“My name is Bob Livingstone and I have been a psychotherapist in private practice for almost thirty years.  This blog post has been written ​ based on real experiences. The individuals depicted are fictional.”

My name is Ben and I am fifty years old.  I have been married for twenty-six years and have two children; a boy age 13 and a girl who is 11.  I work in middle management at a high tech San Francisco company.

I have a secret that I am tired of keeping.  There are times when I feel totally depressed.  It begins with a gradual mood shift over a period of days. I become more agitated than usual and my patience with others is totally out the window.  I want to assault all those I deem thoughtless.  Those who drive too fast or too slow are targets for my rage.  I never really confront them directly, but the image in my head is that they are erased from the earth.

I pride myself on being a good father, husband, friend and co-worker.  However, it is rare when I actually feel that I have done well in any of these areas.  When the anxiety starts turning into gloomy depression, my self-esteem falls off the cliff and my dreams vanish.

I feel like I am in a dark hole and my energy supply has become exhausted.  I can’t seem to get out of my own way.  When I am in a happy place, the sun going behind the clouds leads me to look forward to seeing the full sun again soon.  When I enter depression, I am sad when the sun disappears, but have some sense the sun’s rays will shine on me again.  When I am in total despair, I notice the sun hiding behind the clouds, but don’t care if the brightness ever returns.

I understand that depression can be hereditary but isn’t depression like alcoholism present in every family?  The first person I told about my “condition” was our family doctor.  I was too ashamed to tell my wife or friends.  I didn’t want to burden them with my problem although I am sure my erratic behavior is a pain in the ass to them.

My doctor suggested that I begin a trial of antidepressant medication; the same brand that is advertised on TV.   I see the ads late at night when I cannot sleep.  The listing of side effects takes up most of the advertisement and makes me resistant to taking it.  Perhaps I should try the meds, but right now I am choosing not to go down this path.

This mood drop off is confusing to me because it is so unpredictable when it will occur.  I looked on the internet for depression symptoms and I have several of them, but not often enough to be diagnosed as a depressive.  I wondered if I am bipolar, but my mood swings are not dramatic and I don’t have the manic/depressive swing dance going on.  I don’t stay up all night or sleep all day.

Sometimes I am joyful and can connect with my family.  I can be there for them emotionally (I know this because they have told me so).  Then out of the blue or I will have a triggering bad memory, my heart becomes numb, my soul feels hollow and all seems lost.   I start thinking about how hard it is to live every day.  The pressure of trying to meet all my responsibilities seems too much for me.  I wonder what it would be like not to be here on earth anymore.  I feel too weak to ask for help.  At this moment, I cannot find the words to describe how terrible I feel.

I find myself crying during times that I have never shed a tear.  Last week the news of Natalie Cole’s death came over Facebook and I teared up, but at the same time, was surprised at my emotional reaction.  Later I thought that I was sad because her life was cut short by drugs which mine could have been. I have abused many drugs in my life, but not now.  Ms. Cole was an addict because she had so much emotional pain that she used cocaine to cover up this despair. I was seriously relating to her struggle.

Later that week, I begin to cry from a place deep inside.  My body shudders, but I have no idea what I am crying about and I don’t care if I never find what is bringing the tears.  I hear myself moaning like an injured animal with no one around to tend to his deep wounds.  I am weeping because I have kept everything bottled up inside like a bank vault trying to prevent a terrorist take over.

I have not really felt my own pain for years.  My mother died when I was five and my father was an unstable alcoholic who beat me fully and often.  I have mostly lived in survival mode.

When I honor the trauma I have experienced, I feel lighter.  After a deep cry, I feel better.  When I talk to my wife about my depression, I feel validated. When I go for a long bike ride, I feel joy when the sun’s rays bathe my face.  The depression has lifted, but hasn’t disappeared.  I am not going to become invisible either.  I will journey onward.

Dear Readers, I love your comments and feedback.  Please post below or on  https://www.facebook.com/HealingEmotionalPain 

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