Okay, so the title may be an exaggeration, but I assure you this is the realist story I’ve ever posted. So real that I’m still not sure if I’ll have the courage to share it. The truth is, running has made my life better. I’ve already told the story about how I started out hating it and then somehow fell in love. I think that’s because it changed something in me. I started when I was about 20 and a junior in college; a pivotal time in any woman’s life. It was also around this time that I’d been struggling with clinical depression. I don’t like to talk about that time. Not because I’m ashamed, but because that’s not me. Everyone knows me as the cheerful optimist; bright and joy filled. I’m nothing like that sad, lost girl of 18 years ago. Although, as recent events revealed, there might always be a small part of her in me- even if it’s the teeniest of parts. That’s what brings me to this story.
It’s common knowledge that exercise produces endorphins which help boost our moods. In places like the UK and the Netherlands, exercise is listed as one of first lines of defense against mental illnesses. There’s even evidence that consistent exercise can change our brain structure. I won’t delve into the science of it, I’ll just say that a good tough run can make me feel way better than any drug would. I’m sure that my regular running brought me out of the dark place I was in all those years ago. Running is a part of my life in ways many wouldn’t understand. It’s been almost 2 decades years since the word Prozac even entered my vocabulary. I honestly thought it never would again…
In the last few weeks I’ve been wrestling with the decision of whether or not to move back to my hometown in order to be closer to my aging parents. Their recent health issues have been weighing heavy on my mind. Combine that with normal work stresses, a heartbreak, and unexpected financial concerns and I guess something just snapped. It’s like everything piled on top of me and pushed me into a deep, dark hole. Don’t get me wrong, I understand that these are stresses that we all go through. I also know that I have so much to be grateful for. In a way, I think that realization made me feel worse. I kept thinking: I know it’s normal to feel bad but I shouldn’t feel this bad. I felt a crushing sadness, despair, and emptiness. During the day, I felt like I was stuck under this dark cloud looking out at everyone else in the normal world. At nights, I’d be struck with an intense and overwhelming feeling of dread. I could only pace and pray. God help me understand the purpose of this. It just doesn’t make sense. I would wait for my alarm to go off just so I could drag myself out of bed to go run on already exhausted legs. In the past when I felt sad those running endorphins would kick in to make me feel a little better. This time, there was no relief. But faith and experience have taught me that this wouldn’t last forever so I kept it up. I knew sooner or later something had to work.
A couple of weeks ago, I had a coaching session at work with my supervisor. He listed my positive demeanor as one of my strengths. “Everyone always says that you’re always so optimistic and easy going!” I gave him a half-hearted smile while I felt pang of grief in my gut. I felt like a fraud. I’m not that cheerful ray of sunshine. Not right now. A small part of me wanted to cry and tell him everything. I wanted to tell him how I’d only slept 3 hours in the last 3 nights, how I’d barely eaten and how every click of the mouse, every type of a number was excruciating and I didn’t know how I could possibly keep it up.
Instead I thanked him as I left his cubicle and used my lunch break to make a doctor’s appointment. I needed to take charge of this somehow. I returned to his desk 20 minutes later to ask for a half day off that Friday for the appointment.
In the days before the appointment I took some solace in my very good friends. I had one who talked to me for 3 hours on the phone and another who called me everyday on my way home from work. They both let me know they had my back. That was everything. Truly.
The thing is, I do know what a great life I have. I’m blessed with the most wonderful friends. I’m lucky to still have my parents and most days they are still in good spirits. They raised me with so much love and encouragement that I developed a fierce self-confidence. I also have my running. Running has taught me that the harder you work, the greater the reward, but often, the greatest reward is actually the work itself. I just have to keep working to feel better. And not least, I have my faith which has taught me that there’s purpose for everything. This pain is just a small part of the bigger, greater picture. Throughout these terrible couple of weeks I kept reminding myself of all this. I knew if I kept thinking it, I’d eventually feel it.
Realizing that there was a purpose to all this was the one thought that seemed to help things click for me. By the day of my appointment I was already seeing a light at the end of the tunnel. The doctor had prescribed a low dosage of Prozac and at first I felt sort of defeated. I didn’t think I would ever be in this spot again. I wanted to be stronger and not need any help. As I drove to work, I considered my options; wondering if I could get through this without any help. I thought back to my friends and a hug I got from a sweet 6 year-old a few days before. I thought about all the people that fill my life with love. My eyes welled up, but this time it was from happiness. The thing is, I do need help. We all do. And I will never have a shortage of helpers in my life. How could that make me feel anything but joy!
By the time I got to work I was feeling strangely peaceful and more like myself. I strutted into the office with my coffee and slightly worn laptop bag feeling like Kate Middleton toting Chanel. I gave a little princess wave. “Hi everyone, I’ve finally arrived!” A couple coworkers clapped and I gave a gracious bow. “This is great, I should schedule a half day more often!” We all giggled and I smiled as I turned on my computer. It was a genuine smile. For the first time in a while I no longer felt like a fraud.
The next day I sat on the porch with this little pill and the big question of whether or not to take it. I stared at it for a few reflective minutes before deciding to put it back in the bottle. I knew I was over the worst of it by that point. With everything I have working for me I could never stay down for very long. Now, I’m not promoting nor condemning the use of medication to combat depression. We all have to do what is best for us. What I’m saying is that it’s important to do anything and everything it is to make yourself better. Whether it’s your faith, the comfort of a friend, a hobby to throw yourself into, or yes, even a little pill. Do whatever it takes and never feel ashamed to ask for help. Just know that you’re not alone. We aren’t meant to handle the burden of tough times on our own.
“Two are better than one because they have a good return for their labor. For if either of them falls, the one will lift up his companion. But woe to the one who falls when there is not another to lift him up. Furthermore, if two lie down together they keep warm, but how can one be warm alone?
And if one can overpower him who is alone, two can resist him. A cord of three strands is not quickly torn apart.” Ecclesiastes 4:9-12
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