A part of therapy I’ve found helpful, given how much I appreciate being and working with small groups of people (hey, I’m an introvert!), is what’s known as “Group.” It’s a time for a small group of people (generally in my experience less than 10) to come together and, with expert guidance by a mental health professional, share with each other what life has presented. During things like “Partial” and “Day” (see my previous posts) this is daily. But I’ve also done it on a weekly basis as well.
What makes group so meaningful for me? Part of it is having a place where I can share freely of things going on in my world with people I know something about. With folks going through similar sorts of things. Who understand my journey, potentially better than I do. Part of it is the encouragement from the leaders and then for anyone to share encouraging words (something I enjoy receiving and in turn giving). While monitoring what’s going on so as to keep things on subject and track.
So thanks to you, fellow group-mates as well as leaders! It’s not always been easy our times together, but it has been helpful for me anyway.
If Partial (see my previous post) is an intensive, but short-term form of treatment, Day functions as a longer lasting, but less intensive time. For me it lasted from somewhere around the end of September till just past New Years day, running from 9am till 12 noon. During which I transitioned from feeling almost too good to a pretty severe time of depression and then back up again. Insofar as my depressive episodes have tended to last longer than that, I give some of the credit to this shorter time to my time in “Day” as it tends to be called.
Like Partial, Day starts with a time of sharing by everyone who can make it that day. Then we had a time to do some planning for the upcoming week. Nothing major, but rather things like getting housework done, groceries purchased, clothes washed, etc. This was also a time for the Registered Nurse who led it to check in with us on our medications (were we faithfully taking them? if not, then for what reasons? etc.). And while the schedule varied a bit, we often had a session of Occupational Therapy in the mix as well. This I had the hardest time adjusting to, but eventually did find the painting of ceramic animals and flower vases to be quite therapeutic.
Those present varied over time, with anxiety and depression being common challenges. A very special group of folks who shared in common challenges they hadn’t planned on.
Day 1 – Started a new exercise routine this week. Passed my first person on the
walking track today. Of course she was 85 years old. And then she lapped me 3 times after she started walking. But who’s counting?!
Day 2 – Saw the little old lady who lapped me the other day on the walking track so went to the bike instead. Lo and behold she sat down on the one next to me and before I knew it was cracking out 90 rpm without even breaking a sweat. So I moved over to the treadmill. Thought I was doing pretty well, not sweating too much or breathing very hard, keeping up with it until I realized I hadn’t turned it on yet. And here comes grandma… I’m going to find me an easier gym!
As mentioned in a previous post, one of the things which was recommended to me which I’ve done in response to the depression I struggle with at times was attend 2 weeks (I found out on what I thought was my last day that it was a 3, not a 2 week treatment, but by then I’d planned other things, so I just did the 2 weeks) of what is known as “Partial” treatment. As in “Partial Hospitalization.” It’s an interesting name for it, as there’s actually no hospitalization. But rather it’s 6 hours per day of time spent in group, led by different experts in the field of mental health who provided a great deal of material (in my case anyway, too much) related to some of what those of us in the group were experiencing.
We weren’t all there for the same reasons, but there was quite a bit of overlap. Great folks all, young and older, working and not. Unfortunately very few people of color. All of us there as either we or someone else felt we could do better than we were doing and this might help. Even though it was 6 hours per day, with a break at lunch, the days went quickly. It was well worth the experience for me. Not that I can point to any dramatic changes, but overall it was part, a foundation if you will, of the learning I’ve been doing regarding this new state of affairs I’m facing.
Each day started with the sharing by each of us of an update as to how things were going, with time for the rest of the group to add words of encouragement. The day then was filled with lectures and group exercises on a wide variety of things related to mental health.
Do I feel the time I invested in doing this was worth it? Most definitely.
Was it tough work? Yep.
Do I recommend it? Yes, I do.
Ever had one of those times when you could use some answers to big questions? That 
would be me. At this point in time.
For me, it, depending on what I decide, could be at least somewhat life changing. So what to do? That is the question. 
One worthy of pondering before acting. And checking in with wise folks, listening to them carefully. And with time, and their wisdom, hopefully the right course of action will emerge.
