A reconciliation
Today, feeling better about life than I have in awhile, I decided to make a reconciliation.
It was the perfect day for it - cloudy, with rain predicted and the bulk of the storm moving in during the afternoon. The weather seemed tailor made for what I wanted to do.
It was an important event for me, so I tried to dress appropriately. I wore clothes that I thought showed proper respect, but tried not to overdress for the occasion.
After lunch I headed for the coast.
I have been mad at the ocean ever since the whole "dead Sea lion" thing It isn't that I really blamed the ocean itself, but it had been a pretty traumatic thing for me seeing those bodies every day. Plus, our days have been so bright and sunny that it was hard to hang out at the ocean in the afternoon - it was so bright, even with sunglasses, that my eyes would get tired after awhile. Also, there was little coming up on the shore, and the rotting carcasses smelled.
But today it was glorious! I dressed warmly and put my waterproof jacket on (for some reason I forgot my rain pants, an omission I would regret not because I got cold but because when my pants got wet they got heavy enough to threaten to slide off my ass), my wool gloves and socks, a good insulated hat, work shirt, and of course my trusty boots. With an apple in my pocket and the rain already pattering on my glasses I headed out of the parking lot and towards the sound of the waves.
I walked north for around 45 minutes in a constant low level drizzle punctuated by occasional rainfall. Plovers in great abundance, flocks of Sanderlings, and the occasional Godwit, Curlew, and Dowicher were my companions on the beach, and gulls of several varieties scudded by on the rising wind, which for once was coming primarily from the South. Watching them I felt as if I had somehow stumbled into the pages of Johnathon Livingston Seagull.
The clouds were mottled, the sea alternating between slate gray and a light blue-green was restive but not angry, with four waves of breakers but not much swell or cross current. At one point I surprised a seal in the surf, who paddled out as far as the first line of breakers before diving, then resurfacing to stare at me in indignation - a seemingly disembodied head bobbing in the waves. Rain squalls moved back and forth across the face of the ocean, sometimes sweeping in to drop some real rain on me, sometimes turning aside.
After 45 minutes I was beginning to notice that my waterproof jacket was sorely in need of re-waterproofing, and I could start to feel the wetness soaking through to my shirt in places. It was not unpleasantly cold, but did remind me that I probably didn't want to stay out all day. I paused for a few moments to contemplate a mixed group of gulls standing on the sand, and it was then that two things happened, more or less at once -
I thought about the changes going on in my life these last couple of weeks. I thought about the Prozac of course. But more than that, I thought of the implications of not feeling down and depressed.
Recovery from long-term mental illness (and lets call a spade a spade here - you don't take Prozac for fun, or at least I don't) involves more than just a magic pill that makes you better. There is a whole behavioral set that goes with being depressed that has to be "unlearned" when things change. I am only realizing this week that mornings filled with a struggle to get the bed made and the dishes done in time for mechanteanemone to arrive home for lunch, the fight to avoid going back to bed as soon as I get back home after taking her to work, the endless second guessing of myself and my talent and the creative things I do, may not be necessary anymore. I may be able to make the bed in the morning without stopping in the middle because I forgot to put in the laundry and then stopping that in the middle because of an e-mail I meant to send. I may be able to breeze into the kitchen when I get home, bang out the breakfast dishes in a few minutes, and get on with my day without spending all that time not doing the breakfast dishes because I am too busy worrying about the fact that I have not yet done the breakfast dishes. I may be able to take care of all this without going back to bed until 10:00 am first. I may be able to view and edit my photos without fretting for a week about them.
But, and here is the important part, all this is only true if I not only get rid of the depression, but get rid of the habits that depression gave me. Like everyone else I spend quite a bit of time on autopilot every day. But for me the autopilot is set to the wrong settings - it's a Cessna autopilot giving directions to a 767.
That's why my reconciliation today was so wonderful - it represented my getting back something that depression had taken away from me. That's why I wanted to do it, even though it was raining and windy - in fact because it was raining and windy. Because it represented, if not something new, then at least something older reclaimed.
An hour and a half after I set out I walked back into the parking lot. With very few exceptions (like the spaces between the fingers of my gloves) I was completely, 100% drenched. My shirt was stuck to my torso. My pants felt like they were made of lead. There was an annoying "squelch" in my right boot. My glasses were so covered with water that I could berely see through them I had to put one of our canvas shopping bags on the front seat to avoid soaking it when I got in the car.
I felt glorious. Like my soul had just showered and had that wonderful feeling your skin gets after being lovingly lathered and rinsed. I puttered home (squinting though my fogged up lenses) squished my way to the bathroom, and got out of my soaking gear, which went into the washer.
In that moment, in just that precise moment, I remembered a bit of what it feels like to be normal - to have ups and downs like normal people, to be happy and sad and tired and alert and bored and enthusiastic by turns.
The ocean had washed something out of me during my walk - loosened it, cast it free of me, and swept it away.
I felt very young.
Yes it's blurry - blurrier than usual. Lens was wet. Like everything else.
