Forty Days Continued, Day 4–Everybody’s Got the Blues

I am one of those people who has struggled with depression for much of my life. I have learned to accept it as part of who I am. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t roll over and submit to it; I employ a variety of strategies, including medication, therapy, meditation, exercise, and numerous others that help me maintain a sense of equanimity and relative balance. It hasn’t always been easy, but I have managed to do well in spite of the occasional bout of the blues. I think that from time to time everybody has the blues. The best we can hope for is that we can learn to manage it. That is the theme of this post from 2015. I hope you find something in it that resonates with you.

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Forty Days, Day 11–Many Shades of Blue

Posted on March 2, 2015 by M. T. Chamblee

The other day I checked in with myself and decided that I wasn’t feeling particularly upbeat; in fact when I really took a look at how I was feeling, I had to acknowledge to that I had the blues. “I am not deeply depressed by any stretch of the imagination,” I wrote in my journal on Sunday morning, “but definitely blue.”

I have learned not to get too flustered when I have the blues. A number of years ago when I was suffering from clinical depression and was taking medication for it, I could tell you exactly what depression looked and felt like. Not only did I suffer from it, but I noticed a vein of it running through my family line. I saw it mirrored in various members of my family, though it took on many different forms, differing shades of blue. For some of us it reflected a light sky blue color, for others of us it was deep indigo. I considered myself somewhere in between but definitely tended toward the slightly darker hues. I know what it feels like to be depressed and what I was feeling on Sunday wasn’t that.

Four years ago I was abruptly laid off from my job, which happened to occur a few months after my six-year relationship was ending and I was on the search for a new place to live. Oh and a few months earlier my father had died. The end of 2010 and the start of 2011 would prove to be among the most stressful months I had experienced in my recent life. Not only was I grief-stricken, brokenhearted, and stunned, to make matter worse the loss of my job meant the loss of my health care benefits which meant the immediate loss of coverage on my antidepressant prescriptions. I had 30 days to figure out how I was going to manage depression without medication–without insurance, the prescription cost about $6 per pill, $180/month. All of that was, well, depressing.

What I learned during those months was that I was made of much stronger stuff than I’d realized. I had always had a high tolerance for pain and great inner intestinal fortitude, but this particular set of circumstances tried all of it. I learned that not only could I manage the depression, but through hard work, the kindness of a good therapist who saw me for free for over a year, and a combination of vitamins, supplements, and other natural remedies, I was able to mostly overcome it. I volunteered at a local food pantry while I looked for full time employment, took classes in meditation and Buddhist principles, and participated in weekly meditation sessions, and took care of myself as best I could. I still was blue from time to time, but it was of a very different hue than it had been for years.

These days when I feel a twinge of the blues, I don’t automatically rush in to try and fix it, and I no longer worry that the twinge is a precursor to a full-blown storm of depression. I generally check in with myself, gently interrogating the feeling. “I see you’re feeling a little blue–is it loneliness? Perhaps it is grief–you are coming up on the anniversary of losing your job. Whatever the cause–and there are plenty of times when I never do actually pinpoint the underlying issue–I extend great kindness, compassion, and patience toward myself allowing whatever is there to simply be there. I don’t rush to make myself feel better, and at the same time I don’t dwell on it so long as to be splashing around in it. I give the feeling the chance to be felt, to arise and be there and then, as best I can, I turn gently away from it and let it go. I know, it sounds kind of “woo-woo” and cosmic and stuff, but what can I say? It’s what I’ve learned to do. And when you’ve “battled” depression, when you find something that works, you do it.

These 40 days can bring on a measure of the blues. For one thing, Lent often commences in the winter, which many people find depressing in and of itself. I actually like winter, but after the one we’ve had this year, even those of us who like it are feeling the strain. People associate winter with death, and between the shortness of the days, the tendency toward long stretches of grayness and gloom, and the days of bone-chilling, teeth-rattling cold, it’s no wonder people get depressed. Then there’s the “solemnity” of the Lenten season and the march toward the suffering and death of Jesus. We often want to rush past the suffering and death and head straight toward the resurrection, new life, and being able to say “alleluia” (or hallelujah) again.

But there is no pass. You can’t get to resurrection from the dead without the dying part, and for many folks that is downright depressing. And yet there is much to be gained from sitting with the suffering–your own or someone else’s. I have developed a much deeper level of compassion  for my fellow human beings, even those with whom I’ve struggled with personally. By being able to see them as fully human, with all the suffering, disappointments, pains and anger that we all experience, I am able to find common ground with them. It doesn’t make me fall in love with them, but it definitely helps me to connect with and relate to them from a better space.

I’m alright with having the blues from time to time. I’m pretty sure it’s part of the human condition. Even the sunniest people can get blue. The difference is in releasing rather than holding onto it. I have learned to let go, and as best I can I take that approach with me almost everywhere I go. Throughout the rest of these 40 days I imagine I will experience the blues, particularly as I relate to and connect with the suffering in the world around me. The only unclear part of it is what shade of blue it will be. And so it goes.