worth attention, where is the problem?

The problem with anxiety is its tendency to become a self-fulfilling prophecy. A person begins to worry about something legitimate, more time is devoted to thinking about the issue, more worries come to mind, and soon he begins to worry about worrying. This, while somewhat oversimplified, is what happens in anxiety disorders. So much worry about "bad stuff' creates something bad.

How, though, is this becoming so pervasive? I'm not a psychologist or social scientist, just a common nut with some thoughts about how my broken brain works, but it may be as simple as information overload. When I am struggling with anxiety issues one of the first things I have to do is reconnect- less 'net, less news, less weather, more time enjoying relationships.

I'm of the opinion we have plugged ourselves in to the point society is beginning to worry about worrying. Fundamentally things are not terrible in our society. Sure, things could be better; but when couldn't things be better?

To look at something objective I look return to the economy. Corporate revenues and incomes are fairly strong. Cash reserves are as strong as they have been in a long time. Why is this not translating into more investment and personal income growth? We are so worried about what could happen that we have frozen out fact-based judgement and fulfilled our worst fears.

What's caused this? We hear so much of what is going on in the world, and most of it is negative. Why? Good news doesn't sell. What do we do now? It may be time, as a society, to reconnect. How do we do it? We do something positive, one at a time, until it can no longer be ignored that good things do happen.

Confessions of a (not quite) recovering perfectionist

There's a common thread amongst artists- most tend toward being perfectionists. I'm sure there are tons of reasons why satisfaction is so hard to come by for artists, I know a few; but no matter what the reason it is something we live with. Medium notwithstanding, there is no such thing as good enough.

I can't speak for others, but as a musician I can give you one of the big reasons I'm a perfectionist- music itself. In its written form music is perfect. The author conceived it and put it on paper just the way they desired it. Whether I or someone else composed it, the music on the paper in front of me is perfect. No matter how hard we try, though, as performers we cannot play a piece just as it is written. There are so many intangibles, so many things a composer would never expect you to translate the way you have on your instrument. The drive to meet the compositions ideal by your performance is the musician's poison.

A few months ago I was exploring some of my symptomatic triggers with my therapist. One line of his questioning led me to admit I get anxious after I make a decision on "perform" or depressed when I know a decision or "performance" was imperfect. He counseled me toward accepting my actions as "good enough". I'm not going to pretend like that worked- I immediately responded with "No!" We wrapped that up and moved on to something else.

I guess, though, psychologists know what they are doing. I started thinking about it after the session. I have continued to think about it, as is evidenced by this writing. I'll not say I have been able to accept everything I do that is good enough as good enough, not even close, but I have been able to accept a few things. I'll keep working on it and maybe one day I'll get there.

I've said it before, and I know it seems really cliche, but sometimes cliche is the only thing that fits. It works for addicts, and it works for a self-defeatist and perfectionist like me- "Lord grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference."

Thinking, Feeling, Watching, and Waiting

If you were reading the other day and got concerned, I apologize. It wasn't something written to be frightening or gain sympathy, I wrote that for my friends who are struggling and feel alone. That was to let them know I still struggle with the same stuff, there are others of us still struggling, and none of us are alone. Sometimes the only thing we need we get so far down is to know we aren't the only ones who ever felt so despondent.

On to other matters. I was reading this article this morning, I think it was in Forbes, about the ten happiest professions. I realized, of the ten listed, I seriously considered seven. At the bottom of the article the writer listed the ten unhappiest professions- I selected number one. So let's think on this, I'm in college considering life directions and I have eight choices. Seven are from ten of the happiest and one is number one on unhappiest so the depressive picks unhappy. So of the twenty from both lists it is the best paying, but you end up miserable and spent. Story of my life.

I've been mentioning for some time that I believe my professional direction is changing. I know it is, but it's really all a matter of faith and timing for that to work out. Is that to say ending up in a miserable profession was the wrong thing? I don't believe that at all. I believe with everything I have that it was intentionally positioning me for today and tomorrow. There is no way any of today happens without yesterday, it's an undeniable truth no matter your system of belief.

Dealing with the truth of yesterday, today, and tomorrow is really the root of the issue with me. As a depressive I am naturally inclined to take the negative point of view. Reality, however is so incredibly different. Much like we perceive light as invisible, yet it carries every possible color; future is a spectrum. We can paint walls and choose the color made visible to us, we can paint the future to any shade we like.

My Reformed buddies are starting to look at me funny; no I'm not saying anything about free will. I dare not say anything is what we make it, rather it is how we view it. Choosing to see only the things that suck means everything sucks. On the other hand, choosing to see everything that's wonderful means everything's wonderful and unhealthy as well. Reality is everything that is both and neither, all working together for purpose.

So I purpose to dig out of this mire and see life in its ugliness and beauty, the ugliness in its beauty, and the beauty in its ugliness. May the light be clear, for color is reflected off of objects which would hinder the view.

Sometimes it Comes Back

Today is one of those days. I don't understand this disease, I hate this disease. Most days I think I know how it can be useful, but days like today are when it just doesn't make sense.

I seem to have lost all hope. I don't care about anything and see life as an obligation and not a joy. There is nothing here I need or want and all I do is suffer. Don't feed me your guilt and sob stories about how much my children need me, how much my wife loves me, and how much my family cares about me; I've heard it, I know it, and all I can see are obligations- joyless obligations. Drudgery.

If this sounds like a suicide note to you, you are right. No, I am not going to take my life but these pervasive thoughts make me want to. I'm so sick of having these feelings.

The exercise of writing it down doesn't make it more real, it is all plenty real. It does offer some ability to process, but I'm not sure how much. It doesn't make the feelings go away, it doesn't make me realize what I'm missing, it doesn't make me feel one ounce less burdened. What does it do? I have no clue.

I always have to go back, though, to Romans 8:26-39. You may or may not believe in God, Jesus, or anything else, but I guess I need that crutch. This disease causes the abandonment of internal sense of hope or peace. Apart from something I can look to outside myself I have nothing. Maybe that is the purpose- taking me apart from myself to see the face of Jesus so I can be His arms when someone needs something to hold on to.

Thank you, Lord, for holding me.

Better off not seeing

The last few days have been a whirlwind. I've had enough going on to keep a few folks busy and only made it home in time to put the boys to bed one of the last four nights. Needless to say I'm ready for a little rest, and I'm pretty sure Shelly could stand a little relief on the home front.

