To The Shadowside And Back

Tra-laa, It's May...

Maybe next year, I'll just take the month of May off...

I had a scare this week. A bad one. I came close to returning to the mental hospital. While my response to life's events had me anxious and depressed, my feelings at the prospect of being locked up again brought me to a point of despair that was both frightening and painful.

What triggered all this? It isn't easy to pinpoint a single moment or event. Actually, it's been several weeks in the making. Maybe months. Maybe years. I suppose it depends on how far back in time I want to dig. The judge's signature on our divorce decree. Funerals for cancer warriors. Frustration with my acting. A lingering knee injury that's kept me from training hard for weeks. Disappointment about romantic false starts. The loneliness of single life. Financial trials. All the way back to separation from Mrs P. If I chose to dwell on it, I guess I could touch every descending tread on the stairway of depression all the way back to my childhood, but swilling the sour milk of history only leads to nausea.

Whatever the root cause, the results were agonizingly familiar. Harboring self-destructive thoughts and engaging in isolating behavior. Missing work. Skipping exercise. Eating garbage. Disrespecting myself and others. I embraced all the miserable drama of The Shadowside. That's the name I've given to the dark region where I travel when I allow my depression to define me.I was determined to put an end to it this time, one way or another.

My research and writing set off on two separate journeys. On one path, I began seeking out the thoughts of others who knew the hills and valleys of The Shadowside: people whose pain led them to take desperate measures against themselves. On the second path, I explored alternatives to the therapeutic course I had taken so far. Drugs didn't cure me; therapy didn't cure me; was there another coruse that might lead me to freedom from my depression? As I picked my way along these two divergent paths, it became clear to me that I did not really want to end my life; I wanted freedom; I wanted to live without the chains of mental disorder. Hopeful research led me to something called ECT: Electroconvulsive Therapy.

One flew east and one flew west...

I remembered the scene in One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest, where Jack Nicholson has the electrodes clamped around his temples and is shocked into convulsions and stupor. My research taught me that the procedure has changed a lot since then. It is safer. There are fewer side effects. The seizures are only in the brain; there are no full scale convulsions.The patient is sedated. ECT can even be performed as an out-patient procedure. I latched onto the hope that treatment might be the cure I longed for. I scheduled an appointment with my psychiatrist, determined to convince him that my condition was serious enough to justify this dramatic measure.

I may have been a little too convincing.

After hearing about my mood, my actions, and my thoughts, he instructed me to check myself into the hospital at once. "Impossible," I replied. I have classes to teach. I have a play opening in five days. I can't simply fall off the map for a week. My reputation, which I have spent the past year rebuilding, will be destroyed forever.

"Come on, be serious," the doctor urged. He outlined the reasons I needed immediate hospitalization. "I will order the ECT. You can start tomorrow." Then he said he had no choice but to contact either an ambulance or the police to transport me.

I pleaded. "Let me talk to my therapist. Let me find another solution." The doctor agreed, and I went next door to make my case. In exchange for my freedom, I agreed to stay on my meds, schedule extra meetings, and to contact the shrinks if I felt any kind of crisis coming on.

Dinner, Balagula Theatre, May 2014

The next few days were torment. I missed all but one of the classes I was schedule to teach. I went days without eating. I stopped writing and reading. I stopped posting on Facebook. Rather than dwell on the voices torturing my mind, I slept. Two things kept me going: walking and the play I was rehearsing. I walked for hours each day, forcing myself out into the sunshine where I could at least see other people.I walked to the theatre and back home each night. I felt numb; emotionless. I didn't want to die; I didn't want anything. I only wanted to take the next step. To keep moving. To stay alive.

Even as I was struggling to save myself, God was sending ministers to me. A dear friend invited me to coffee. Mrs P wrote and phoned to check on me. Mom called, and sent me an email with information about how my insurance could help with treatment. I heard from someone whose friendship I thought I had lost forever. And finally, the play opened to wonderful audience response and received a very positive review in the paper. Even as I was preparing myself for the follow-up appointment with the doctor; the one that might very well send me into the hospital; God was flooding me with reasons for hope.

When I met the doc, I asked him to educate me about ECT. He gave me a lot of information. The most persuasive thing he said was that the procedure addresses only the biological causes of depression. It could not change my thoughts. It could not change my character. In other words, it could not change the way I respond to the trigger events that steer me toward The Shadowside. I made the decision. ECT electrodes were not the magic wand I was hoping for. I would not submit to the procedure. The doc affirmed my judgment, and we made a plan. Continue with the new meds. Continue with therapy. Check back in a month.

