The Loris and the Depression Monkeys of Doom

People are always encouraging one to write down their thoughts in response to counselling or when depressed to try to see what the root cause may be. I guess this post is something akin to that. There will probably be more musings on The Black Dog, but if I look in danger of wallowing or turning into a proper gloommeistress, let me know please.

However, such posts are necessary for no other reason than to encourage others who are depressed out there to keep going and hopefully to educate those who do not understand that 'depression' is not another word for 'idle' just how debilitating clinical depression can be...

*enter Depression Monkeys of Doom* (DMoDs)

These meddling monkeys wend their way in on the back of Lies or Experiences and tiNkeR about with the chemical calibration equipment for the brain. For this Loris' brain, the DMoDs fiddled about with Serotonin feedback, well, we think that's what they did, and left the heart of the Loris very black, _down and heavy indeed. Mercifully the meds have provided some degree of a lifting out of the doldrums.

As an aside, I have often wondered that being caught in the real doldrums might actually be amazing (assuming you're not on a timetable!) - stasis upon the sea...

Added to travel blog by kfsandiego here

Sat there where the warm air rises and, on the horizon, the two perfect blues of heaven and the deep collide into an indigo glass, with no waves to disturb the boat, and no wind to push it along, but  just the silence, space and sense of being a part of something so much bigger must, I think, be a glorious and precious experience.  I'd rather stay in the doldrums in that case.  But I digress...

...back to the DMoDs... they are incredibly sneaksy in a vile and detrimental way. They jump up and bite your butt almost as soon as you've managed to shake them off your ankles. Some days you barely have a breath without changing from being filled with hope and a feeling of being pleased to be alive to be fully expecting the sky to come crashing down at that moment and secretly wanting to embrace this chance to escape the fear and confusion that inhabits the mind of the depressed soul.  All the while the DMoDs are cackling, chirping, clapping their hands and dancing heavy-footed upon the mush that once used to be a fully alert mind. They are very pleased with themselves. 

At the next breath the challenge is to use energy reserves to square up to the smugglets and you cling on to the hope from a previous breath, ever more tightly, and thank God for grace, favour and The Happy Pills. Oh yes, the chemicals are necessary to repair the damage being wrought by the DMoDs in a seemingly ceaseless tug of war over the will to live...

Of course, the highs can be intense and incredibly ^uplifting. When everything is back in perspective and you dare to take a peek at the bigger picture and recognise that there is a long and winding path through the valley of the shadow of death, but that you are not on it alone. But if you stay looking at it too long, you might start to think.  And thinking, at times like these, is very dangerous. Very dangerous indeed. A thought creeps in, and is pounced upon by a DMoD who takes great delight in playing it through, showing you a false Oraculum of Gloomland in which the Bandersnark, Trip Up Bird and Jiggeripokeri are waiting around every bend, hiding in nooks and crannies and overpowering you in the tasks you have ahead. Of course, this is all a lie. And sparks off very bad dreams.

And dreams have loomed ever larger and more terrifying as the illness is progressing. I don't know if this is 'normal' in depression, a side effect of the medication or quite what, but I just wish it would STOP! Thank God for praying flatmates. Tonight I'm hoping to have dreams filled with cupcakes recipes and crafting ideas, where my spirit is resting and not fighting.

Tonight I have hope. Tomorrow is another day but right now, I'm staring it down and feeling confident I will squish the DMoDs one tiny bone at a time...

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