In my youthful list of things to do/experience/achieve, depression wasn’t one of them. So for more years than 
I care to admit, I did my best to ignore it, which solved nothing. It got worse, so eventually, finally acting on my wife’s advice, I did ask to meet with our pastor to talk with him about it. When I told him of my depression, he smiled and said the reason he’d said “yes” so quickly to my asking for a time to meet was his assumption, based on how I looked and was acting, that I must be struggling with depression. He suggested I see a therapist. I indicated to him that I would prefer a therapist who was a Christian and he hooked me up with one and life has never been the same since. We met weekly for about a month as this new and very kind person in my life assessed where I was at. By the end of this time he felt I was in need of more than he could offer on his own, so he connected me with a psychiatrist he collaborates with.
This began what has been an 8 year journey of trying various combinations of meds. All the while seeing my faithful and oh so patient therapist. It’s also involved Partial (an intensive 2 to 3 week, 6 hours per day, 5 days per week small group training/support group), and Day treatment (less intensive, but still 4 hours per day, 3 days per week small group training/support that for me lasted 3 months). Most recently I’ve begun attending a weekly 1.5 hour Men’s Group where, while we’re quite diverse in a variety of ways, we have in common struggles with some similar things. I’ve also just started NAMI’s 12 week Family-to-Family training.
Has any one of these things proven to be the magic cure? No. But in combination they’ve been pretty powerful, to the point that now, with the recent addition of yet one more med I can at present claim to be in remission, a place I despaired of ever finding a year ago. So, thanks to a combination of what one of my pastors calls my “band of brothers,” together with the best meds available, I am at present doing much better. Thanks be to God!
And what is this depression thing? That’s harder to answer and I can only do it for myself. 
My own journey through this valley.
When depression sets in I equate it to being an experience somewhat like that of finding oneself in a small sail boat, in what is becoming an increasingly rough ocean. As the waves of depression get bigger, I can only batten down the hatches, reef in the sail, drop the sea anchor and then hold on to the tiller, waiting for the waves to die down again.
Being mostly internal, it’s confusing for those who’ve known me to be much more outgoing and friendly than I am while this is happening. It’s loneliness without having much in the way of words to share with others. It’s fear without reason. It feels like the days are dark and foggy, even if they’re bright and sunny. It’s limiting my ventures out of the house to a small set of well-trodden (driven) paths. It’s a tiredness that is ever present (even after a long night’s sleep). It’s a brain that feels like its been shut down. It’s moving from believing there’s light at the end of tunnels to feeling that life has become one long, dark tunnel with no light at the end. Ever.
When did it start? About 15 years ago? I’m not sure. What triggered it? Anxiety I’ve lived with since being a little boy? Having to leave behind work I loved in Madagascar without finding something to replace it here in the US? Challenges from having worked at several less than healthy workplaces? I really don’t know.
I’m not sure the right words are “interestingly enough” but if they are, then interestingly enough, there appears to be a link between CMT and depression, in part triggered by the death of one’s periphery nerves. Time will tell how true this is.
So where does this leave me? At present in a better place than I’ve been for years. Does this mean I’m healed of it all? Unfortunately, that’s not the way it works. But at present I am proof that one can, over time and with expert help, get better. Something I’ll need to remind myself the next time the waves of depression begin to grow. As, to hopelessly mix metaphors, there is light at the end of those tunnels.
“No cure or even treatment possible.” This didn’t sound very hopeful. It was regarding CMT, which stands for Charcot-Marie-Tooth which are the last names of the 3 people credited 
for its discovery. It’s a form of neuropothy that affects (as in kills) one’s longest “peripheral” nerves (as in not in your spinal cord) in your legs and arms. This also negatively affects your feet and hands. As this occurs the muscles atrophy. As this happens you lose your balance and ability to walk without braces and eventually surgery.
For some it starts early in life, with braces needed sometimes before a person starts school. For others, it progresses much more slowly. I’m very fortunately in the latter category. Which means while I was initially tentatively diagnosed as having it back in 1990, it has progressed slowly. Most of the time it’s genetic, though I have yet to find anyone on either side of my family with it. Unfortunately, at this point in time, anyway, there is no cure or even treatment. So it progresses.