Funny thing is I have been busy doing things I really love. When I was younger I dreamed of what I would do when I was a grown up and I am finally beginning to see the dream God gave me coming true. It's not exactly what I pictured it would be, yet it is exactly what I knew it would be. I don't think I have ever felt as comfortable in my own skin as I have these last several days.

Even though I knew the dream God gave me, I think if I saw it as it really were to be I probably would have run away. I doubt seeing things as they should be would have caused me to pursue making things as they should be. It was blindness that frustrated me and blindness that kept me pushing.

Interestingly, I have also seen physical blindness cause healing in the last few days as well. My dad had been experiencing spots in his field of vision and temporary blackness in one eye. He visited his eye doctor who immediately referred him for an ultrasound of his neck. A major blockage was found in one carotid artery and he was operated on successfully yesterday. If not for blindness he would likely have had a major stroke, affecting the rest of his life or even killing him.

So I get annoyed when I know what should be in front of me but I can't see it. I hate it when I know where I should be going but can't see how to get there. The message today, though, is loud and clear. Most of the time I'm better off not seeing- if I could see everything there would be no need to keep moving.

A Story About Hats

Over the weekend I started working on a new song. The lyric I am working this around is "when I could smile." The idea wasn't necessarily born out of my experience, nor is it any specific story, it's more impressionistic. Since it's meant for the listener to interpret I'll leave the rest of my thoughts out and let you hear it when it's done.

Thinking about the line I was working with sent me down another path. I thought how much easier it is to deal with people when everything is going right. When you talk to someone without any problems it's easy, no awkward moments, no uncomfortable topics, it's just nice. It's so tempting, then, to always be the person for which life's great. That approach makes sure everyone you encounter is friendly.

As much as I talk about helping, caring, and reaching out to folks who are hurting reality is I don't do it. Helping is messy. Helping means getting dirty and, frankly, getting our emotions dirty is less attractive than getting our hands dirty.

A couple of weeks ago my wife and I were in Manhattan strolling through SoHo toward the Bowery. There was an awful sound and, when we turned to look, we were horrified to see a man rolling off of a car hood and his bicycle crumpled off to the side. A man who was nearby rushed to help. Others gathered watching the incident unfold. My reaction? I hesitated once, then again, and when the police arrived, I excused myself. I rationalized it internally, I was across Bowery from it, NYPD got to him before I could, I was unneeded and would have just gotten in the way.

We crossed Bowery, walked past the scene, and down into the subway station. To make myself feel better about my fat, happy, cheesecake-stuffed self, I shared with my wife the rationalization I was playing in my mind. At that point she said, "I hope someone grabbed his hat out of the street."

That man's hat has played through my mind ever since. I was so clueless making excuses for why I would just be in the way I didn't notice something so simple. I didn't want to get my hands dirty, yet I could've helped so much without getting my hands dirty. If I had bothered to look at anything but myself I could have grabbed that man's hat for him.

A hat may not seem significant, it may not have been significant to him. On the other hand, when I think of times when I don't feel well physically, emotionally, or mentally; as thankful as I am for the big things, the dirty hands, I always remember details that should seem insignificant.

So what does it all mean? I'm preaching to myself again, but just being willing to get dirty is all it takes. Looking for all of the ways not to enter a situation leaves behind a world of dirt in the form of regret. Just being willing to get dirty often leaves us to not getting dirty and significantly enriching life through insignificant means.

Look for opportunities to pick up the hat. Moreover, don't be afraid to let someone else see you when you've dropped your own hat.

"I'll make myself vulnerable if it saves someone's life..."

The title quote is from Brandon Marshall, a two-time Pro Bowl wide receiver. Brandon Marshall has been in trouble ever since I first heard of him, back in his college days at UCF. Not too long ago he was stabbed by his wife. His wife then violated an order-of-protection while he was in Boston. Because the last violation revealed he was in Boston, not his home in Miami, and because he has had plenty of trouble with the law, he chose to reveal he was receiving treatment for Borderline Personality Disorder.

I admire this guy. I don't admire his legal problems, and submit to you we can't blame trouble we get ourselves into on disorders. However I didn't hear that from him, I heard someone owning his condition and saying I screwed up, I'm getting help. Not only is he getting help he is committing to help others with the same condition.

It would be a lie to say I'm not patting myself on the back to some degree when I say it takes tons of guts to do what he's doing. When I started blogging it was easy. I doubted anyone was really reading it, so it was for me. Sure, I gave admonitions and the like, but it was still for me. The first time my story publicly, at a time where I knew it was seen and heard, it was pure agony. It's much easier to walk away and pretend like everything is fine.

So huge kudos to Brandon Marshall. The first time is the hardest. I wish you well and ask anyone close to a person who has a condition, but is now stable, to share their story. Brandon's right, it is worth doing if it saves someone's life.

Just Like It Was Planned (by someone)

Last week I talked about the video. Well I made it through. Although the video was only a couple of minutes long, I found I was much more involved in the entire service than expected. The pastor introduced the sermon, then me, the video, then referred back to my story throughout his sermon. If you would like to see the video you can check it out here. There is also audio of the entire service available on the website.

There is no doubt about it, I felt very vulnerable and uncomfortable. I've shared before that I'm coming to a place where I finally understand that my brokenness is natural and I fear less making it known. I have also shared, however, that I have been in places where I was told it was all my fault; it was my lack of faith and something I could do would make me better. With that duality playing itself out in my mind it was a tough thing. I was emotionally stripped in front of everyone, not just the few folks I had always been comfortable with.

Even today I feel very vulnerable. I was asked yesterday, and agreed, to allow the video be placed on the church website. My sensibilities wholly disagreed with this, but knowing the request came from such an outpouring of requests that others be able to share the story, my soul burned that I let it go. Today I am without secrets, today my human shame is in overdrive.

I once used Don Henley's "Heart of the Matter" to talk through forgiveness. Obviously, if you know the song, that is its theme. But there are some sub-themes, and a line that always comes back to me is, "The more I know, the less I understand..." Wading through all of these emotions reminds me, once again, just how true that is. I would have never expected what has happened over the last few days.

As I was locked up in shame, fear, and vulnerability, the words that came from my mouth seemed to touch people. I really wanted nothing more than to slink out of the room Sunday, but something held me there. As soon as the service ended I was assaulted- assaulted in such a way as I did not understand. I knew this would help some people, but I understood that this would hinder me personally. My understanding was dead wrong.

There were people coming from across the building to speak to me. People asking questions like, "I need some help. Can I call you sometime?" "Will you talk to my daughter?" "I hurt just like that sometimes. Where do I go to make it stop?" "I would have never known... Can I help you sometime?"

