"I go to nature to calm down and heal and cleanse my senses." ~ John Burroughs
I sat sobbing on the front bend and could not move. Leaning forward like a hovering dog hugging my knees and holding a bunch of decaying tissue. About fifteen minutes before, I'd managed to get away from the couch where I'd spent the fourth consecutive day wilting and parked absent-mindedly, and I'd made it through the front door.
When I got there, I tried to stay upright, but I slid down the side of the wrought iron railing like cool syrup and onto the stairs. Now all I had to do was get up and go to the mailbox and back, and maybe I would feel better. But I could not do it. It was too much.
I lifted my loaded head from my knees and stared out the driveway to the mailbox, which was about 200 yards away. It could just as well have been ten miles … or fifteen feet. It did not matter, it was too far.
"Please only help me get up," I implored a gloomy sky. The help did not come, so I sat there crying, searching for the energy or the essentials to move. Fifteen minutes, twenty minutes, twenty-five … time has passed and is distorted.
It had happened before and had overtaken me with different speed and intensity. Sometimes it came to terms with the change of seasons; Like an inflatable pool toy that floated past the sad and withered end of the summer, and its air leaked in infinitesimal amounts. Sometimes I could fight it off, catch it before it got too dark. Not this time. I felt myself spinning down and hot wind escaping me until I lay on the sofa in a hollow pile, limp and limp.
It had happened a few years ago, though it was not that bad, and a squeamish classmate had suggested that I should just "snap out"!
"Just … rausschnappen?" I repeated.
"Yes !! Get out! "
"It's not that easy," I said.
"Sure it is! As the song says, "Make a happy face!"
"Are you kidding me now?"
"No, I'm not kidding," she said. "It's all about matter, just distract yourself by doing something that makes you happy, stop thinking about it … you know, stop it!"
I looked at the woman in disbelief and thought, "Just get out. Gee. Why did not I think of this? "
Another friend asked, "Why do not you just ask for help when things get bad?"
"Because you can not do it," I said
"What do you mean that you can not do it? Just pick up the phone and ask for help, it takes two seconds!"
"I mean, you can not, not when you're in the deep, that's the sneaky thing about it, if you need help, you can least ask about it."
"That makes no sense," the friend replied. "If you are sick call the doctor If your car breaks down, take it to a mechanic If you have an alcohol problem, go to AA If you need help, ask for help!"
"It's like telling somebody trapped under a piano to go to the phone and call the movers," I mocked. "You just can not do that"
"Of course you can! You're not really caught under a piano and not paralyzed, are you? "
"Well, no, it's obviously a metaphor, but in a sense you're … paralyzed, I mean."
"Oh, come on … I think you're a bit dramatic."
"And I think they are repellent and simplify it too much."
"Because it's pretty simple, just ask for help."
"I think I can not tell you anything to understand what it feels like, I just do not know how to explain it, if you've never experienced it."
"I think if anyone needs help, they should ask for it."
I sighed and said, "Maybe the name says it all. It's a good name for how you feel. "Depression": There is the word "depression" like a hole in the floor, and you definitely feel stuck in a hole. And there is depression in the sense that something presses on you. It feels absolutely as if a physical weight holds you down. It is inexplicably difficult. It's hard in your head. It is heavy in your lungs. It is heavy in your body. Sometimes, when it's really bad, it's almost impossible to move. "
"Almost impossible … but not impossible," said my friend. "You could still answer the phone."
Okay … anyway …
But that was then and today I was alone. No unbelievers who convert, still encouraging conversations to distract themselves.
Medications had worked to a degree and only for a while. The fight for proper prescription and dosage along with the ever-growing list of side effects had proven too much. I also swore that I could feel the drugs in my system, and they poisoned me for want of a better name, and I could not stand it. So I dropped off my medication under the guidance of my doctor.
I had found that intense, deliberate and physical exercises were the best way for me to loosen the grip of despair and keep it at bay. As I slowly lengthened the time I spent walking and running, my doctor closely followed my progress. It had worked. It was my magic pill, and like any recipe, I absolutely had to take it or face relapse.
I had found that the more / less I trained the more / less I wanted and the better / worse I felt. it persisted in both directions, and in the last few months I had become lazy; my laziness became discomfort, the malaise had become despair, and despair had brought me here. Sitting slowly and drearily between spitting sky and dirt road.
