Our local rag-The Denver Post-ran a front page story on September 3 with the headline, “Mental Health Issues Spike.”  (I tried to find the on-line version to link it here, but no dice.  Why?  Not sure.  The Post’s internet pipeline is as shriveled as the paper’s hard copy version?)

Whatever.  The article describes the bulging caseloads of mental health therapists as they attempt to cope with the growing number of Americans who are depressed and anxious about what they’re seeing every morning on the front page.  And every night on their TV screens.  COVID.  Riots.  Joblessness. An acrimonious election.

And, according to the article, the actual percentage of American adults suffering from depression?  About fifty.  And who can blame them?  What’s not to be depressed about?

Feel.  Felt.  Found.

Back in our Amway days, we were members of the “Tape of the Week” club.  I enjoyed them.  Usually recordings of the good ol’ southern boys who seemed to form the backbone of the business, they were often laugh-out-loud funny.  And they almost always had some sales tips that sounded like they couldn’t possibly fail to persuade a “prospect” to get into the business with us.  At least, until, those tips first encountered “the enemy”, i.e., the prospect.  At which point I experienced, over and over, the maxim, “No battle plan ever survives first contact with the enemy.”

One line I was particularly taken with when trying to overcome an objection was, “I know how you feel.  I felt the same way.  But this is what I found out.”  No idea how many times I tried that.  But I can tell you how many times it actually worked:  zero.  

Go ahead.  Call me a slow learner.  But we’re not talking Amway here.  We’re talking depression.  And I’ve certainly been more “successful” jousting with that than I ever was with Amway prospects.

The Worst Of Times

And for those of you who are depressed by all the stuff going on, I know how you feel.  For the first several months after COVID slumped down on our heads like a wet blanket, I was nearly paralyzed.  Especially, and most importantly, in terms of blogging.  Sure, I could sit in front of the keyboard.  And I could workout.  I could go for walks.  Reading?  Sure.  But productive writing?  Not on your life.  And the longer it went on, the worse it got.  A vicious downward spiral.

Bet Your Bottom Dollar There’ll Be Sun

When did it finally relent?  Not really sure.  But I do know that, come rain or shine, I sat down in front of that computer screen day after day.  Even when nothing came.  And eventually the gloom lifted.  Even as the storm clouds beyond my office window got more threatening as spring rolled into summer.

And the probable, grim alternative to this small universe that my life had shrunk down to during those difficult days earlier this year?  You guessed it: lots of TV.  Talk about the cure being worse than the disease. Especially when you consider the steady diet of Frank Azar’s “Strong Arm”, commercials that make any extended stay in front of the tube almost inevitable.

I Know, I Know.  I’ve Got It Easy.  

Now, I know that my problems probably aren’t as bad as yours.  I’m retired.  I have a secure income.  The kids are grown, out of the house and doing a good job of taking care of themselves.  My wife and I generally get along well.  No doubt, I’m blessed.

But are you bipolar like I am?  Not likely.  It afflicts a bit less than 3% of American adults.  And I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.

But it does have certain advantages over your garden variety depression.  It’s a pretty well recognized diagnosis.  There are effective medications to treat it.  And, at least in my case, after about 10 years of wrestling with this demon I know the wisdom of “keeping your friends close, but your enemies closer.”  And that’s what I’ve tried to do.

Take It From One Who Knows

Winston Churchill, who suffered from depression-and had a way with words-called it his “Black Dog.”  I like that way of putting it.  Ominous.  Menacing.  It’s all that-and more.  And however it begins nipping at your heels, either by nature (genetics) or nurture (environment), it’s not to be trifled with.  Suicide takes the lives of over 48,000 people a year in this country.  And, believe me, they’re not killing themselves because they’re happy.

And, given all the tumult and uncertainty in the US at present, that’s not a number likely to go down any time soon.  So, if the Black Dog is stalking you, run-don’t walk-to the nearest place where you can get some help.