I write and share for awareness. I share because I would rather be a fool before millions than have one person suffer alone, but when the rubber met the road the same fears come to call. It is amazing how, yet again, the Lord continues to save me. Jesus lifts my eyes to His, He gives me the Spirit to do something my conditions make me completely unwilling to do, and in that He saves others as well.

Will it be that some completely miss the message? Will it be that some will continue to judge those of us who can't 'just get over it'? Certainly. In this, though, I see that ones who can't 'just get over it' know they aren't alone, that they are needed; and I see at least a few who thought people with these issues just needed to 'get over it' are coming to learn to love better. That can only be the work of a Sovereign, Holy God.

Public Professions of Fear

It's no secret to anyone who reads this that I sometimes get anxious. I've made abundantly clear that, when all the bad stuff in my head starts working together, that's how it usually presents itself. I'm at peace with that. I don't like it, but I'm at peace with it.

The weird thing is I generally don't mind sharing that things play out that way. I am happy to tell most anyone, and readily share with anyone who would come here, about my struggles. This weekend I'm telling a new group in a different way. For some reason that has me completely freaked out.

I was asked some months ago to share some of the goings on in my life. I shared those thoughts and was asked to do a short video that would be used in our church services. A group filmed me talking about how depression, bipolar, and anxiety have played out in my life. I explained how I ended up in the hospital before Christmas last year and how the whole experience has really been a blessing and not a curse. I have not seen the video, but I was able to share genuinely without hesitation. It should be another blessing.

Last week I was told the video would be shown in this coming Sunday's church services. I went in knowing that was what we were doing this for, but as the day gets closer I get more anxious. While I'm still struggling with some pretty depressed periods, occasional "up" times, and minor anxiety, I have not have not been experiencing panic attacks at all. The prospect of the video, however, has sent me back into panic mode. I have had three since lunch yesterday.

Every fiber of my being is screaming, "Call it off! Just tell them not to show it. Tell them to do something else, anything. Don't show me in front of everyone. They'll call me crazy, tell me it's not a real disease, whisper about me when I walk the hall, and nothing I say will ever be taken seriously. I will forever be the church and town nut. It's as if my low sense of self-worth is feeding my anxiety, which in-turn is feeding back to low self-worth. I am struggling with this terribly.

There is no way I will back out. I want to and I want to be as far away as possible when they show the video. I know I can't, but it's what I want. In reality the video is about the same thing this blog is about. It is admitting to people that it's alright to be who you are. It's okay if all the pieces don't fit perfectly. The beauty of life and faith is that beauty of imperfection is made perfect through faith- that God picks up the brokenness and uses it for all sorts of good. No matter how scared, I know this video needs to be shared just as I share this blog and with people I people I speak with.

So I don't write this post to help or share as much as I write it to cope with my fears and expose myself to some reality. This is not new, it's something I do everyday. It's not something I'm ashamed of, afraid of, run from, or bow to. A lot of people may do the things I think they will but, if one person is helped by my story, anyone who thinks less of me afterwards really doesn't matter.

Contemporary conviction

I promise I am not always as serious as the things I write in this forum. When I look back over the things I have written I realize I can come across as a sullen sad-sack who wants everyone else to join in his misery. I don't intend to be that way, nor do I always see myself that way, but it may be closer to reality than I'm ready to admit.

I will, however, tell you I have a rather active sense of humor. The only issue is that my humor is just as twisted and negative as the rest of me. If you know me well you tend to get it, but sometimes I think people who don't know me well completely miss it. You see I tend to draw humor from anti-social or cynical behaviors.

Being cynical comes naturally. I've thought about it, and I'm really not sure if cynicism breeds depression or depression breeds cynicism, but I'm pretty confident they're close pals. Knowing my tendency I just accept my natural bent and redirect it. When I'm extremely depressed that takes the form of telling myself it's depression talking and I start to look at facts. When I'm thinking more logically and the cynicism creeps in I tend to make jokes out of it.

That got me thinking, though, where does cynicism really come from? I read the modern definition that outlines what we all understand as cynicism, but it referenced a foundation in Ancient Greek philosophy. At first glance I was a bit shocked to think there was a philosophy based on the idea that everything is done under false pretense, but in thinking on it more maybe it's not shocking at all.

Western society generally desires to believe in the inherent good in people. The problem is that belief runs counter to the very foundation of our culture. Sure, we are post-modern and less concerned with moral and religious issues, but all societies are founded on some belief system. One portion of the foundation of our communal belief system is, in fact, Greek Cynicism.

Let me lay out that Greek Cynicism is slightly different than the current idea of cynicism. It is a striving for virtue by shunning worldly desires and living in agreement with nature. Much of this was absorbed into Stoicism, which is the idea that destructive emotions and, ultimately, destructive behaviors are the results of inherently flawed judgement. The end-game for both schools of thought give rise to the idea that shunning personal gain in favor of living in agreement with the natural world lead to a virtuous life.

I'm going to pause for just a second. You want to call me a dirty, lazy, communist, hippie. I know, it's cool and I don't mind; just go ahead, get it out now. I want you to read the rest without being clouded by your initial reaction, so let it out then take a breath before continuing to read.

Striving after the natural world leads to a virtuous life. What exactly does that mean? The Greek idea was, as I stated earlier, shunning worldly desires. Does this mean to shun technology, money, societal advancement? I would argue no. The idea is to free oneself from the influence of such things. It is hard to think anything within the Hellenistic world would be antithetical to advancement. Certainly the idea could be, and was, taken to an extreme logical conclusion, but those would be exceptional circumstances.

Looking for virtue in the world around them is where it really went wrong for the original philosophers. They really believed virtue was in the natural world. The problem is that looking at the present state of the world does not reveal the "natural world". We cannot see the natural world, it just doesn't exist. Our world is nearly as far from natural as possible, so to look at it for virtue is to look for something that will never be found. That is a truly depressing realization.

I know I am leading down a really odd path. I alluded to the idea of cynicism being right and then said you can never find the natural world by looking at the world. The key to the thought is I never said you can't find the natural world, but that it doesn't exist today.

In the Biblical view there was a time prior to corruption. When the first corruption of man occurred the path for the entire history of mankind and the natural world was changed. There was no natural world, as nature itself had been corrupted. Nature was and is corrupt- unnatural. There is absolutely no way to see the natural in nature because the present view is prismatic. It cannot be visibly reconstructed.

The Biblical solution is we may see a restored world through the eyes of Christ Jesus. It continues in the fact that the world will ultimately be restored to its natural state in Christ. We cannot see this restored world today, but we certainly get a taste of the natural world by living as Christ.