It was the perfect day for it - cloudy, with rain predicted and the bulk of the storm moving in during the afternoon. The weather seemed tailor made for what I wanted to do.
It was an important event for me, so I tried to dress appropriately. I wore clothes that I thought showed proper respect, but tried not to overdress for the occasion.
After lunch I headed for the coast.
I have been mad at the ocean ever since the whole "dead Sea lion" thing It isn't that I really blamed the ocean itself, but it had been a pretty traumatic thing for me seeing those bodies every day. Plus, our days have been so bright and sunny that it was hard to hang out at the ocean in the afternoon - it was so bright, even with sunglasses, that my eyes would get tired after awhile. Also, there was little coming up on the shore, and the rotting carcasses smelled.
But today it was glorious! I dressed warmly and put my waterproof jacket on (for some reason I forgot my rain pants, an omission I would regret not because I got cold but because when my pants got wet they got heavy enough to threaten to slide off my ass), my wool gloves and socks, a good insulated hat, work shirt, and of course my trusty boots. With an apple in my pocket and the rain already pattering on my glasses I headed out of the parking lot and towards the sound of the waves.
I walked north for around 45 minutes in a constant low level drizzle punctuated by occasional rainfall. Plovers in great abundance, flocks of Sanderlings, and the occasional Godwit, Curlew, and Dowicher were my companions on the beach, and gulls of several varieties scudded by on the rising wind, which for once was coming primarily from the South. Watching them I felt as if I had somehow stumbled into the pages of Johnathon Livingston Seagull.
The clouds were mottled, the sea alternating between slate gray and a light blue-green was restive but not angry, with four waves of breakers but not much swell or cross current. At one point I surprised a seal in the surf, who paddled out as far as the first line of breakers before diving, then resurfacing to stare at me in indignation - a seemingly disembodied head bobbing in the waves. Rain squalls moved back and forth across the face of the ocean, sometimes sweeping in to drop some real rain on me, sometimes turning aside.
After 45 minutes I was beginning to notice that my waterproof jacket was sorely in need of re-waterproofing, and I could start to feel the wetness soaking through to my shirt in places. It was not unpleasantly cold, but did remind me that I probably didn't want to stay out all day. I paused for a few moments to contemplate a mixed group of gulls standing on the sand, and it was then that two things happened, more or less at once -
- I realized that once I turned around the rain would be in my face for the entire 45 minutes I was walking back
- The clouds really opened up and it started to pour
I thought about the changes going on in my life these last couple of weeks. I thought about the Prozac of course. But more than that, I thought of the implications of not feeling down and depressed.
Recovery from long-term mental illness (and lets call a spade a spade here - you don't take Prozac for fun, or at least I don't) involves more than just a magic pill that makes you better. There is a whole behavioral set that goes with being depressed that has to be "unlearned" when things change. I am only realizing this week that mornings filled with a struggle to get the bed made and the dishes done in time for mechanteanemone to arrive home for lunch, the fight to avoid going back to bed as soon as I get back home after taking her to work, the endless second guessing of myself and my talent and the creative things I do, may not be necessary anymore. I may be able to make the bed in the morning without stopping in the middle because I forgot to put in the laundry and then stopping that in the middle because of an e-mail I meant to send. I may be able to breeze into the kitchen when I get home, bang out the breakfast dishes in a few minutes, and get on with my day without spending all that time not doing the breakfast dishes because I am too busy worrying about the fact that I have not yet done the breakfast dishes. I may be able to take care of all this without going back to bed until 10:00 am first. I may be able to view and edit my photos without fretting for a week about them.
But, and here is the important part, all this is only true if I not only get rid of the depression, but get rid of the habits that depression gave me. Like everyone else I spend quite a bit of time on autopilot every day. But for me the autopilot is set to the wrong settings - it's a Cessna autopilot giving directions to a 767.
That's why my reconciliation today was so wonderful - it represented my getting back something that depression had taken away from me. That's why I wanted to do it, even though it was raining and windy - in fact because it was raining and windy. Because it represented, if not something new, then at least something older reclaimed.
An hour and a half after I set out I walked back into the parking lot. With very few exceptions (like the spaces between the fingers of my gloves) I was completely, 100% drenched. My shirt was stuck to my torso. My pants felt like they were made of lead. There was an annoying "squelch" in my right boot. My glasses were so covered with water that I could berely see through them I had to put one of our canvas shopping bags on the front seat to avoid soaking it when I got in the car.
I felt glorious. Like my soul had just showered and had that wonderful feeling your skin gets after being lovingly lathered and rinsed. I puttered home (squinting though my fogged up lenses) squished my way to the bathroom, and got out of my soaking gear, which went into the washer.
In that moment, in just that precise moment, I remembered a bit of what it feels like to be normal - to have ups and downs like normal people, to be happy and sad and tired and alert and bored and enthusiastic by turns.
The ocean had washed something out of me during my walk - loosened it, cast it free of me, and swept it away.
I felt very young.
Yes it's blurry - blurrier than usual. Lens was wet. Like everything else.