Since making the decision not to have ECT, I have experienced relief. I think I was afraid of side effects. ECT often results in memory loss, and I was worried that it would amplify the "chemo-brain' effect that I still have, years after my cisplatin treatments. But more than that, I think I was afraid that it might not work; that even after submitting to such a dramatic treatment, I might still be sick. I wondered how I might respond if the Magic Pill didn't work.

Along with the relief, I have experienced a renewed resolve. #reboot2014 continues. Until now, I have been focused on my physical health and weight loss. I have experienced great success and have lost 46 pounds as of this morning. Now I need to expand my attention to my mental health as well. The food I eat doesn't only affect physical energy and body composition; it also affects my brain's health and ability to function. More than that, the choices I make about nutrition, exercise, work, and leisure time affect the way I think about myself; they are expressions of my self respect. Like my commitment to my therapy, my life choices are expressions of my resolve to heal.

The Shadowside will always be out there, ready to welcome me back to the dark. And there will be times when I know I will stumble my way back into its dismal confines. The voice of my inner critic, the Toxic Passenger on my life's bus will always be around, whispering negativity and warning in my ear. Just as I had to renew my resolve to lose weight and run another marathon, I am now resolved to learn how to accept the hard times and to choose love instead of fear when they come along. I am resolved to express my core values, (Courage, Strength, Compassion, and Joy,) in my mental health as well as my physical being. I know I will fail sometimes. But I will succeed as well.

The sirens of The Shadowside have been tempting me for almost 54 years. They haven't killed me yet. Today, more than ever, I am determined that when Death comes, he will find me running in the sunshine, not hiding in the dark. #reboot2014 goes on.

Peace,
Pennsy

New Years: Goodbye 13, Hello 14

I apologize for the length of this post... I really did intend to break it up, but it all just sort of poured out at once, a little like pulling off a band-aid. Anyway, if you choose to ride along to the end of the track, I hope it's worth the trip.
Pennsy

Lessons learned are like bridges burned
You only need to cross them but once
Is the knowledge gained worth the price of the pain?
Are the spoils worth the cost of the hunt?
Lessons Learned ~ Dan Fogelberg

Some pretty important bridges burned for me in 2013. And to be honest, I've stared at the places where they used to be for just about long enough. It's time to turn my eyes away from the shadows and back toward the light. But first, one last long look. There are a few pearls I don't want to leave lying in the mud.

January - New Year, new goals.
Get that personal trainer certification. Run a thousand miles this year. Raise $6000 for LIVESTRONG at the YMCA. Grow the program into new locations. Take Martha on a real vacation. Get faster and stronger. Finish my second marathon. 

I learned the joy of knowing where you want to go, and sticking to your plans to get there. 

February - Goodbye old man
Brady, the majestic old Golden Retriever who greeted us when we first moved into our new house, who started staying with us one rainy day when his dad had to work and wasn't home to let him inside, who had been growing a little more stiff and tired with each passing winter day, turned and snapped as me one night as I tried to comfort his aching hips with a gentle massage. He was in so much pain that he couldn't stand. I lifted him in my arms, and carried him across the yard to his dad and we wept together for this old friend who had so touched both of our hearts. Brady was never "my dog," but he took a piece of my heart, and left a bit of himself in its place. 

God bless you, old man. You taught me dignity and friendship, even in suffering. I was going to need those lessons sooner than I could have known.

March - Living Strong
After training hard with Coach Carrie for months to build core strength and increase my speed, I launched my Fundraiser and my spring racing season with a bang. Lowered my time in the Shamrock Shuffle 3K by a ridiculous 3:40. Finished the month with another PR in the Run The Bluegrass Half Marathon in the best shape of my life. Accepted a new position as head trainer of the first LIVESTRONG at the YMCA program in Scott County. 

I learned how perseverance and commitment could make me better than I ever imagined I could be.

April - It all goes to shit
I notice my Blood pressure readings are steadily increasing. The doc sees me right away and orders me to stop running until we can learn if the new meds will stabilize me. I'm running a marathon in three weeks. 

At a YMCA workshop I overhear a conversation that was not meant for my ears, and learn that my friend, mentor, and beloved Coach Melissa is leaving for a new job. In two weeks. I go home, tell Martha the news, and begin crying, almost without interruption for the next month. I increase my therapist visits from once a month to twice a week.

Once the doc gives the go ahead, I'm back on the road. piling up miles, my pre-race training schedule shot to hell. 

There are tearful meetings at the Y. Attempts at business as usual. Attempts to say goodbye. Attempts to teach a new class. All dissolve into tears. I ask for, and am granted an indefinite leave of absence from the best job of my life, afraid I will never be able to return. 

At their annual banquet, the YMCA of Central Kentucky gives me an award for service. I am so ashamed.
Coach leaves. 