It was late September in Mid-Coast Maine. The days got shorter and winter would not be long in coming. Hibernation has always been a struggle and it has been harder to get my mood under control. The window of opportunity closed. If I could not do it right away, there would be no escape without medical intervention. I had to move my body for my mind to follow, it was the only way out that would happen now or not at all.
I had to dig deep, dig up a few tiny untapped reserves, maybe the survival instinct, and push myself back against the dark with everything I had left.
Okay. At one … two … three … I took a deep breath and slowly rolled out of the step on my hands and knees into the little dusty stones. I looked to the end of the driveway on the empty road and the pine trees behind it and then looked at the mailbox. Just come there. Creep, if you must, but go.
I slipped a few meters forward on all fours and the sharp pebbles stung my knees and palms. "I think you're a bit dramatic …" I rolled my eyes and set my jaw open. I leaned back on my heels, squeezing my hands and moving into a four-point squat. I sat there for a minute, then moved on, fingers spread on the floor, I put my belt pouch in the air, grabbed my thighs one at a time and pulled myself up.
Arms crossed over stomach and chest, bent and trembling, I hugged myself. Move. Move your feet With tiny steps, in steps of half a foot, I shuffled forward. right, left, pause … right, left, pause … "God, it's so hard." Go on, keep going …
In recent years, I've become an athlete, a trail runner. I walked twenty-five or thirty miles a week and went up and down the ski slopes in the summer, but then I could barely move. There was nothing physically wrong with me, but the depression is an autocrat and I fell under its totalitarian rule. It forbade me to move with my normal grace and ease, leaving me tied up and tied up instead … but I kept going.
"You should die from it," I breathed loudly. "If there is a true, proportionate cause and effect, the feeling that it is so bad should fairly kill a person."
"But it's not like that, it's squeezing life out of you, but it's not really killing you."
I was halfway to the mailbox. I did not pick up my feet, just pushed her back and forth like a sick penguin and left skid marks. It hurt to move, it hurt to breathe.
"Please help me," I turned my face up and implored the misty sky. "Please give me a sign. I need something, anything, so I know it's worth it. If you do that, I promise that I will believe it and will not give it up. I promise, I will continue. "Right, left, right, left." I approached the mailbox with tears flowing, my body aching.
I got no sign, no random flash of light or thunder, only the sound of the breeze in the pines and my feet scratching in the pebbles.
When I was about ten feet away, I reached out an arm, right, left, right, left, almost there … and reached … fingertips touching the cold, damp metal. "I did it," I shouted weakly. Maybe there's something in the mail today … Maybe that's my sign. I opened the box and peeked inside. Nothing. Just a flyer from the market with its weekly specials – not even real mail, just more junk.
But with or without a shield I had made it.
Oh … god … I turned around and stared uncomprehendingly down the driveway to the house with my Kleenex and the stupid flyer. Now I have to do it again. It has been so far. "Leave it behind and then you can do it."
I breathed in and started back … right, left, right, left, right, left, I resumed my melancholic march. My eyes were fixed and yet something moved high in a tree trapped in my periphery … a bird; maybe a crow or a raven.
I paused and looked up, and then he just fluttered his wings and stood upright on his pole. The huge chocolate-colored body and the magnificent white crown were also unmistakable at this distance.
Bald eagles were common up here, but this was no ordinary creature, and I knew it. Strength, pride, strength, mother nature save again. Yes, that was my eagle and I understood the message he brought. I sniffed, pulled my damp sleeve over my nose and cheek and nodded. "Okay," I whispered. "Thank you, that's good, I can do that"
I picked up speed again. Right, left, right, left. I'm a runner, I'm an athlete, I eat hills for breakfast, damn it. Go on. With outstretched hand, I grabbed the railing and climbed the three steps up to the house. I made it back, though hardly, and let myself in.
I pulled off my wet clothes and wrapped myself in my performance and a fluffy robe. I would get something to eat, I thought, take a hot shower, go to bed and watch TV. I still felt hellish, but I did. I would go to sleep tonight and tomorrow morning, first, I told myself, I would go back to the mailbox … and maybe a little further.