In follow-up testing several years ago CMT was definitively shown to be present, with about 90% of my longest nerves no longer operational. Bummer! On the other hand, I’m still mobile (not needing my braces or cane for most of the time, icy spots excluded) and don’t need foot surgery–yet. And there’s always the hope that the medical world will find a response. Preferably sooner than later. In the meantime we carry on.
I’m told Carlos Santana once said, “It’s not so much that I play music, it’s that music 
plays me.”
I teach for a living. Some days it goes better than others. But I work with very smart students who continue to patiently (mostly) teach me how to do a better job of facilitating learning, which is what I really seek to do. And when things are going well, really well, it’s almost as if “It’s not so much that I teach students, it’s that my students are teaching me.” For it all to be useful the way it needs to be, we actually all need to be learning, but when that happens, it feels to me like we’re making beautiful music. Me in the roles of Teacher/Learner, my students in the roles of Learners/Teachers.
And when it’s not working. Well that is painful. But I’ve found this to be a necessary part 
of the learning process I need to get better at what I do. With time, there’s progress. Not like as in a vaccine, but more as like what it takes to build something. Slowly. Over time. Sort of a “crawl, walk, run” process. With more time spent crawling than I’d ever imagined at the beginning of it all. But “walking” (when things are going well) is fun and “running” (when we’re “singing”), well that’s absolutely exhilarating!
Ironically, while driving to church yesterday, I heard the following statement regarding 
forgiveness (more or less): “For me forgiveness is more like a dimmer rather than an on/off switch as I have to keep returning to it.”
I write “ironically” as we start our worship services with a “Brief order of Confession and Forgiveness” in which we are told we are sinful people, for which reason we are asked to confess our sins. In response, our pastor tells us that due to the death (and resurrection) of Jesus Christ, “God forgives us all our sins… [in fact] the entire forgiveness of all your sins.”
So about the dimmer switch metaphor for forgiveness–when it comes to God forgiving us, then not so much. However, I think there’s some truth to it in terms of how I approach forgiveness.
For like an elephant, I have a long memory. Much too long where forgiveness is concerned.
But that’s not the way it’s supposed to be!
While my parents both experienced farm life, this was not part of my own. My time on 
farms has been limited to day visits or an occasional weekend.
All of which is to say that when it comes to knowledge about farm life, I’ve got nothing. Well, maybe just a little.
For example, one day while still quite small (5 or so), we were visiting my great uncle’s farm. It had a variety of animals, but only one that to me, anyway, looked ride-able. This was the work horse, a massive, but generally oh so slow moving horse used for various tasks on the farm. While it loved my Uncle John, by the time it got back to the barn after a day at work it wasn’t interested in doing much else. Certainly not providing rides to kids!
Add to this picture the presence of several second cousins, let’s just say of the more energetic type. They were on the farm frequently and had tried every which way to ride him. To which this horse had developed a range of methods to end the ride, the first of which was to head straight for a low-hanging apple tree. If this wasn’t successful then the sagging clothes lines came next. Once free of this unwanted baggage, the old horse would plod off to its stall to do what it had wanted to do all along.
So take one naive 5 year old, trying to understand this mysterious world while keeping up with these energetic mostly strangers, add a grumpy old horse and some creative second cousins and before I really understood it all I was perched atop the horse, hanging on for dear life, rocking and rolling around on the blanket on top of the horse (and the horse hadn’t even started moving yet)! Then it started moving, faster than I had ever seen it go. Hanging on for dear life, sitting straight up in the saddle, I turned to bravely smile at my cousins who were yelling something at me I couldn’t really understand, but it sounded something like
“LOOK OUT FOR THE
T
R
E
E
!”
“Ouch!” 
Not so long ago I saw one of these second cousins again and asked him about this incident, as I always wanted to find out why they didn’t warn me about the apple tree? He laughed and said they knew full well what the horse was going to do. The only question was whether it was the tree or the clothes lines that would remove me from the back of the old horse?!
tomberkas 