Being a glider

I was trying to think how to decribe sliding into depression, whether you are experiencing from some events, situations or circumstances in life or you're, like me, suffer from Dysthymia and fall into a moderate to deeper depression. It's hard to describe to people who haven't experienced it, and it is different between the two types, being predisposed to it or just experiencing it from something else.

And as usual, I still have 4 am conversations with myself, sitting on the deck watching the night slowly slip into the daylight. Feeling the silence - actually all the noises from nature to the trains in the distance, of the hours after people are home and before people leave for work. There with my coffee and the darkness.

It usually makes for a good environment to let the imagination soar and be set free to explore wherever it goes. And to imagine conversations with oneself. We all do this, it's often some of the most productive time people have, somewhere between sleep with dreams and being alive and active doing what you love. Some people prefer real conversations over imaginary ones. And I like both, nothing better than one with friends at a tavern discussing the universe and everything in it.

And so, today I imagined being a glider, or sailplane as some call them. Once you're released by the tow plane, you soar on thermals and follow the wind. You're so high you never felt better or more alive. And you know one thing, you can't fall. You see, unlike conventional aircraft, a glider literally can not fall, it has to glide down in a spiral in a fight between its maximum descent rate and the air.

The key is that once you begin a descent because you've lost the thermal keeping you up, there isn't much you can do, except glide down in a spiral, looking for a thermal to level out or even ascend again, or find a place to land the glider on the ground, preferably safe, like an airport, but sometimes a field, a road or some place worse. The odds usually aren't in your favor until you can find a place to land and try as you might with the plane to get there.

And that's what it's like, a slow downward spiral in mental space. You can't stop falling, the best you can is find a mental thermal to stop descending. And if not, keep going until you land somewhere, somewhere you can sit in your darkness wondering where the warmth and light went. But you do know you've stopped falling. That's what's important. And you can begin to find some peace where you are and some way to think through what to do.

There are other ways of falling into depression, mostly it's a sudden freefall, like stepping over the edge of a cliff into an abyss so dark you can't see the bottom, and you fall into the darkness, surrounding by the silence of it until you stop. Either way, falling or gliding, you're there, at the bottom with no sign of light and no sense of up down or sideways, not unlike a diver so deep in the ocean your only guide are your own air bubbles.

All of my periods of depression have been gliding. I've found myself on the edge of my own grand canyon and stepped off to glide into the abyss, and then to find bottom in the warmth of the darkness and quiet. It is its own world and you are in your own world. Reality and the rest of the world is imaginary. This is your reality.

And the way out, back to normal sanity? The same way you fell, slowly gliding. You need to find and nuture a mental thermal, and ride it until it ends, level and find a new thermal. There's not easy or quick solution or exit back, and, in my opinion, drugs aren't the answer except in extreme cases. Nor is therapy to some extent. The answers are always there. Just there in front of you.

But in the darkness they're hard to see, let alone grasp. Once you do, though, it's still a fight to keep from falling back or down again. It's both a conscious and subconscious fight, or more a dialog with yourself. You have to believe in yourself, sometimes blindly and sometimes without a thought if it's right or wrong, just believe. Some don't and often don't survive in this world.

The darkness is pervasive when you're at the bottom, and sometmes, when it begins to feel warm and comfortable, you think you have an answer. It is one answer, the one many don't like, and often criticize. That's not fair or right, but having never been there, they don't know any better. It's their own ignornace and naivety, and their own arrogance for criticizing.

And before you argue I'm not accepting the professionals and their solutions, namely either drugs or therapy, I'm not. There are times and there are people best served by either or both. But, in my view and experience, they're often just short term answers to longterm issues individuals have with themselves. If professionals can help that, great, but it's not a given or the only answer.

And so, that's my thoughts from a 4 am conversation this morning. And the morning comes through the fog in the lowland and the clouds above. I'm still aloft and haven't crashed in some time, although I've lost my thermals at times. Nothing new, and I know what to do.