The marathon is a blur. I cry as I run in the rain, feeling as lonely as I ever have in my life. Mrs P is trapped in traffic, and doesn't get to see me finish. I wander the streets of Cincinnati, feeling as if even God has forgotten where I am. 

The next day, Martha tells me the family suspects I must be having an affair because I'm so upset over Coach leaving. She hasn't felt me caring about her that much in years. She's had enough, and says we need to separate. It's been a long time coming. 

I don't learn a god damned thing in April.

May - Numb
The crying jags get a little farther apart. I desperately want to return to the Y, but the boss and the shrink both think I need more time to recover. 

Packing. Drinking. Weeping. Begging. Posting painful, inappropriate, damaging blogs.... Taking them back down. 

A few tearful phone calls. Tell Mum. Tell my sister. Tell my best friend. Tell Coach. Our last real conversation. 

Apartment hunting, praying for one that will let me have a dog. 

Coach Carrie calls to tell me she's taking another job and leaving the Y. She didn't want me to find out from someone else. I am so grateful to her for her kindness, that I weep: this time for joy. I contact the boss. So ashamed of failing the program. Without Carrie, they are going to need me back. I need them more than air. He suggests I try to work my way back into things slowly, starting with the LIVESTRONG session that has already started. For the second time that week, the tears are for joy and gratitude. I swear to myself that I will not let the Y down again.

I learn that the people I work with - with their gentle,loving, forgiving spirits -  are among the greatest gifts God has ever given to me.

June - Bachelorhood
So, this is my apartment. Nice view of North Broadway. Nice neighbors. A little loud, but kind and welcoming. So close to the Y, I can walk there. No pets allowed. Haven't slept without a cat in years. Keep seeing Jake in the corner of my eye. 

Less crying. Less drinking. 

A chance to teach SilverSneakers, an aerobics class for seniors comes my way. I leap at it, studying the choreography furiously. I will not fail my coaches this time. 

Martha and I settle into an amicable separation. We talk. We visit. We consider the possibilities. I lie in the bed we shared for so many years. staring at the empty walls. What just happened? What comes next? I thought I would die without my wife. 

I learn that I won't.

July - Funerals
It has been a season of death for the LIVESTRONG at the YMCA family. More funerals in the a few months than the first two years combined. Some I never met. Some I loved like sisters. The dark suit is in and out of the closet every couple of weeks, it seems.Coach Marian and I are asked to say a few words for our friend Becky. A joyful warrior. She survived her first encounter, but not her second. She loved her friends, her family, and the Y. The paper says she "lost her battle with cancer." I am furious. I tell her loved ones, "don't you believe it." Cancer took her life, but never touched her spirit. I saw her without energy, without strength, without connection to the reality around her... but I never saw her without her joy. I never saw her without love. Cancer killed my friend. But it never won. 

I learned that no challenge, no matter how relentless and cruel, can take away our heart if we refuse to let go of it.

August - Reality sinking in
The fifth would have been our 24th anniversary. The papers haven't been drawn up, but already, it's starting to feel like the chances of going back are fading. 

Mum makes her annual summer visit. She has her poodle, Cujo with her, so she can't stay with me. She is at what I've already started thinking of as "Martha's house," and I go over for uncomfortable visits. It's difficult for all of us. Mum is confused. Wants to help. But there's nothing for her to do except to love us both. It's what she does best. The morning of her return to Pennsylvania, she and Cujo visit my apartment. We both cry a little, and she hugs me for a long time. 

Late in the month, I get a letter from Social Security telling me that my Disability Benefits will end in October. I try to kill myself, but chicken out at the last moment, thinking about how someone would have to call my mother and tell her. 

It took me too damn long to figure it out, but my Mom is the most faithful friend I've ever had. 

September - Lights on the horizon
At lunch with Eric from Actors' Guild, he tells me he wants to produce King Lear, and he wants me to play the king. Looks like a November opening. At the Y, a job is opening up for a water fitness instructor. I speak to the Aquatics Director, and send him my resume. 

Therapy is going well. We've stepped down to meeting every two weeks. 

I run what will be my last race of the year with my friend LaDonna and an infuriatingly pokey kid from the Y's Run This Town program who seems to have chosen this morning to decide that she doesn't want to run, hates running, and will never run again. I am even more stubborn than she is. I refuse to leave her behind, and we finish the 8K with her sprinting angrily ahead, and me trotting in as the very last finisher of the race. I skip the awards ceremony because I have to rush off to a rehearsal, and a few weeks later, I receive a medal in the mail. I finished third in my age group. 

October - An Actor's life
Two mornings a week I teach in the pool and in the Aerobics studio. Two nights a week, I coach LIVESTRONG.... And the rest of my waking hours are all about King Lear. 

