I felt compelled to write about something this morning. I've been back and forth about this for a few weeks but want to share some things. Let me start by saying I'm not an expert. I'm not a doctor. I may be wrong about things. But what I am, is sincere. And I mean no ill intent with whatever I say. I know this is a sensitive topic for many people. And I just realized this blog may get a little lengthly, but I believe it's worth the read. I know that every single case is different. I hope that some of this resonates. And when I say I mean all this sincerely and come from a place of wanting to help, I truly mean that. I'm not looking to argue, I'm not saying anything definitively. I'm just trying to talk things out.
We all take drugs everyday. The definition of drug I am using is that a drug is something that changes your brain chemistry. Dumping a cold bucket of water on yourself is a drug by those standards. I know it's not technically a drug, but you get my drift.
I believe we all want happiness. We all want to feel good about ourselves and have a healthy self image.
Last night I heard a story from a friend about his younger brother wanting to start believing in God and Jesus because he wants to happier.
I heard another friend share how glad he was that smoking pot worked much better for his depression/anxiety than Zoloft did.
Over the past year I've consistently taken an anti-depressant, started taking an anti-anxiety medication, changed my diet, exercised regularly, started a certification course, had counseling, got off medication and did several other things to try to promote happiness.
Some other people decide to have surgeries to look or feel better about themselves.
All of these things are serious situations, none of them to be taken lightly. Emotions are strong. False emotions are even stronger. When I say false emotions, I mean those that are skewed by our brains not firing properly. For example, I finally have 6 pack abs. I still think I need to lose some more weight and get stronger. Why? Somewhere at some time in my life it was impressed into my brain that unless you have 6 pack abs you ain't got shit. But I have them. And I still feel like I'm not good enough. But good enough for who?
There seems to be this invisible comparison monster out there stealing my joy. That keeps saying I'm not good enough until you look like me. But I'll never know what this monster looks like because it doesn't exist. Perhaps this monster is societal pressure.
We all often equate happiness with either a thing or a goal. If I have this, I'll be happy. If I look this way, I'll be happy. If I engage with this activity, I'll be happy. This isn't exactly a bad thing. I think some of this is called coping mechanisms. We learn how to live and act in a way that keeps us happy. Using coping mechanisms can work well, until they don't. They don't actually cure you, they just maintain you.
Last november I was in a really rough place. We had a lot of changes in our family happen over the past two years. Even just changes in mind about things I believed or how I thought. They weren't bad changes, but changes. It took some getting used to. And in November for whatever reason, I had officially lost it. My mood was all over the place. I was unstable. I made poor decisions. I believe some were honest decisions to try to get through. But I had gotten to the point I didn't even want to call and schedule an appointment with a psychiatrist. I thought all hope was lost for me. I frequently thought it would be great if I died. I didn't want to kill myself but if I died, that would be fine. My old ways of coping weren't enough. My wife called me a psychiatrist. He put me on some anti-anxiety meds and they seemed to start working. I didn't care about as much anymore, and that was a good thing. Worry was behind me. At least for a time....
But I still had angry outbursts. I still yelled and got mad. It wasn't as often, but when it did happen, it was worse than it ever was. I tried to shield it as much from the kids as possible. I had even willingly put my fist into a glass paned picture knowing full well what damage it would do. And it did some. I threw my iPad and broke it. Though, I thought I had slammed it onto the floor in a way that wouldn't cause it to break. But it did. Vacuum cleaners are fun to smash too. Hollow core doors are fun to destroy. But in the past when I did break something, it helped my mood. Breaking things was a coping mechanism. But not anymore. It didn't help anymore the way it used to. If anything, it helped better. Because after I did I realized that this was not the way. This was only a temporary fix. These new thoughts were realizing old ways weren't working anymore. Because you no longer need to do this. Because I am stronger, I can handle stress, I'm changing my thinking. But my thoughts of dying remained. Perhaps the medication helped me realize this. No one really explained to me how it would work or what I should feel.
I still felt worthless. I was in the best shape of my life, my business was steady, and I still had moments of extreme depression.
On Saturday April 22nd I was in a low place. But instead of going and buying something expensive (another coping mechanism) I had my wife drop me off ten miles away. The only way to get home was to run home on the AT (or call an uber). I could have take the road, but seriously, who wants to run on the road? But I had her drop me off so I could run. Because I knew that would help. She admitted that she didn't think I was coming home. And I can say that the thought had crossed my mind. But within half a mile I was starting to feel good. It almost feels silly that that's all it takes sometimes. Knowing you were on the brink of ceasing to exist to feeling better in a matter of minutes. That's the power that running/exercising has on your brain. But then immediately feeling like shit again because your goal of feeling better was accomplished and you are still 9.5 miles from home. But that 9.5 miles is pure bliss. For me anyway.
Monday morning rolled around and I realized I forgot my medication. Instead of going home...I said screw it. I don't need it. I got this. I know what to do. And off I went to work. I had one pill that night and that was the last time I took them. It's been almost two weeks and I feel like a new person. I know I'm not cured. I know I should schedule some therapy. Or maybe I don't. I just want to keep doing what I'm doing and continue to seek balance and strive for wholeness.
I don't want anyone to get the impression that I'm saying to not or stop taking prescribed medication. It may be necessary. But I do think a lot of what we struggle with can be kept in check with the proper thinking. And that we really need to strive for that. And if medication is needed to help get there, great. Whatever it takes. Perhaps taking an anti-anxiety drug made me realize that it doesn't matter if I worry or not, nothing changes. It allowed me to see a situation play out without me worrying about it and finally realizing that the only thing worry controls is how I am feeling. And that worry rarely led to action to help whatever was causing the worry to go away. Expressing proper caution on the other hand, that's not the same as worry.
But back to the above. I think we all much be careful about what we use to create happiness. I think seeking Jesus because we want to be happy isn't the best reason to seek Jesus. Even though following Jesus may create happiness for you, I don't think it's the best reason to seek Jesus. I think that's still a coping mechanism. And that may not even be a bad thing. It's just something to be aware of. It won't be a real authentic encounter with Jesus, it will simply be a change in thinking.
Smoking pot may help you. But it won't cure you.
Exercise and diet may help you. But it won't cure you.
Having a Bariatric surgery may help you lose weight. But it won't cure you.
This things are all still drugs. Temporary changes to produce a temporary feeling.
If you don't address how your brain works and why it's giving you all of those negative or false emotions, you'll still struggle.
Taking an anti-depressant doesn't mean you'll be happy. I just means you might not be depressed. You still have to find happiness. I'm still trying to find where true happiness comes from and I think I'm on the right track. But not because I'm special. But because I haven't given up yet. So please, don't give up. Keep fighting. As exhausting as it is.
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