So that whole trip around the world to say, maybe being a cynic isn't so bad after all. It's just that I am being the wrong kind of cynic. If my cynicism were to point me to chase after the things of God maybe my cynicism can take me from illness to health.

To Love Well

Do you ever get the feeling someone else is reading your thoughts? I get that sometimes, but when you post your thoughts for all the world to see it shouldn't surprise. The last several month's well documented struggle, my doubts, my fears, how that is used; all of the high points I felt necessary to share in understanding the journey, I have shared here.

David Hampton, an excellent musician, thinker, writer, speaker, etc. has a blog that he writes every week. He typically dives into issues that are personal to him but brings a commonality to them intended to help you think about how you harbor the same issue. This week's blog, while it's something I've realized for a while now, gave me a different perspective on myself. You can check it out here: http://davidbhampton.com/Blog/tabid/1193/articleType/ArticleView/articleId/922/What-Color-Is-Your-Sky.aspx

If you read it you would find that, although there are absolutes, those absolutes are still seen by individuals. I am an individual who has learned the sky is blue, but most of the time I only see grey. Not in the sense of the man in the blog, but figuratively. The colors, or joy, of life is often stolen by depression and anxiety. Other times the colors are so bright their blindingly un-enjoyable.

As I said, I have known this about myself for a while. An interesting point I took, though, is that in the times when the colors are askew it is not the colors that are wrong. The colors are consistent, they are absolute. It is my perception that is broken.

So many times when the colors are off I say, "Well, it's a condition and I'll wait it out and they'll come back to normal." The interesting thing is that I have thought the colors went bad and they'll get fixed in a little bit. The reality is the colors are the same forever, it's my position that has warped them.

I am overly faithless. I'm faithless not because God has not granted me faith, but because I falsely believe that faith should keep the colors constant for me- I should never feel the awful ways I do. The reality is the faith God has granted me has gone nowhere- it is constant, ever striving. All truth be known my desire for faith to be something it is not causes me to have unrealistic expectations. My loathing faith is not a loss of faith but a losing sight of the fact that, no matter how I see faith, it is always there.

I've gotten on the soapbox before, but there are so many who tell us depressives that we don't need pills but more faith. What we need to do is share that faith is the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow. Faith is constant and we need to move toward that faith as it moves toward us. We need to help our brothers and sisters suffering see the truth for what it is in their circumstance, not destroy them because we think they are wrong.

(My apologies to David for rehashing your points. I loved your post and I wanted to contextualize it for my circumstances. Thanks, brother, for sharing in both ecstatic and difficult providence.)

A Found (and fond) Memory

I was digging through one of the notepads I keep nearby. I have them all over the place so I jot down thoughts, notes, song ideas, or just doodle. It's one of those habits that's both good and bad. I love to pen the thoughts but I have no method for organizing them so sometimes months or years go by before I look back at them. In this case a month and a day has gone by.

I remember, quite distinctly, the moment and the feeling I had when I wrote this. While some of the feelings have changes, there is a burning feeling driving me toward my conclusion. At the top I can see that I scrawled "Experiencing the Trinity," after I had finished the thought, so bear that thought as you read something I wrote on the morning of April 13, 2011:

Last night was such a microcosm of my life experience. I have no clue why mentally or physically, but spiritually I was under attack most of the day yesterday. I was up and down quite a lot, positive and negative.

I felt good as I woke yesterday but became depressed by the completion of the first session. I worked through it but, as the pastor spoke on working through difficult times and finding encouragement, I sank into a deeper depression.

 Within all of that there was such encouragement. I spoke with two friends, who I would now call dear to my heart, about the church and the things of God. From the deepest of depression I moved to greatest encouragement.

On a side note- I had wonderful tea yesterday afternoon. Terrific tea with steamed milk and biscuits. It was amazing to be in this tropical, lush place taking such a magnificent English tradition.

Dinner was yet another meal I had trouble eating. I am subsisting on rice and desserts. The proteins here are cooked to such a great degree of done-ness (as they should be!) that I can barely keep down tiny amounts.

We, after dinner, had an amazing time worshiping God. One of the missionaries led and we backed him. As amazing as it was I so depressed, so self-focused, I did not enjoy it. To some degree I actually resented it.

By the time worship was complete I was so tired from fighting myself I couldn't help but weep. I cried extremely hard, off-and-on, for fifteen or twenty minutes.

Afterwards I enjoyed some time online and discussing the future of World Music Mission with three other gentlemen. It was truly something that, this morning, I am pulling together as quite possible the clarity of the call I know I have been experiencing for some time now.

I believe, from our discussion yesterday, that WMM needs more leaders. To grow it cannot continue to be all on one or two people. I honestly believe this is my call- to add to the leadership and begin being a worship leader on some of the additional trips.

 All of this is so interesting, for as I write the pastor is speaking saying that we have such certainty about the ultimate and total uncertainty about the immediate. Romans 8:28 seals this in that, if we love God and are in His purpose, all things work together for our good. I love God and this is the call. I must go.

Oh Wow

I'm not at all sure what happened. The last month has gone by in record time. It's hard to think this day in April I was hopping on a plane to Africa.

Getting back on track has been fun, but thankfully not too outrageous. I had prepared well at work for the trip so jumping back into that wasn't too bad. I didn't feel like I was a week behind. Getting back up to speed with the correct time zone, or I should say slowed down to the correct time zone, took a while. Getting off of the nasty malaria pills was also great.

So I spend time talking about my mental conditions and they role they play in life. That's the biggest reason I haven't posted since returning. I really feel like the last week has been the first I have felt "normal" since making it back. I think the travel, jet lag, medicines, inoculations, diet, and so-on, really played hell with my condition. It really took those weeks to get re-centered.

Thankfully all of the treatment works. Never once did I feel like I couldn't make it. Never once did anything interfere with be able to do daily activities, to live life. That is a good thing. If there is any reason to deal with issues, that's it. I can't imagine having been able to do something like that at some points in my life. It was hard enough to want to breathe, much less invest all of who I am into a group of total strangers. Just being able to feel that made the crappy several week recovery worth it.

I also know this to be true- somewhere between here and there is my real mission, the place I am called to be. I like what I do, I enjoy computers, but I need to be invested in something greater. When I look at my job all I see is me working for people to make more money and bigger margins. I see me working to take home a paycheck. At the end of the day, is there anything wrong with that? No, I don't think so. Is it for me, though? No, I don't think so. I think all of this is a call to something so much greater- a call to reach out to people.

That is what I need to focus on as recovery really takes hold.

