In 2010 I was slow to recognize I had fallen into a serious depression. It was as if I had been watching a light gradually fade at the end of the day until I was suddenly in the dark. I had thought of myself as a writer and had held onto the hope of finishing my memoir but had not written anything on my blog since February. It was August when I began to notice my mind wasn't working right. I didn't have any desire to write anymore. I struggled to keep up with all that was happening around me. I became easily overwhelmed with daily tasks I could formerly complete with ease. I lost some of my filtering abilities and experienced sensory overload frequently -- the sights and sounds of the world became too difficult to process. They wore me out. I blamed myself for my inability to make decisions. My memory was impaired, and I felt mentally and physically exhausted. My mind and body had slowed down to a crawl. All I wanted to do was sleep. If I could just sleep, I thought, I could avoid the intense mental and physical suffering I felt every day--the strong emotions of hopelessness, worthlessness, a profound sadness and a feeling of being abandoned and alone along with the intermittent crying spells, headaches, backaches, muscle spasms and insomnia --getting to sleep and staying asleep -- all of which compounded the depression making me feel tired all the time. I would drag through the workday, looking forward to 5:30 p.m. when I could go home and shut out the world's noise.
Unable to function well in my daily normal routine, I became confused, frightened and anxious. Fear manifested in panic episodes. My body would shake and sweat. I had lost my former self-confidence even to manage mundane tasks. Dishes piled up in the sink, the bed remained unmade and the cat box litter was left unattended. At times I was so paralyzed by fear I was unable to get out of bed. I was afraid of what others would think of me now that I was seriously depressed, afraid that my daughter, friends and family would no longer want to have anything to do with me once they found out. But I could no longer wear the mask of business as usual. It just took too much energy and energy was now in short supply. I felt disoriented, lost in my own life. I lost my appetite and would go some days with only 1 meal. I had lost interest in things that used to bring me pleasure too. My piano sat silent in the living room, just another object that took up space. Boxes of beads in the backroom gathered dust along with unfinished jewelry projects. Yards of fabric purchased to be cut and sewn into quilts were now destined to be given away along with how-to quilting books to be donated to my quilting guild. A digital camera I had bought in anticipation of a photography class was still in its box. I ventured out of the house only for doctor appointments, groceries and mail. I had stopped going to church on Sundays and asked to be put on inactive status in my Red Hat Chapter. I didn't feel safe anywhere except in my bed under the covers.
It seemed as if I were different from the people around me. I felt inadequate, defective, not good enough. I wondered how I had made it through college and graduate school as well as two years as a Virginia law reader and used procrastination as a defense against my feelings. I told myself maybe tomorrow I'd get around to the tasks I kept putting off. I became very critical and judgmental of myself and felt sorry for myself that I was no longer the woman I thought I had been. I wondered why I had become so severely depressed, why I had to suffer when others around me seemed to be continually productive, happy and joyous. I couldn't feel any joy. I felt dead inside. I was a walking dead person. I began to have thoughts of death because I couldn't think of any other way out.
Then a sudden memory startled me. What I was now going through I had experienced once before in the summer of 1973 when I was hospitalized for clinical depression at the Williamsburg Community Hospital. My father had finagled his doctor to admit me without a physician's referral. Without such referral and not knowing the full extent of my symptoms, the doctor began a series of tests --a muscle biopsy (cut a slice out of my right calf), a bone marrow (stuck a needle in my chest between my breasts) and blood tests as well as an EKG -- the results of which were that he could find nothing physically wrong with me even though I had unrelenting crying spells and was so weak I could hardly walk without holding onto a railing. I had entered the hospital thinking I had some terminal illness which the doctor would soon diagnose. Though his beside manner wasn't exactly up to any compassionate standard of care, his prescription for recovery he spoke hastily before exiting the room, "You need to take your head to the dry cleaners."
I was 28 years old and divorced from my first husband, a seminary student at Emory University in Atlanta. I was also an English teacher in the public schools of Fulton County and had been accepted as a contributing writer to the Breadloaf Writers' Conference in Middlebury, Vermont, the most prestigious writers' conference in the nation founded by the poet Robert Frost. The doctor consented to allow me to attend the conference that August. I was able to write and to talk with and listen to other writers, some of whom were guest authors who had won the Pulitzer prize. The inspiration of that experience rescued me from depression so that I was able to return to my teaching position that Fall.
As I recalled all the details of that hospitalization, I not only felt frightened: I was terrified that unless I could soon develop a strategy or game plan to overcome this bout of crippling depression, which seemed to be a repeat of the 1973 episode, I would likely end up in the hospital again, risk losing my job, and become unemployed; and at age 65, I could not afford such an impending and inevitable collapse. It was 2010 and though I had had brief episodes of depression during the past 37 years, usually during the winter months, I recovered fairly quickly. But like the 1973 episode, I was stuck, stranded in the desert of depression and feared I was shutting down again.
