A long cold winter

I think about writing here a lot more than I write here. There is a desire for sure, and a real need is there, So what is the problem? You ask. Well in short, it is me. The long answer is a way of cushioning that blow.

I could probably tell you a few things about me that would surprise you, and even a couple that you wouldn’t believe, for I have truly lived a fortunate life. I can say that I have experienced God’s Glory here on this earth. Thank you Father. One of those things that you might not believe about me is that despite the fact that I had a long and successful career in the military, I have very little self drive and self-discipline. I found the structure of the military fairly easy to fit into, but there is no doubt that if I had more of that drive it would have been even more rewarding. I found it easy though because there was always a standard, a time, a location given, and some task or problem that is your job to solve. The complexity of those tasks and problems may change as your responsibilities do, but the parameters rarely do.

You have a left and a right limit, watch your lane.

It really can be that simple, and as a young Soldier it was. I joined the Army with a plan, I would graduate training as an Artilleryman just shy of my 20th birthday, do my 3 years which had to be easier than the 3 previous years. I would grab the college money and run. I would take some classes while in so I could graduate a couple years after leaving and not be a few years behind the “power curve”. Most importantly, I would be able to change the current trajectory my life was on, and for that of my son who was then two.

The Army seemed to fit, but it was the late 90’s and little was going on in the world. It was not rare to hear the people who had been a while say “your a lifer”, meaning I would stay in the 20 needed to retire. My answer did not change for the first 98% of of my 3 year hitch, “ Hell naw, Sergeant (Sgt)”.

It was not all that hard to be considered “squared away”, I Just showed up in the right place, at the right time wearing the right uniform “ that alone put me ahead of half my peers. I found a glitch that allowed me thrive as me and to just let the military be something that I did, not who I was. For me it was mostly do to my first section chief, Staff Sergeant (SSG) Fulton, that made it fit. He had a simple plan, be good at what you do, train until you are good. Unfortunately, I was a bit of smart-ass when I was young and I wanted the ability to speak my mind, not necessarily a trait the Army is known to love, but I was good at what they asked me to do, and As long as I followed a few rules like standing on high ground if punching up, and always making it somewhat clever or funny. If I did that, the price to pay for my little quips was push-ups, and 1/3rd of the Army Physical Fitness Test at the time was push ups, creating a beautiful cycle where speaking my mind made my PT scores go higher, which made everyone think I was squared away, which allowed me to speak my mind more without fear.

It was circa 1995, not much was going on in the world, and I just learned how to rappel from a hovering helicopter. I was having a blast. During the duty day I was all in, but rarely in the 23 years did I devote any real off time to the profession. I remember half joking with the First Sergeant ((1SG) Boss)) one time as a young Non-Commissioned Officer (NCO) “Top, you got me from P.T to COB (close of business) after that you got to call someone else”. I was joking, but not really. Not a lot of that late night stay up and study for the promotion boards kind of energy, just a show up and give it my all type of energy which seemed to fit just well enough to be “successfu”.

Not much changed during those 23 years that I served, push-ups became less of a thing, but as it turns out, they were right, I was a lifer. Not much has changed about me the 7 since retiring either. I suppose if I didn’t acquire additional discipline while in, it isn’t likely to be acquired now.

Case in point, my Appalachian trail through hike in 2019. You would think that from the birth of the idea 6 months prior, to the beginning of the hike would include practice overnight hikes and gear checks.

You would be wrong. I kept saying to myself that I should go and see if I even like hiking long distances, but I didn’t. The goal was there, the desire was there, the follow through, ehh, not so much. I suppose the reality is that if I want something to change, I am going to have to stop getting away with it.

This blog was one of those things I was trying to power through long enough to create the habit. A habit I hoped that would help when the depression was peaking. But trying to create a habit without the self-discipline to actually write it ends like you guess it would. I would not care at all of it we’re not for the reason why I started writing this. I could use another tool to help me in this battle, an Avenue to sound out things, to be able to work on things with the benefit of accountability. Even though no one even knows this exists, the idea is that one day they will, and I hopefully by then I have figured it out, and in so, they see a different perspective and perhaps a benefit.

Step one, write.

