Postcards From the Edge - Dealing With Depression

Throughout the years life has been a long grind and it has been difficult to find any sense in it. Even for those better off it simply seemed a case of going nowhere only going in greater style. Bit by bit, I had convinced myself I was trapped. I didn’t believe anything glorious and wonderful would ever happen to me, that glittering world I saw outside would pass me by. What threatened to panic me was the almost daily proof of my ordinariness. How could I get out? There seemed to me no comparison between what I wanted and what I had. An image returned again and again to torment me – an image of me looking down on myself on the bed, then zooming away and looking at the house, the street, my town, my country, the world. I only had to blink and I lost sight of myself, and a kind of terror overtook me at my own insignificance. In my early teens I started to write in a journal. A really cool leather bound book. I never really talked about my fears. Often, I was asked “what was the matter with me”. Even if people were interested in finding out, there was the impossibility of putting into words my muddled thoughts. So I remained just an extremely moody teenager to my family. I got up, went to school, came home, went to bed, slept and got up again to another day in which nothing ever happened. It could only get worse as far as I could see. I began to turn to my journal for solace and more and more delved into what I called “music therapy”. I guess I called it therapy as it seemed like music was the only thing that could calm me. I always used to say that music is my saviour. It was Elvis Presley early on but as I hit my teens – Bruce Springsteen. For some reason I connected with those songs – Drive All Night, Jungleland, Thunder Road, Born to Run, Backstreets and so on..I felt he was singing to me and about me – in fact, it WAS me. I know it sounds strange for an Australian teenager to say that with the whole “American Dream” thing. I still find it difficult to explain, but it is real and a very powerful thing indeed, even to this day. With my long hours with those head-phones cranked to my ears and thumping my brain with those romantic and sometimes dark images Springsteen would conjure up, I started writing my own “Born to Run” in my leather journal.. it was called “Postcards from the Edge”. As the greyness grew worse, and a physical exhaustion set in that almost convinced my mum that I was ill. I would sit in my room and spill it all out onto those blank pages. It helped me a lot. As I began to attempt to unravel my mind, answers slowly came to me. Sometimes, not always. More importantly it gave me a sense of peace, calm and was a great release of negative energy. My journal was the destination where I got to unburden myself of my troubles by writing them down. I believe this unlocked some doors to solutions and healing. Matters were not helped by my refusal to have anything to do with the rest of the human race. Sometimes I got incredibly lonely, but would not admit it. Proudly, I chose to be alone when company was available, and say that I liked it, maybe encouraging people to think that I was the eagle that flew alone...or something like that. One problem I had was that when I was with people I wanted to be alone and when I was alone I wanted company. One of the many things that music gave me was company and in a way taught me to dream. No artist taught me to dream more than Springsteen. To a certain extent it was true, I did like being on my own, but though it might seem a contradiction, I was at the same time lonely. Stuck in my own introspective groove, I successfully shut out any chance of that state of affairs altering. All I can say for anyone out there battling depression, life gets better. Remember, this is coming from someone who was sure, absolutely sure, would never ever make it passed 27. I was sure of my demise. Life gets better. It has for me as I hit my late thirties. I still have bad days but my perspective is clearer and I have better “tools” now to deal with negative thoughts. Maybe it’s maturity. Maybe wisdom. Although all the pain and fear I felt was very real I began to realise as I grew older that I may well have invented my own ugliness. I invented pain, terrified of blankness. I stood forever at the same junctions as everyone else waiting for the chances that had passed. I lay in ambush for myself. I invented toughness as a kind of disguise. Our lives must move gently on the world huddled together for comfort and for ease. Let us note in separate ways how we are lost in our isolation and count on our fingers the passing of days. Follow Your Bliss. Life has no meaning. Each of us has meaning and we bring it to life. It is a waste to be asking the question when you are the answer. Follow your bliss and the universe will open doors for you where there were only walls.