The last few weeks have been tough, probably the toughest since returning from my travels last year. There’s lots going on and last weekend, I felt overwhelmed. As I lay crying on my bed last Sunday, drifting slowly into a darkness that felt all too familiar, I realised this – last year I walked through the door to depression and now it will always be there. We will be forever known to each other and its lure will always be present in my life.
In my last post I talked about finding my tribe and how it can be so challenging to not only find your authentic self, but to live it. The stakes are high when you pin your colours to the mast – my friendships are changing, family dynamics are changing and work life feels different. There are times when I feel like an outsider.
The force that destroyed the pillars of my life back in 2015 was a gift. Since then I have gone to the depths of myself to create a more authentic ‘me’. I have travelled, met some incredible people and been reminded of the beauty that exists around me, if only I take the time to experience it. I’m living a more fulfilled and peaceful existence and have a deep connection to my spirituality. Pain still exists in my life, and it will continue to be a feature – it seems none of us are immune. Yet I’ve noticed it is how I respond to pain that decides whether it ultimately becomes suffering – more on this another time perhaps.
Looking back, the few weeks leading up to last weekend contained the perfect ingredients to have me reaching for the door handle of depression. I was tired as I’d not been getting to bed early. I’d been drinking lots more than usual. I was shouldering far too much emotionally from others. I was eating chocolate like a toddler let loose in a sweet shop and crucially, I’d stopped being true to my values – values I know are dear to the person I am becoming.
It was on the Saturday morning that I felt the clouds coming in. I didn’t want to get up. Things were slowing down, the air was getting thicker, harder to move through. Alarm bells were ringing, but my mind said “let them ring”. I felt unenthused by the presence and my family, whom I love so dearly. I knew this place well. It was dark, but at the same time there was comfort to be found in its familiarity. I couldn’t muster any resistance. I didn’t want to.
It felt like depression was back in control. I allowed it to take me to Manchester on a night out where I drank, and drank, and drank. The cosmic high of being ‘under the influence’ came as welcome respite. I was buzzing! “Sorted”, I thought – I simply needed my (alcoholic) medication. Depression does that. It tricks you into thinking you can fight darkness with darkness. It finds ways to highlight all the things that could lift you out of your depression, only to remind you that you are not worthy of such saviour. It’s a cruel bastard, but it is also a teacher.
The inevitable followed on Sunday – a hangover from hell. A crashing low. Shame paid a visit. Self-loathing decided to make a cameo, too. The stage was set for the wheels to fall off. All I needed to do at this point was give in, let it take hold and once again I’d be wrapped in the perversely comforting blanket of depression.
I knew what was going on. I knew that darkness had hijacked my human experience. My ego was sitting firmly in the driving seat and I was on course for a collision.
I lay on the bed, closed my eyes and searched for the peaceful centre of myself. The gentle, compassionate energy inside all of us, which represents pure peace and love. This search reminded me vividly of a moment in my Ayahuasca experience, when I was battling darkness with all my strength. I could sense the darkness trying to tempt me away from my peaceful space, and then Eric speaking to reassure me, “Adam, look to your light, you have it.” Within minutes I was having a soft internal dialogue. I was forgiving myself for not showing self-compassion. I was peaceful, I was smiling.
I will not claim that in that moment the clouds disappeared, this has been a really tough week. But it didn’t take hold. It came and went, but not before teaching me a lesson:
- I am imperfect, and that is ok;
- I always have within me what I need to be ok;
- My body is the guardian of a beautiful healing light and it requires tenderness;
- My thoughts are often my ego playing tricks;
- I am not my ego;
- This will pass.
I guess I now understand when people say they are “susceptible to depression”. In my experience, once the door to depression has been shown to you, once you have walked through it, it seems it will always be there, trying to tempt you back. But if I’m able to stand at the threshold, and engage with my depression in a compassionate way, it has many things to teach me. I have been able to acknowledge my depression, yet not identify with it. I have been able to see it as a part of my human experience, but not a part of ‘me’. I have been able to listen to its sharp tongue, yet not rise to its goading.
I have taken what lessons it has to offer, yet not let it take me.
Header image taken over the valley looking towards Shelsley Beauchamp, Worcestershire, UK.