* * * *
If, after years of abuse, a person removes some kind of toxicity from their lives or stops accepting their chosen drug in any form, they discover all sorts of things about themselves that may be masked or wrong for their addictions ,
One of the things I discovered when I became sober was a severe depression that I attributed to alcoholism. I was wrong, they were not one and the same. However, they were parasitic to each other, two separate units that fed each other.
What came first, the depression or the alcoholism, I have no idea and honestly I did not really care. My drug abuse has certainly exacerbated my depression, but the attitude has not healed it. I had chronic, sometimes debilitating attacks of despair.
My first 12-step sponsor suggested that we meet for weekly walks at the city reservoir, a 3000-acre forest reserve dotted with pristine watersheds. It should be a transformative practice.
Once a week, we walked on a popular three-mile loop and talked. Among other things, I learned a quote that I believe will save my life: "Move a muscle, change a thought."
This quote introduced me to the theory that the physical movement of the body helps to eliminate negativity and promote a healthy thinking process. It also led me back to my love of the forest that I had long ago denied alcoholism.
The activity became so enjoyable that I started visiting my new like-minded friends for a "walk in the res", building healthy relationships in a quiet environment, and finally going off alone.
I went around after work when the days were long and I hiked for hours on sunny weekend mornings. I have often seen deer, even a deer with their fawn. It made me relax and smile, which may not sound like much, but for me, sick as I was, it was a big deal.
Surrounded by the gentle shapes and sounds of the forest, the rustle of the breeze on the leaves, the sound of the water moving over rocks in the streams, and the song of the birds in the trees, and the luscious smell and feeling the earth under my feet, I found the magical world that I had claimed as a girl and then left behind.
Alone in nature I found peace as an adult and my first feelings of joy. I had forgotten that there was joy, let alone that it was something that was available to me. Not to be underestimated, it has also kept me busy away from dangerous environments and temptations.
As luck grew in my heart and my healthy body returned, I began to make short runs. It was not easy, but I stuck to it and gradually challenged myself physically, mindfully and with impunity. The endorphins released during walks and hikes increased proportionally with the pace, distance and demand of the terrain.
I felt strong, happy and strengthened. literally and intentionally altering the chemical balance in my brain. With the blessing and guidance of my therapist, I slowly replaced my antidepressants with purposeful, targeted exercises and was proud to increase my active participation in my recovery under the watchful eye of my doctor.
After a few years, I swapped regular visits with my shrink for the occasional check-up by a sports doctor. Nature was at the center of my spiritual healing and running and walking had become my medicine. And like any drug, if I kept taking it, it would continue to work, and if I did not …
****
Day after day, I had given one excuse after another to undermine my commitment to exercise and disturb my healthy routine, but I had just flaked it off. "No big deal," I told myself. "I'll come back to it tomorrow."
But my "mornings" summed up and before I realized it, the momentum was lost and the pendulum swung. Then my relationship collapsed. My conditional answer would have been to leave it out; Take my anger and pain into the forest and leave it there instead of turning it inside. But it was too late. My depression had already set and had appeared before me. Instead of getting on the track, I rolled down and hit the couch … and I stayed there for days. It was a very difficult lesson, but I learned it. I have not made this mistake yet.
Today, almost twenty years after my long journey to the mailbox, I have a million things to do. But first I ran.
I know, I have to train primarily on purpose and celebrate the small victories, if only I can make a short walk. If you are depressed, it can be difficult to see, but small profits are still profits.
If you're having trouble, I understand that. I know you can not just come out. I know it's hard to ask for help. I know you may need medication, and there's nothing wrong with that. But maybe you find it helpful to get out of my head, go outside and move.
If there is one thing I have learned, it is never to underestimate the healing power of physical activity and Mother Nature.
About Amie Gabriel
A holistic well-being expert, certified yoga, meditation and group fitness instructor specializing in physical and mental fitness, women's wellness, 12-step recovery, grief and grief counseling Depression and celebration joy. Amie creates mind-boggling, nature-based programs and retreats that focus on the inseparable connection of mind / breath / body / mind / purpose. Her work has been shown at Canyon Ranch Lenox and Tucson, the Mayflower Inn and Spa, the Washington Depot, Silver Hill Hospital and New Canaan, Virginia. She has written a book on healing through holistic wellbeing, due to be published in 2020.
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