A Lifting

First full week of school kicked off last week. I'm excited, nervous about the semester. I'm excited because every class I'm taking will provide a practical benefit almost immediately to me. For example, my grants/proposal class will enable me to submit a proposal to a conference, to develop a proposal for a non-profit organization, and to develop an academic or industry proposal...with a purpose. Last semester was heavy in theory, in the foundation, the understanding of all the things we will be doing. It got very tedious, very fast with the mounds upon mounds of words to read and dear God, try to understand in order to articulate a fairly intelligent response. I've always been good at doing. Not to say I'm bad at thinking and understanding, but if you give me a task, the task will get done, and usually, done well. So though there is a lot of work to be done this semester, the act of doing is right up my alley.

Having said this, the first week, week and a half of school had been plagued by my depression, which I talked about in my last post ["Battling Depression with the Word"]. I'm surprised I got all work done over this time because my mood was so low, my mind so heavy with negative thoughts I didn't think I was actually moving at all.

But the middle of last week, I found myself doing something I don't do often - I reached out. I lifted a hand, hoping someone would grasp it and help me out of the swirling waters of depression that threatened to drown me.

Typically, I think I'm Super Woman. I don't need anyone to help me. I can do everything all. by. myself. I suffer in silence, and even though people can read me like a book and can see I'm in pain and am in need of helping hands, I will smile and say, "I'm good. I got this."

But I never have it.

And this time, I realized that. This time, I lifted a hand to my daughter-in-spirit and cried to her. She listened to me. Prayed for me. This time, I called my mother and wept, telling her how I couldn't fight the thoughts in my head alone. She listened. Offered advice. Told me we would get through this. Later, she called me just to say, "I love you." This time, I called a sister-in-spirit who acknowledged that this was the first time ever that I opened up about anything and showed my angst.

I never, NEVER want to burden others with my problems. It's the number one reason I've kept feelings to myself...usually until they explode in long-running, painful, depressive episodes.

But this lifting of hands, of eyes...this silent askance of help has been the biggest, best thing I've done for myself. Letting others in, others with stories to tell, with advice to give, with love to share has lifted me out of this current battle of depression.

This is the fifth day in a row in which I have not cried. This is the fifth day in a row in which I have not had a depressive, painful thought. Does this mean the depression is gone? Probably not, but it means I'm learning new ways to manage it so that I can be productive and, dare I say it, relatively happy.

As I've said in other posts, my writing here is not generated to bring forth pity, sympathy. I write to reveal myself to myself. If it helps others, that's an added blessing.

If you're in the midst of a longstanding depression, lift yourself -- a hand, an eye, a word -- to someone who will willingly and lovingly lift you into the light and help get you back on your right path.