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My
Lenten Tradition |
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by John Tyler Connoley |
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February 17, 2004 |
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Every year, around late February or early March, I feel like I've been dropped into a lobster tank. Moving through life becomes more sluggish, and my brain feels deprived of oxygen. I'm aware of the brain cells right at the front of my skull, because they seem to have stopped working properly. Everything takes more effort than it used to, as my body responds more slowly to commands. There are also now hidden boundaries and reflections in the world that weren't there last month. I run into glass walls, and see dangers that don't exist. In the spring, my life is at once too small to matter and too difficult to manage. Most people love spring -- I dread it. Of course we all recognize
my symptoms, because we've seen them in those antidepressant commercials.
And, by now, we all know there are tiny receptors in my brain that don't function
properly in the springtime. That's why I now include an antidepressant in my
Lenten observances. Lent is the forty days
before Easter, which begin the day Mardi Gras ends. Many Christians give up something
for Lent. I give up the blues by adding an herb to my diet. Perhaps I'm a
wimp who's succumbed to the advertising of the Prozac nation, but I've had
enough bad springs to know that I don't want another. This isn't a self-induced
spring phobia; it's simply a pattern I've noticed. Somewhere in my late
twenties, I began to take stock of the times when I felt most depressed.
Twice in my life, I've seriously considered suicide -- making plans and
preparations. In both instances, there were environmental factors that
attributed to my suicidal thoughts, but they also both happened in the
spring. I remember other blue periods that I can clearly correspond with
spring events. When I realized the pattern, I started to watch myself, and
sure enough my blues were almost as regular as the daffodils. Then, three years ago, I
had a particularly blue period. I was in seminary (a place I loved), I was
recently married (to the man I loved), and I still felt like I was treading
water. I couldn't motivate myself to do homework, or go out with friends, or
even to spend time with my spouse. I was in a deep blue funk. I knew it was
just the spring, and I figured I'd do what I always did and ride it out. But,
at the urging of a friend, I tried an herbal remedy. It took a couple weeks for
the chemicals to work on my brain receptors, but by week three I was
beginning to breathe easy again. It didn't feel like I'd taken a happy pill,
so much as that the water in the lobster tank had thinned out. I could move a
little easier. A friend with clinical depression describes antidepressants as
giving her a basement -- there's a depth at which she knows she won't sink
any farther. For me, it gives me a threshold at which the pressure in the
tank won't get any worse. Not usually one to
self-medicate, I made an appointment with my doctor to discuss the dangers
and effectiveness of this herbal remedy. He and I discussed my pattern of
blue periods. We also talked about my family history. There are no suicides
in my family, and no signs of clinical depression, but there is a history of
mild depression. Going back to my great-grandparents, there are stories of
family members falling into deep blue periods. There are also tales of one
relative going behind the shed with his shotgun, or another relative almost
running in front of a train. My doctor suggested that if the herb was working
for me, then it was okay to take it in the spring. So, I started a Lenten
tradition. Most of my friends and
family know about my spring blues (most have experienced them with me), and
most know that I medicate in the spring. Occasionally, a family member or a
friend will tell me about how depressed she feels, or how he doesn't want to
get out of bed these days, or how she's been walking in a fog for weeks. I'll
usually suggest he or she talk to a doctor. I'll say, "You know there
are medicines that can help with that." And, invariably, the response
will be, "Oh, I don't need Prozac!" Somewhere among all the
advertisements -- perhaps because of them -- we've gotten the idea that our
society is addicted to happy pills. We seem to believe that antidepressants
are for wimps who can't handle real life. We imagine these people who pop a
pill every time it rains, while the rest of us soldier on drug-free. But I
don't buy that. There are so many medical
tools that we take for granted. When I have a headache, I take ibuprofen.
When I cut myself, I use a plastic bandage. And I use a heating pad when I
strain my back. I have no qualms about using tools that make my life easier,
and antidepressants are one of those tools. Certainly, my blue periods are
something I could live with if I had too, but so are my everyday aches and
pains. The fact is, I don't have to live with them, and it's not a bad thing
to feel good. |
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Copyright © 2004
by John Tyler Connoley
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All
Rights Reserved |