“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 Gerald and I am forty-seven years old.  I have been married for twenty-three years.  We have one girl child who is sixteen and a boy who is thirteen.  I am the director of a non-profit corporation that deals with teenagers at risk for substance abuse, addictions, violence, child abuse and neglect.  I have been at my current job for twelve years.

Sometimes I feel lost, alone and depressed.  At times I don’t feel that I fit into this world. This lack of fitting in creates a strong sense of alienation and isolation.   I look at Facebook and watch the TV news. My soul is crushed by all the hatred I witness.  I become so angry at the selfishness portrayed and at the same time I long to be accepted by this world.  I live in a land that has become an ongoing reality show.  Public humiliation is the most popular sport going.  I fear that this will end horribly and I have no power to change it.

One line put downs seem to be the highest valued form of communication. Presidential candidates are admired for their ability to assassinate the character of their opponents.  So is everything stand-up comedy now?    I see children sitting in the dark with the light of iPhone screens glowing on their bored faces.  I feel their hopelessness and need to escape. I want to be part of the solution, but don’t know what the solution is.   I hear daily life stories without meaning or direction.  Adults and teenagers seeking novel ways to numb their fears of the future.  Video games, all day weed smoking, twenty-four-hour social media drama or just hiding under the bed covers.  It all mirrors my own jittery wonder about what are we all doing here.

I don’t try to run away from this despair.  Instead I tightly grasp my depression and hold on to it for dear life.  It is strange how I get comfort from this ritual and at the same time feel emotionally constipated.  I feel like a man submerged in fifty feet of water without any avenue of escape.  Do I want to die here is the question of the hour? The answer is no.  I just wish I could disappear from the landscape for a little while.

When I am in this state, I can’t seem to find a way to move out of the darkness.  The inertia keeps me trapped in self-pity.  Wait, that is not really the truth, that is only my depression talking and taking over.

When I get sick of feeling distraught, I think of ways to get out of this murkiness.  While I am at work, I focus on helping a teenager talk about the tragic death of his father.  I know I can do nothing to ease his pain, but by being attentive helps him grieve.  I feel a tremendous sense of reward and appreciation in this moment.  This experience also teaches me that I need to talk about what is troubling me.  I will talk to my wife about my gloom and I won’t be afraid to cry.

I know that exercise always makes me feel like the weight of the depression has lifted. Running and walking through the city elevates my spirits.

Listening to music allows the repressed anger and sadness to come out.  The anger and sadness flip-flop and travel from stomach to throat. Finally, a release, as a heavy flow of tears fall down my face.  I grieve for all the hatred and neglect in the world.  I know I can be a positive force to uplift others.  I am at peace with this wisdom.

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