Out Past Egypt

Since, in my last post, I said I'd talk to you from Africa I suppose I should take the opportunity to do it now. It has really been a great week.

I'm not going to go into all of the details of the week. That is another blog and a whole bunch of other posts. It you want to see all of those check out www.worldmusicmission.org. Needless to say it was a great time with lots of work, but nonetheless refreshing.

I was pretty amazed that most of my craziness kept itself away during the trip. The only time I had anything on the order of panic symptoms was walking down the jetway in Atlanta prior to the Amsterdam flight. There have been intermittent periods of depression and moodiness, most of which I think was induced by the anti-malarial. They provided me with the medication least likely to increase depression, but it seems to have added a bit to mine. It also seems to have given me some pretty wild dreams. Fun times.

Tomorrow we go on a brief safari then head home. I'm excited about the safari, not too excited about the trip home. Eight hours to Amsterdam, five hours sitting in Amsterdam, nine hours to Atlanta, then the final hop home Sunday afternoon. By the time it is all over it will have all been worth it, especially when I get to hold my family again.

See you all back home!

A Whole New Level

This morning I write from Amsterdam. I'm not here long, just waiting on another flight. It's still a decent time to share some thoughts.

Surprisingly it was a pretty easy trip over. None of my "demons" came to haunt me too bad. Hopped on the plane in Nashville without any issue and made Atlanta easily. Leaving Atlanta I kinda froze about halfway down the jetway. I'm not afraid of flying, but the panic and agorophobia jumped on- I wanted to turn around and go home. Snapped the rubber band a few times and get trudging forward.

I'm thankful for this experience. Thursday I was really struggling with the idea of all of this. I really had no desire, at that point, to ever leave the house again. I was an absolute wreck. It turns out though, just like so many doctors have told me- take your medicine and walk right into the things that are frightening.

I guess it's also fair to point out that scripture says, "The Lord has not given me a spirit of fear but of peace, love, and a sound mind."

I know fear is not of the Lord, but I see the Lord use that weakness to build my reliance on Him daily.

Blessings and I'll talk to you from Kenya!

Something that really bothers me...

I have heard it so many times it is ridiculous. It is possibly the most ignorant and dangerous lie, and while I don't know how widely held it is, the folks who hold to this idea seem to have no problem spouting it off. Bear with me while I give a little back story.

I don't keep my religious convictions a secret. I am a reformed believer, in other words a Christian who holds to the grace-based principles of the Reformation. Sure I love the truth's of the Bible, but I also love to study the doctrines of great reformed theologians. Those from before the Reformation like Augustine, Reformation figures such as Calvin and Luther, and the spectrum of Reformers since like Spurgeon, Jonathan Edwards, CS Lewis, John Piper, John MacArthur, and so on.

The reason I bring up my beliefs is two-fold- they shape who I am and how I live my life and when I share parts of my life it can evoke a certain reaction. This reaction is what I find incomprehensible and utterly deplorable.

I attended school in a quasi-religious environment. While the school I attended was not directly run by the church, it was heavily influenced by the local Presbyterian establishment. That helped form the foundation of my love of Reformed theology. I also spent many years attending, and even ministering in, Southern Baptist Churches. The SBC really taught me what passion for the Gospel was like. Was I surprised to learn, in my studies, the great reformer Spurgeon was also Baptist? Yes, and I was pleasantly surprised to know many in the SBC trace it's early roots to his work in London.

I was so excited about my future in that great church. I was especially excited when Al Mohler was made president of Southern Seminary. It was validation that the Southern Baptist church was uniquely positioned to bring a passionate, grace-filled, Gospel to the masses. It was where I wanted to be.

There were, however, some deeply troubling issues. First thing I noticed, over time, was a judgemental spirit by some in churches where I was placed. I attempted to counter it by teaching the Gospel, but it no-less bothered me. Second, I found that, while the doctrine of Eternal Security was taught, it seemed the doctrine of Election was really skewed toward free will. For a person who, admittedly, did not fully grasp election I dismissed this as my misinterpretation of teaching. Still, there was a lingering feeling that I was fighting an uphill battle against legalism.

Let me pause slightly before we get too far. I do not say this as an indictment of the SBC, her leaders, or her pastors. This church is a magnificent organization committed to the Gospel and reaching the world for its sake. That said there is a large portion of folks in the pews, and even clergy, who seemed to have "missed it". "Missing it" is what I am addressing, not attempting to dress-down a fine organization.

I suppose the breaking point for me, in large part because of my personal battle, was an ever-vocal opinion toward mental illness; specifically the attitude toward mood disorders. On more than one occasion I heard folks talk about a friend or a relative who either needed to come to Jesus or needed "deeper faith" to overcome depression, anxiety, panic, or bipolar spectrum. This was deeply disconcerting.

Moreover, the entire time I was quietly struggling with all of these things. I was felt like I was giving everything I had to Jesus but I was getting worse. I was terrified to bring it to any of the brothers I walked with out of fear they would judge me and tell me to repent of my lack of faith. More so I was beginning to lose faith because I was beginning to believe there was something in my power that I was failing at to strengthen my faith.

Now I will not pretend that this alone moved me to where I am today. I moved out of the SBC and back to the more Reformed teachings of my youth. This really stemmed from returning to the convictions regarding secondary and tertiary doctrines while finding an equally passionate denomination of Presbyterians in the PCA. I even found there was a group within this organization held the same disgusting viewpoint toward depression.

So on to the specific viewpoint. Over and over again when depression is mentioned I hear people tell people they need to put down those pills because Jesus is the only cure for depression. Yesterday, in response to a blog post by my pastor, someone made this exact comment. Yet again I was floored by the absolute ignorance of the statement.

I don't want to go deep into scriptural proofs. I know that God heals. I believe there are miraculous healings, but I also know that Luke was a physician and Paul instructed Timothy to take wine occasionally for a stomach ailment. God, in His divine wisdom, chooses to heal in different ways.

Cynically I would ask someone, "If faith can heal anything, what will you die of?" Like I said, cynical, but it makes a point. God sovereignly chooses to do as He sees fit and I really don't have a say in the matter. Would a person telling someone to put down the anti-depressants honestly tell a Type-I diabetic to lay down the insulin and have more faith in Jesus?

I believe in miracles, I believe God can heal miraculously. The fact that I seek treatment for something does not mean stop seeking "divine" healing, rather this is how God has chosen to use this in my life. I do not always know why, I don't always see why, but I know this to be true. I will continue to pray and seek prayer, and on the day God heals me miraculously I will stop taking medication for my condition. Until that day this is how God has, in His divine purpose, chosen to teach me.