There are so many lines. More than I've had to learn in years. More than ever, maybe. I work through the play twice, sometimes three times a day, trying to get them to stick in my brain. The cast is young. So very young. I barely know any of them. A couple of old friends, and the rest of them are young and beautiful and talented and I feel like a visitor from another planet among them. They know music I've never heard of. Speak in language I don't recognize. They smell like youth and life and sex and joy. And they work their asses off. Once, when I was touring with the National Shakespeare Company, for just a few months, we found an ensemble, an organic company that fit together so tightly that i wanted to act together with them for the rest of my life. That's what this company is starting to feel like to me. I can't wait to get to rehearsals with them. I rush to be early, just so I can sit back sagely and enjoy their laughter and stories. 

Holy shit. Out of nowhere. I'm an actor again. 

And somehow, in spite of all the changes, I learn that I always will be.

November - Riding the bi-polar roller-coaster
A long interview in the paper about the play. The writer was very generous and kind. Just a brief mention of our separation and nothing about my recent nervous breakdown. 

As opening night approaches, I am exhausted, and a nervous wreck. 

I'm going to suck. I'm going to let the kids down. A dear friend tells me she won't be attending the play because she saw a great production of it once, and doesn't want to ruin the memory.

Mum is coming. Martha is coming. People from my classes and my running group and my LIVESTRONG family and God knows who else - class mates from grad school who I haven't seen since 1985, for God's sake - and I am playing the role of a life time and I have absolutely no business doing it. 

I become irritable. Mumbling under my breath. Bitchy in the dressing room. I'm an asshole during notes after rehearsals. 

And all around me, these beautiful young actors, for whom I have tried to set such a good example.... they remain positive and focused and supportive. The believe in the show. They believe in me. Their courage gives me courage. We open and run for two impossibly short weeks. 

After strike, I'm inconsolable. I feel as if I've lost my family again. Deep, deep depression this time. A bad one. But I will not give in. I say my prayers. I sleep. And I teach at the Y. I will not fail my people again. I have promises to keep.And I keep them. 

Thanksgiving alone passes without the pain I feared, and I learn that I'm stronger, more loved, and more blessed than I knew.

December - Advent and redemption
So then, here we are. I've called 2013 the worst year of my life, and I'm sticking to it. If you'd told me what was coming, and given me the choice between that and a relapse of my cancer, I would have taken cancer. Absolutely. But here I stand. The devil missed me again. 

In December some pretty wonderful things happened. I made some new friends, and reconnected with some old ones, both online and in real life. 

The people in my classes offered me much kindness and love for Christmas. And I enjoy them with an affection that is both devoted and professional.

I've heard a lot of words about myself over the years, but this month, for the first time I heard these two: "Mentor" and "Father figure." I was shocked and humbled to imagine that people saw me in such a light. It just never occurred to me. But to be considered someone who is safe to talk to, who can be trusted, whose life has given them something like insight or wisdom... It really rattled my cage. I'm still sorting it out, but I think it's going to be the catalyst for some positive changes in the way I look at the world, and myself. 

Therapy is helping a lot. I'm starting to make more and more sense to me. My shrink needn't worry about his cash flow, though. I have a feeling we're gonna be together for a long, long time. 

My physical conditioning is shot to hell. My first line of defense against depression is always food, and I have loaded on the pounds this year. It's going to be a long way back, but I'm gonna do it. I know I can. I've done it before. 

Christmas alone wasn't easy. I'm not going to lie to you. Several people invited me to join them and their families, and I gratefully declined. I chose to go it alone this year. I figured if I could get through this, I could get through anything. And I got through it. Not as gracefully as I would have liked, but not nearly has badly as I feared. Santa didn't come to my house this year. But Jesus did, and we spent the day together. We had a long, serious conversation. Both of us had a lot to get off our chests.

There are good days and bad days. That's just life in the Bipolar Nation. Today is a good day, and the future looks full of hope for me. I've started gettingt back into racing shape. I'm finally reading Great Expectations. I'm using more tools in the kitchen than the freezer and the microwave. And someday, when I'm ready, and the time is right, I'd like to be in love again. But in the meantime. I've got work to do. some wise person posted on Facebook one day and I'm paraphrasing: 

"Don't worry about finding the right woman. Work on becoming the right man." 

God has saved my life again, from yet another fatal disease: depression. He keeps doing that.I figure he must have something in mind. Whatever it is, I want to be ready when it comes. Whether that's love, work, a marathon, or just being at the right corner at the right time... I want to be ready. And for all the grief it's caused me, this year will have made me more ready than I was before.

I don't think I'll ever look back at 2013 and laugh. But today, with just one day left of this annus horribilis, I can still look to heaven and say "Thank you." 

It's good to be alive.

Peace, and Happy New Year!
Pennsy.