First Things First...
Things to Consider...
What may be crucial to healing is first to do nothing. To do nothing is the essential practice of Buddhism. It is an act of surrender. I can look with compassion at what is happening to me as I move through this depression. Because depression is an illness of the mind and body, the path out may be difficult and may take me a while to find.--The Zen Path Through Depression, Philip Martin, 1999, pp. 1-4.
Gleanings from The Zen Path Through Depression
Impermanence
My refusal to see and accept the impermanence of all things, to attempt to find something lasting where there is nothing lasting to be found, is the cause of much of my suffering. In depression I have the chance to practice impermanence. In my life there are no safe harbors, no anchors to hold onto, except the present moment. I am willing to acknowledge that all things go away and will end. I can listen to and observe the impermanence in my life. Zen, pp. 14-15.
Death
When I see death everywhere because of my depression, my task is not to lose heart--not to give in to the allure of death, but to continue to live with an open heart, to live in this moment with faith and courage. I recognize that I am here only for a short time. I can live one day at a time and love other human beings who also are fragile. In depression, I have the chance to taste death, to see the reality of death which gives life its mystery and bittersweet taste. Zen, p. 19.
Fear
Fear is the worry that in some future moment I will not have what I want or will lose what I have. I anticipate or imagine a frightening or uncomfortable situation and become afraid. Panic attacks result from the fear of being afraid. I need to become aware of my feelings of fear and thoughts surrounding them. I can break the cycle of fear. When fear comes up, I can simply make it the object of my calm attention and notice what it feels like and where it is located in my body. If I can stay present in the moment that I am afraid, that moment is the safest place to be. Zen, pp. 23-26.
In the strength of your attention, in the solidity of your quiet sitting, nothing can hurt you right now. Zen, p. 26.
Doubt
Some days I doubt if I will ever feel better, if the efforts I am making will do any good long term. I must become willing to reside in the midst of enormous doubt and let it be all right.
To live in doubt is to live in mystery, to let mystery be large and vital in our lives. Zen, pp. 28-30.
Grief
In depression I feel grief all around me. There is a lack of energy, a painful heaviness, a sadness and grief which are the body's longing for permanence. If I can approach grief and sadness without fear, I can tap into the suffering of all beings. Depression gives me the chance to move back into my body, to feel all that I have been missing. The real pleasure lies in feeling mindfully the sensations of doing just this one activity wholeheartedly. Zen, p. 31.
Desire
In depression I try to avoid the pain I feel and cling to whatever might give me relief, but the process of avoiding pain keeps me dissatisfied and ultimately keeps me from being fully present in my life.
Zen, p. 35.
Escapes
To be in pain simply means to be alive, to be a feeling human being. It is a necessary first step to accept the pain of depression and stop trying to run from it. I choose not to run away but to stay with the depression, to pay attention to my thoughts and feelings, to face my life with awareness and compassion. If I persevere, I will find that I can survive the pain and finally come to a place of peace of joy, even while the pain is still there. This gives me hope for the future. Zen, p. 37-39
Anger
I can meet my anger with loving attention, to see past it and find what is under it. I can be aware when anger is present and how it affects my thoughts and actions. When I look at my anger calmly and directly, I notice it doesn't remain for a long time but arises and disappears without my attaching to it. I can allow it to come and go. I can take the energy of anger and direct it toward positive action for healing.
Zen, pp. 46-47.
Judging
When I am depressed, my mind becomes preoccupied with judgments and comparisons. I feel I should be able to overcome my depression--if not through strength of will, or affirmations, or positive thinking, then by getting help from others. But despite all my best efforts, there are times when my depression simply does not improve, or improves only slightly. Depression brings me face-to-face with the fact that there are many things over which I have no control, no matter how hard I try. In my depression, I can start to heal by accepting that a great part of my becoming depressed, as well as much of getting over it, may not be within my control. Depression allows me to see that through the judgments I make of myself and others, I create much of my own suffering. In so doing, I let myself off the hook and stop taking the blame. Zen, pp. 42-43, 53-54.
Control
Control often means resisting the way things are or believing they should be different. As I let go of my attachment to having things a certain way, as well as my belief that my life should go in a certain direction, I can let go of my desire to control. I can then participate in my life rather than be a frustrated observer. I can then save myself a great deal of effort and energy - two things critical to maintaining my sanity and equilibrium in my depression. I can focus on things that will make a difference. Zen, p. 54.