So I doubt this post will reach an audience who views mood disorders in such a deplorable way; it may, it may not. I do know this, if you don't react this way toward these disorders you probably know someone who does. If you do, take the time to probe their feelings. Ask them why they feel this way. Ask them if their arm was broken if they would refuse to see a doctor because that shows a lack of faith. Someone with depression may only open up one time, and if they feel as though they are reviled or disregarded it could very well be a death sentence.

An Interesting Article

I found this article last week on USA Today's site: http://www.usatoday.com/yourlife/parenting-family/2011-03-14-sad-dads_N.htm. I would disregard the lead, it seems a tad disingenuous; however I certainly recommend reading it. The real takeaway is we are overlooking depression in new fathers.

I don't necessarily agree with the idea that depression in new fathers is some variety of post-partum depression. Really what I see is the pressures of being a new father, the lack of sleep, and a 'blue' or even post-partum depressed spouse, all combining to add so much stress to cause more conciencious men to succumb to depression. To some it may seem this is a transient state but I feel it is important to address.

While transient depression is common, even desireable, if it begins to have a negative impact it should be addressed. Everyone has periods of this and really need to as way to reset our systems. They key difference, and the marker of when to push for help, is this impact. Transient depression, while in rare cases can lead to things life self-mutilation or suicide, is mostly harmless to self and others. It is when depression starts toward harmful that we need to start seeking assistance.

Harmful behavior is a hallmark of major depression. When, what you think is, transient depression wears on it can begin to impact thoughts in serious ways. Thoughts of sadness turn into various forms of self-harm. This can be less obvious things like eating too much, eating drastically less, sleeping a great deal more or less, or even work attendance or productivity problems. They can also be more obvious like thoughts of physical harm to self or others, enjoyment of pain, and attempts to harm self or others.

So I guess it's not that I think there's a post-partum depression for dads, but it may bear watching. Maybe the stress of being a new dad is something that would push a person with depressive tendencies toward full-blown depression.

A Pharmaceutical Waste Dump

Sometimes insightful, sometimes intelligent, always boring; welcome back to my blog. I continue to be busier than I would like and a bit more scattered than usual. I guess that is life, though; so the best thing to do is sit down occasionally and let it all go.

I suppose it should not have been a surprise to me, given some of the odd side effects, my new doctor is not a big fan of Paxil. Granted it helped propel me toward better health, but there are some costs involved. Nothing life-threatening, hazardous, or the like, but nonetheless annoying. Last week I mentioned some of the side effects I was having and symptoms I was still dealing with and he presented me with several options. Given the circumstances surrounding everything we made the decision to change medication completely.

Since most folks aren't on psych meds and have never had the pleasure of going onto or coming off of them I feel the need to share an important fact- it is no fun. Both processes, run-up and withdrawal, tend to cause issues. Withdrawal brings strange physical and emotional side effects. A lot of people melt into a puddle of tears or become "snippy" during withdrawal, which thankfully I don't. What I do, because of my particular set of conditions, is called rapid cycling. It is the process moving from depression to manic states (in my case both are relatively mild) in fairly quick succession. All that and the strange physical side effects that us vets call zaps, brain-shivers, and Paxil Headache.

Staring a new medicine brings on another set of symptoms. Many people often experience a temporary increase in anxiety in the first days of a new medication. I am no exception and, since a big part of me is panic and anxiety, this is particularly entertaining.


Since doctors are aware these things happen to folks, most responsible doctors don't go full on/full off with medications. They slowly withdraw, lightly lowering dosages over weeks. They also slowly add, starting with a minimal dose and adding until proper symptom control is achieved. This is never painless, but it does make things a tad easier.

So now I am in the process of doing both, simultaneously. It is a little weird, but I will say it is not as bad as either one alone. I think I am probably driving my family insane. I tend to flip back and forth really fast and only have short periods of "normal". Thankfully the swings are really mild and, unless you are very close (family-living-in-the-same-house close), you wouldn't notice it from the outside. I suppose it is more annoying than anything, but not nearly as bad as the alternative.

Torture Test

I have a thing for computers. I know working on them isn't my great calling, but I have been blessed with pretty solid technical skills. Those skills have allowed me to make money for my family while I continue to pursue my call. How that will fully manifest itself remains to be seen but for faith to flourish you must believe, and to believe you must trust.

Anyhow, being both a professional and hobbyist in computing, I usually have lots of computers and parts around. At the moment I have three different computers within arms reach and a large drawer full of cables and old fans. At last count there were at least two more computers in my house than people. The latest is a close-to-ten-year-old computer I lifted from my parent's when they last upgraded. It has become a bit more of a project than I anticipated.

Once my folks had a chance to look over the data on the new PC I set up for them, they gave me the green-light to wipe out the one I brought home. Last Sunday I took one of my favorite hard disk utilities and completely wiped the hard disk and started over with the old clunker. Monday night I loaded an operating system with low overhead that would make this into a really solid web-browsing PC. That, in fact, being my goal. I really want to make a good PC for the kids to browse and play JumpStart.

I got the OS loaded and, when I got back from San Antonio, finished the set up and got things running well. Well, I suppose, that isn't exactly how it happened. It ran well for about 15 minutes and started acting weird. It's ten years old, never been reloaded, so I figured loading with a minimal OS would do the trick and get it running. Obviously that wasn't enough, so now I'm having to run hardware tests to see what is broken.

The test that is running now is called 'Marsenne-Prime 24.12.2', or a torture test. It is meant to through large prime number calculations through the processor to make sure everything is working properly. Basically it makes the processor perform up to the limits of what it is designed for so that you can be sure it will be reliable in the operating environment. Much like a baking dish or frying pan, a computer processor shows its greatest strength when it is heated to its limits and continues with its intended purpose.

From the time I started performing the torture test I thought about the term. I thought about how my trials with anxiety and depression were like my torture test. A test to show me my brain could take it and I would still be able to perform. How this was like what the rough times are like on my brain- it takes me to the limits of what I can process then lets me back down to operate under more normal conditions. How it is God showing me I can do it, how God shows me I can live with reality.

The more I thought about it I really liked it. It made me feel confident in myself, it made me think I was okay. It gave me independence. It was wrong.

Reality really jumps on you when you are in the midst of anxiety and depression, or at least it does me. I think so often we think of it as a mental disorder that makes us think unreal thoughts, but in real terms it amplifies existence. It strips away all of the coping mechanisms we have for existence and applies a forced perspective on the temporal nature. It strips away anything you put around your primal nature and makes you deal with that nature without those comforts.