I am currently in South Carolina, near the coast. I’ve been dodging the winter storm that seemed to be everywhere while staying close enough to Fayetteville, NC. It is just about time to go back to TN, mainly because I foolishly left my kayaks there, which as God as my witness I vow to not do again, never again, regardless of the month. Also because I made what will be my first ever therapy appointment. I tried a year or so ago, but there was a 3 month wait for the appointment and I left for a long road-trip before it arrived. This time I really want to get it started, I know that I should.

I have been truly blessed, I have a ton to be grateful for, I have felt God carry the weight when I can not. These are not mutually exclusive thoughts. You can believe in God, and his power and face struggles. until it is taken, the weight must be carried, and after decades of just powering through everything like a broken juggernaut, it at times becomes a lot. The stakes are as high as they get, and the steep cost of loosing is paid by the others. 

I have several tools that I use to stay on top of it all, to give myself a fighting chance each day. I start each day with prayer, meditation, journaling, and reading. I try to surround myself with nature and to move through it slowly. I dedicate time and energy towards consuming less than I give. On allowing others to talk whenever they feel like it, there can be real wisdom there. I rarely miss a chance to Thank my Heavenly Father for the beauty of this life and for His Love.

I still struggle with the effects of depression. There is a real, persistent, and sometimes scary effects which no amount of my “work” seem to lessen. I will not take the road my father and his father took. I am fortunate, I have the ability to ask for help, and there is help available. I am also thankful that they have truly tried to fix the issues with the Veterans Administration, and that the VA doc I have is good, even if she does seem to lean towards medication. I am not sure that is what I want at all, and this is what I want to sound out here.

There are reasons why I am avoiding medications to treat my depression symptoms. Some more valid than others no doubt, but I do have my reasons beyond fear. I want to be able to answer the therapist clearly though if she suggests medications, here is where I currently stand.

I not only understand the effects of deep depression is real, but I also know that some people get real relief through medication.

Truth be told, I have tried several starting around 2013. I was carrying not only the unprocessed trauma from my childhood, but also the added noise of an imminent end of a long toxic marriage, remnants from wars, the joys of raising rebellious teenagers. I was carrying s lot of mental weight at the time, and not well.

I remember the day I reached out for help, I was legitimately scared at how close I felt like I was to exploding. The stakes are high, My jaw sore from the constant clinch, the muscles in my neck hellbent on making me two inches shorter. I remember having to see my primary care doc, ask for the referral, then see hopefully get help. I remember the cold and distant face across from me once I did, and how quickly she wrote a prescription and sent me on my way. I tried the pills. The first few medications were the worst, and you have to go through the cycle in order to give the medication a chance. I got to experience “brain sloshing” with the first one, not cool, not cool at all. I’m not sure which one I would rather have, but the intrusive suicidal ideations with the next one were no fun either. I finally settled on one that had the fewest side effects, but also had little to no effects at all. My depression comes in waves, if it comes back what then? Well they up the dose. On top of that, I had to go in personally every 3 months to refill the prescription. This was not to check on my mental health, but to check on possible side effects of the medication and to give the same ominous warning, “be careful if you ever decide to come off this stuff”.

When I retired in 2018 I knew that I was no longer interested in this cycle. I was careful coming off of the stuff, slowly weaning myself off of the last refill. As I was taking less I started using cannabis. After a while I fully switched. I don’t think cannabis is a miracle cure, but I am getting the same low level help that I was from a dangerous pharmaceutical, and not once has cannabis made me feel as scared as some of those “helpful pills” did.

Another reason why I do not want to start meds again is the fact that I love feeling. I was pretty stressed and on autopilot for many years, feelings could not be allowed out. Just a slow moving misery, never able to fully experience any moment do to all of the noise. That isn’t the case anymore, I feel and I feel deeply. Sure I have to deal with “emotional dis-regulation“ which would be hard to explain on a job site, but I feel and I love feeling. I love how that in the depths of pain, I started to be able to see other people, and their pain. I have zero interest in going back to not having a full range of emotions, even if that means that I have even more dark battles ahead. I just want all the tools, I including therapy.

Finally, I like me, I like my thoughts, my life and my pain, it was hard earned. It made me who I am today, I can not think of a single part of this life I would be willing to give up as a sacrifice to rid myself of the depression. I would trade it all for true love, and an ounce of the finest green.