Time
In depression, time changes its quality--movement, speech, thought all slow down. It is difficult to perform physical tasks due to the slowness and heaviness filling the body. It becomes clear that the "normal" world is based on speed and aggressiveness. Slowing down in depression gives me an opportunity to explore my world. I have time simply to be rather than do. If I am attentive to the value of moving slowly, I find there is time to do all that each moment calls me to do. I can deal with each moment as it presents itself. In depression I may find I have times of greater happiness and purpose when I simply relax, let go of control, and open to the moment. I can then take in all that I am given as a gift. Zen, pp. 49-54.
End of Suffering
An end to my suffering is possible by cessation of greediness, grasping and clinging and by observing how my thirst arises. If I stop searching so hard for pleasure and let my life be what it is, I can experience my life as it is. To stop suffering, I have to allow pain into my life. This will be a slow process but one that can help heal my depression. I can move out of the fear weighing down. I don't need to feel inadequate. I can affirm that I have everything I need. Zen, pp. 56-58
Joy
Life is more than just survival and avoidance of pain. I need to remember that my goal is to move away from pain and death toward joy and life. I can find many tools to help me. I have people I love who love me. I can make use of all tools available to me. I can find the joy and purpose that has always been there for me to uncover. Zen, pp. 59
Freedom
Depression can feel like an imprisonment, like solitary confinement when I feel cut off from everyone. My imprisonment does not come from outside but from within. It is something I create rather than something imposed on me. I am the only one with the power to free myself. I can find a new freedom, the result of clearly seeing my limits and place in the world. I can then move into greater interdependence with all beings and greater responsibility to all beings. I can stop hiding in this small life I have created where I feel safe and leave my prison behind.
Zen, pp.60-61.
Seeing without Blame
Blame is a barrier to true understanding and intimacy with my life. Blame will not help me. Blaming myself or others only leaves me feeling more worthless, unsatisfied and angry. I can set aside blame and look at what is, rather than why it is. I can stop trying to understand everything and stop trying to escape from my feelings and pain. I can accept not knowing where my depressions comes from or why it came again. I can just be with what is happening to me and discover nothing is as horrible as it seems when I accept it and not try to run from it. Just seeing things as they are is enough. I may find that an answer comes to me simply by looking at how things are. I can learn to see what is truly effective, what works, and what may be making matters worse. I can then begin to take action toward healing from depression.
Zen, pp.62-65
My Heart
Depression lodges in the heart where some of the physical symptoms manifest. My heart is broken and needs mending. When I am anxious, my heart is fast-beating. When I feel hopeless, my heart is tired. When I feel sadness or grief, my heart hurts with pain. Depression creates an imbalance in my heart and mind. The mind that I have depended on now fails me. I have difficulty making simple decisions and remembering details. I feel slow in my body and my mind makes me feel stupid.
Zen, p.66
Meditation
Through meditation as I begin to be less impressed with my thoughts, I feel my emotions more intensely-- the grief and sadness over the past, all the moments of my life that are now behind me, all the mistakes I have made and the hurts to others that I have caused. In meditation I have the opportunity to practice compassion and kindness toward myself and others. I can practice acceptance of my emotions and listen to what they have to tell me. I thus develop empathy as I open my heart to my own grief and the greater grief of the world.
Zen, p. 67.
You can let your thoughts come into your mind--just don't invite them to stay for tea. -- Shunryu Suzuki Roshi. Zen, p. 47
I Am Enough
When I am depressed, I feel inadequate, insufficiently equipped to deal with my own life. I feel that I don't deserve to be on the planet and wonder why I am here just occupying space. I have also felt alone like I don't belong anywhere. I need to affirm that I have everything I need, that I am already perfect as I am. In seeking the truth about myself as a soul living a human existence and connected to all other beings on the planet, I can nourish the seed within me of awakening from depression. I can practice meditation, enjoy laughter, work with others and make my best effort each moment. I can offer help to a friend or co-worker who is also experiencing depression. I can act in ways that acknowledge my connection with others and the sacred nature of all beings. I can leave behind my feelings of unworthiness and see that I do belong here and I am enough. I can begin to find new freedom in my life. I am alive, I matter, I can make a difference in the lives of others. I have the basic right to exist. I let the knowledge of my belonging and goodness, of being enough, to fill up my heart.
Zen, pp. 70-72
A Path Through Depression
There is no one answer or series of steps that, when followed, will solve my problems forever. But I can find my way back into my life--a path that is a way of being in each moment with myself. I am willing to look at what is called for in this moment, to stand in the midst of uuncertainty about what will heal my depression and look at all my actions and choices in the light of practicality. I choose to move toward joy, compassion and service and turn from suffering and isolation. I will practice mindfulness and concentration. I will make use of the tools of right seeing, right resolve, right speech, right conduct, right effort and right livelihood.
Zen, pp.77-79
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