Thinking back over that reality I realized something much deeper and truer. It wasn't a torture test for me. It wasn't God showing me I could do it. It wasn't God showing me I would be okay, it was God screaming at me that I wasn't okay. It was God slapping the reality that I can never be okay.

It was a place, not for me to grow, but for the glory of God to grow. A place where I disappear and God holds me closely. In all of this I have started to realize that I am not my own, and in no way can I ever achieve what God has already done for me. To this I resolve to no longer live as myself, but as a servant.


I suppose that has been one of the most important sermons I have ever heard. My head tried so hard to justify how everything I went through made me stronger, but reality has shown me I am so weak that I cannot take one breath on my own.

I have said over and over not to minimize mental disorders. They are terrible and powerful. They strip away one's ability to apply logic to reality. It also takes the ability to grasp reality out of your hands. If you have these issues, get help. If someone needs help, get them help. I say that as I cannot use this revelation to minimize the importance of good health, rather a call to realize you cannot do this alone.

It's not as if I Forgot

I promise I didn't forget my writing duties, I've just been busy with a hundred other things. I also started writing an extremely compelling post about a week ago which I abandoned about three-fourths through my train of thought. Maybe I'll resurrect it one day when I can think again.

It's been a successful couple of weeks for me. After about six weeks my medications all started working together the right way a couple of weeks ago. Since then I have flown cross-country and back and performed live. All of that with no panic, manageable anxiety, and no major depressive periods. I am extremely pleased.

Tomorrow I am off to San Antonio and back here Wednesday; Louisville next Monday. These travel days are getting long, but it is good preparation. I don't know if I've mentioned it, but many folks that read have surely heard I'm heading to Kenya in April. I think this would be a fair source of anxiety for most anyone, so for me it is something to consciously manage. Needless to say there will be a counseling session or two between now and then.

I'm not going to linger tonight. I really just wanted to process on 'paper'. I know it's not exciting, preachy, educational, or any of the other drivel you've come to expect from my posts; but going into this thing I warned you I might just talk life and, well, sometimes life's details are boring. Sometimes boring is good.

...and Beyond

I know I cut the last post off rather abruptly. It was intentional, as the entire episode, while rather drawn out, took a very different turn after the hospital stay. Needless to say ending up in the hospital wasn't on my list of things to do. It did teach me and my doctor a big lesson- pills aren't always enough.

I said in an earlier post that my doctor prescribed me Paxil and, once I started feeling better, I thought it was enough. I was wrong.

My doctor thought pills were adequate since this wasn't triggered by some life event. I thought, since the doctor told me this was true, that he was right. Little did I know that, even throughout my stay on medication, my anxiety and depression levels remained above normal. That is because medication is not enough- if you want to remain at a place where you can 'feel' you have to combine therapies- both drug and talk.

A week after my hospital stay I had a sit down with a psychologist. I had seen counselors before, this part was nothing new. What was different is that this was not for life's events or stress, this was actual treatment for a mental illness. That was very different for me. This was not a nice little session about coping skills or working through interpersonal issues, this was psychotherapy.

The doctor started taking me through my issues using a method called Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT). I'll give you the short version of how this works- instead of avoiding things you dislike or make you uncomfortable, you sort of say 'bring it on'. Now that has generally been my way of dealing with issues, but when something causes you to panic or be depressed you tend to do things to prevent that. I always felt like that was just good planning. Seems good planning is just a good excuse.

I have spent my life being prepared. I have rehearsed every line for every situation I would could ever be in. I have done very well in life being prepared. The problem with panic- you can't be prepared. The problem with being prepared is you expect perfection. The problem with expecting perfection- when you miss, and you always do, you end up depressed. My desire to never be surprised is probably the greatest exaggerator of my anxiety and depression. I have spent countless hours nervously working my way through tomorrow's scenarios just to end up spending weeks over yesterday's mistakes.

So now I am learning to be surprised. I don't say that to mean I've started going through life unprepared- I will never do that. What I am doing is learning that there is always the one thing you couldn't prepare for and it's okay if it happens; you deal with it when it does. The other thing I have started to recite is the Serenity Prayer. It's a little trite, maybe a little overused, and no, I'm not in AA or any other twelve step program. I do,though, think it is very appropriate.

God, grant me the serenity

To accept the things I cannot change;

Courage to change the things I can;

And wisdom to know the difference.

The Absolute End

I started to post yesterday and it completely fell apart. It's been a week since I wrote anything because I have been struggling where to take this next. I want to complete the story, but I want to share what's going on today. With that, I think it is only logical to complete one so we can move to the next.

So to really tell the story of my life and how I got to where I am today would take a lot more than what I have invested so far. I've shared the very abbreviated version of where I can first identify mood issues to the point where I thought I was past mood disorders. Yes there is a lot more to the story, and as I move forward with the present I hope to incorporate the greater details of my past. But to get to where that is possible I think I need to complete the short version.

I last left off the history with coming off of all medications. I also shared that I did that on my own and highly discourage anyone from trying it. It is unpleasant and can be extremely dangerous. I was very fortunate. As I said, it took me a couple of weeks to stop having the constant withdrawal symptoms. After the worst of the withdrawal I had some issues off and on for a couple more weeks, but by and large I felt fine.

There was no real struggle in the time following coming off of Paxil. I changed positions at work, up to a position with a good deal more responsibility than my previous, but it was in the same department with the same supervisor so I felt fairly comfortable. I guess all of that helped me, as I did not really feel a lot of anxiety in that period. In hindsight I will say I went through some periods of depression during that time, but I largely wrote that off as the transition from shift-work back to an eight-to-five.

The other piece of the puzzle during that time was medical. I had noticed a proliferation of lymph nodes on the right side of my body. I was concerned, my doctors were concerned, and my family was concerned. There were lots of tests, even a surgical biopsy- all clear. No cancer, rather it appears a lingering virus or an autoimmune condition. Neither are life threatening so we held at wait and watch.

I can't say that it was the first time I had faced or considered my own mortality. As part of my anxiety, panic, and depression I have considered my own mortality many times over the years. It was the first time in many years I had considered my mortality as an untreated individual and I did very well. I wasn't frightened, I was sad at times, and the uncertain moments were particularly frustrating. All of that said, I was able to handle it all with great amount of poise.

After all of that was over I fell apart. Just short of three months after my last Paxil I began to experience the overwhelming anxiety I had felt years before. Within two weeks of the anxiety I was having panic attacks followed by debilitating anxiety and deep depression. Two days following the first of those panic attacks began a cycle not unlike the one that caused me to seek treatment initially. Recognizing what was happening I immediately called my doctor who called in a prescription for Paxil.

The next three-and-a-half days are a bit of a blur. They are quite possibly the longest three days of my life, yet I remember very little of what happened. I know this- we were prepared for the initial panic attacks that come with starting the meds. We did it on a weekend knowing the kind of panic the first couple of days can bring. Shelly guided me through hell on Saturday, the day after the first dose. Sunday morning brought something much worse and we feared we wouldn't be able to shield the kids from my attacks, so we sent them to my parents' house. Monday morning I couldn't take it anymore.

Sunday afternoon I actually wanted to die. I was scared of dying but I didn't want to live. Monday morning I was scared. I was scared because I still had no desire to keep living. Uncontrolled thoughts of what the most painless way to stop living kept rolling through my mind. I didn't feel safe. I had a doctors appointment already set up for one that afternoon, but I had Shelly call to see if they could get me in sooner. They told us to come right away.

I came completely unglued in the doctors office. They hustled me into a patient room so I didn't have to hold onto the panic in the waiting area. I let go- tears, hyperventilation, rapid pulse, numb hands, all the classics. My nurse and doctor saw it all and knew what to do- he prescribed me another drug, Klonopin, to get me over the hump of Paxil ramp-up. I took my first Klonopin and felt like myself in less than half an hour.

Klonopin is a wonder- in the right dosage. I had never taken Klonopin before and my doctor prescribed me 1 mg. I thought that was nothing, but obviously it's substantial. The Klonopin absolutely smashed the panic and anxiety, but by Tuesday it had me in the deepest depression of my life. We all knew something more had to be done.

I spent three nights in the hospital. The staff was great, the doctors were great. They kept me safe and they got my medicine straight. I got the dosages regulated, set up with a counselor, and set up with someone to manage my psychiatric medication.

Say Peanut Butter and Jelly

I'm sitting here with my entire family squishing our faces while we say, "Peanut butter and jelly." It's dumb but it's fun.

So what in the world does this have to do with panic, anxiety, or any mood disorder? Nothing and everything. I said I wanted to explore life in this blog too, and sharing that is an exploration of what life has going on right now. I also said I want to continue to explore the disorder, and sharing this is also an examination of how life gets all turned upside down when your mind is out of sync.

Children are miracle. Everything they touch is new and marvelous. They find even the simplest things magical and the most complex things simple. They see the best in everything and can always find comfort in the arms of those that love them. A child's eyes are absolutely a reflection of the light of the world.

Mood disorders are erosive. They slowly work at your foundation, chipping away slowly while you are unaware. You rarely have any idea there is a problem until your entire foundation begins to crumble.

As children, in the magic simplicity, we see the light of the world. The light in which our foundation is built upon. As adults we pile garbage on top of the foundation, occasionally dig it out, we see it being built in our own children, and we build everything we believe about life on top of it. No matter what we build our foundation on, right things or wrong, it is from where we draw our joy and reason for living.

The destruction of your foundation also brings the inability to understand how to rebuild the foundation. There is a depth of hopelessness in that no one else can understand. That is the moment, even though you know no one else can understand, you must reach out. When the magic of childhood is nowhere to be found, not to be dug up through the junk, but has crumbled, it is time to find a mason.

There are lots of options, and it really depends on the depth of where you are what option you take, but take an option. Family members, clergy, psychiatrists, psychologists, social workers, help lines, psych wards. Don't have anyone or anything? Go to the emergency room. Get help, get your foundation back. You can rebuild your life, no matter how bad you think it is, but you will never get it built without your foundation.

Really, Really Broken

Having laid bare the fact I am completely nutty, I want to move more to the place that got me where I am today. I think in my last "history lesson" I left off at the beginning of my first treatment experience. With that, I want to expose some more of the journey to today.

As I said in the first post, I was first prescribed the drug Paxil in the fall of 2005. To be technically correct it was Paxil CR at 12.5 mg a day. After a month or so it was bumped up to 25 mg a day where things stayed for a pretty good while.

That first experience was a wild ride. The first two weeks were vicious. The second day of taking the drug I had the worst panic attack of my life. The fourth day I had a panic attack so bad Shelly called the paramedics and they rushed me to the hospital, pumping me with a nitroglycerin inhaler, thinking I was having some sort of cardiac event. Turns out, as I said, that it was another panic attack and I also had bronchitis. Antibiotics, Lortab, keep taking Paxil- golden. I continued to have more mild panic attacks and general anxiety until, after a couple of weeks, the panic attacks virtually vanished.

The entire condition was diagnosed and treated by my regular internist. I asked him if I needed any sort of counseling- psychologist, psychiatrist, stress counseling, anything. He told me it was a purely biological condition and as long as Paxil turned up to be the right drug we were golden. Since after a few weeks I had basically forgotten I ever had panic attacks I felt like he was right.

I must admit, in hindsight, that all wasn't completely well. It took months to get the general anxiety under control- if it ever completely did. Since I really didn't know what Generalized Anxiety Disorder was and its effects, and I wasn't having the awful panic, I was happy to say I was fixed. Nonetheless, after a time I realized my thoughts were pretty well under control and I could enjoy things I had never been able to attempt before.

In late winter 2009 I had surgery which caused me to go off of Paxil for three days. This was my first experience with Paxil withdrawal. Thankfully I was in the hospital receiving aftercare from the surgery and I was so doped with pain medication I really had no clue what I was going through. I do know this- I was so tied up with anxiety my nurse sat in the room with me for nearly two hours while Shelly went home and took a bath and did other business. I was literally scared to be alone. I have no idea what I was afraid of, but I was certainly afraid.

When they allowed me to return to taking my medication post-operatively, they moved me to the immediate release version of Paxil at 20mg a day. After two or three days I was right back to good again.

I chugged along with things for another year-and-a-half. I felt great. All of my panic was gone, my anxieties were at a normal level, and I was really progressing in my career. Things were going perfectly and I though I was fine. My Paxil prescription ran out and I took myself off of the drug. I must highly recommend against this to anyone who may be thinking of it.

About two weeks of dysphoria, wild dreams and nightmares, suicidal ideations, and a little something folks refer to as brain zaps- all very unpleasant things. That was true, hardcore, Paxil withdrawal. It was no fun, but I had read up on all of it and was ready. I did it and made it through with flying colors. I was on my on and feeling fine.

For about three months everything was great. I dealt with a lot during that time and I didn't need any help doing it. I knew I was fine. What did I know?