DEPRESSION: AMANDA'S STORY - PART I

Her name was Amanda.  She had light brown hair and porcelain skin, the sun's kiss of freckles danced softly across her face and arms.  I'd met her through a mutual friend while we were in High School.  She was reserved, some might say shy.  A bit of an introvert until you got to know her, that is.  Amanda had a contagious laugh, and I recall her smile so vividly; it was all consuming.  She was an enigma to be sure.  To really know her was to see her insecurities, but also her courage and silent resolve.  She was generous, loyal, and faithful to what outsiders might consider a fault.  But it wasn't, it was a great strength; one that would empower her to rise from the ashes of grief, to love again.

I always knew Amanda would accomplish whatever she set her mind to, if nothing else, out of sheer determination.   And succeed, she did.  Oh, did I fail to mention she had just a teaspoon full of obstinance?  Not enough to be obnoxious, just the right amount, should my opinion count for anything.  Enough stubbornness to handle whatever life would throw at her, enough to survive.  Little did she know how invaluable that quality would be.  It would save her...more than once.

Life went on for us both.  Throughout the years we were in and out of touch with each other, yet time simultaneously stood still.  That's the mark of true friends:  having the ability to pick up where you leave off, we were and we did.  But one thing had changed, Amanda had a secret.  A secret that began 15 years after we graduated, one she'd wait another 20 to tell me.

Amanda and I reconnected a few years ago. I had shared my emotional struggles with her, and could tell her living situation wasn't as picture perfect as I'd imagined it would be.  Little by little she confided stories of fighting, financial pressure, misery, depression, and how trapped she felt
in her life.  After years of happiness, her partner had turned her back on everything she professed to love, and returned to her first love, alcohol. 
Her words shocked me.  But I knew Amanda, forbearing and persevering.  She wouldn't give up on the relationship until there was no shred of giving left to be done.  Far more giving than you or I would be capable of, after
what I considered to be too long, too much abuse, too much of everything, Amanda had reached the end of the most generous, tolerant heart you could know, she'd had enough, and ended the relationship.  One thing I love about Amanda, when she is done...she's done.

I asked Amanda to share her experience with us so we'd have an example of how a 'severely depressed functionally depressed' person can function (if I can make up terms).  It was the period of time I just skimmed the surface of, that I expected her to elaborate on.  I was quite surprised when she began to open up about something that happened 20 years prior.  Events she'd never told me about before.  Personal traumas creating a far more depressed per-son who somehow managed to continue showing up at work. 

This is the story of one brave woman's fight through the blackness of tragedy and depression.  It's an inspiration to us all, that we can walk on broken legs; fly with tattered wings; forge ahead, even when we lack the will to live.

This is Amanda's story...

"Severe depression didn't exactly sneak up on me, it slammed into me like
a freight train.  I'd met my partner of 15 years when I was 18, we'd been together ever since.  As far as I knew, things were great, we were young and in love.  We had good jobs, a lovely home, and spent time with family and friends.  It was the proverbial wonderful life.

Why is it negative life-events all seem to hit at once?  My partner's mother passed away that Spring, and I'd spent a grueling year working on a new system implementation at the office.  I'd been putting in 10 hour days, 6 days a week for months.  Physical and emotional exhaustion were becom-ing a way of life.  So were betrayal and deceit, I just didn't know it yet.

I came home from work one evening, late as usual, walked in to find my partner in bed...our bed...with a man I'd never seen before.  Needless to say, I was devastated.  I left the house and drove for hours.  I didn't know what else to do.  When I returned home the next day, I tried to talk to her about what had happened.  To my utter amazement, she felt she'd done nothing wrong, didn't think she'd been unfaithful or done anything to cause me pain.  She didn't even understand why I was so upset.  I couldn't wrap my mind around her offense, much less her callous disregard for its devastating effects on me.  I could feel the room spinning, hear my ears ringing; my life was crumbling around my feet.  What should I do?  Had she been repentant, perhaps we could work through it.  But this cavalier attitude?  I couldn't... wouldn't abide it, no matter how much I cared about her.  But one problem remained, where would I go?  The house we lived in had been purchased by her father. 

I spent the next couple of weeks looking for somewhere else to live.  My looking soon caused more finding than I'd bargained for.  I discovered I had almost $30,000 of debt due to credit cards she'd opened in my name.  Allowing her to pay the bills, while I just kept depositing my paychecks into the checking account, was a huge mistake; one from which I was destined to learn a hard lesson.

I'm virtually homeless, and discover I'm thousands of dollars in debt.  Despair was mounting like layers on a cake.  Where was I going to live?  What was I going to do?  The questions echoed through my mind relent-lessly.  Depression began to consume me.  I could conceive of only one solution: quit my job and move home with my parents.  My hope was to find a job near my hometown and payoff the debt, only then could I live
on my own.  Armed with what seemed to be the lone remedy, I went to my boss.


Join us next week for Part II of Amanda's Story

A STITCH IN TIME - PROCRASTINATION

Anxiety, depression, and procrastination drove a wedge between me and what had previously been my life.  I was crippled and disabled, paralyzed; lying in bed 22hrs a day. I cut myself off from everything and everyone;
even myself.  I couldn't sleep or eat.  My weight dropped to a dangerous
93 pounds.  I despaired to the point of death.  I welcomed it, prayed for it; contemplated it.  

Depressive procrastination was a relentless dictator; there was no leniency, no reprieve.  I was its slave.  Living on a merry-go-around of torment, I was depressed so I procrastinated; procrastination depressed me.  I seemed destined to ride the horse forever.  When the carni came to claim another token, it was time to ride or dismount.  With what little there was left of me, I made my resolve.

Regaining my will didn't make it so, there was something lacking in the doing.  How would I defeat this task master?  Procrastination seemed so much bigger than I.  It was a black hole from which there was no ladder to ascend.  I would have to face my giant as David had Goliath.  Alone.  My slingshots and stones would be schedules and lists.  I would fight one Philistine at a time. 

Procrastination deceives us all.  Its voice echoed through my mind like thunder, "you can't, you're too tired; rest first".  I whispered in rebut that exhaustion and depression would envelope me whether I moved or laid still. Why not pull myself up?  The words fell on my own deaf ears.  There was a cure prescribed but unless I followed through, to what avail the remedy?

With feeble hands, I scrawled my strategy; find the strength for one task per day. It seemed insurmountable.  But I'd been wrong, I was not alone. Calls to a friend empowered me as she talked me through my chores.

Depression awaited me when I awoke; the war was on.  Somehow I drew myself out from beneath the covers, and fulfilled unachievable demands.  Success collapsed me back into bed; tomorrow would come soon enough with battles of it's own.  But as energy was spent, there was a metamorphosis taking place, subtle in its transformation.  Marked with the powers of a chameleon, my inner self slowly took on the guise of energy.  I inhaled life with every breath expended toward tasks. 

My mind knew what was true, but the struggle lingered.  No doubt, to sur-vive would require an initial investment for later gain.  My coffers were empty but for one lone coin.  How could I give?  I would cling to the list; do one thing, one day at a time.  It was to be my widow's mite. 

When negative feelings slithered into my life, I had embraced them.  Doing so relieved immediate pressure but, at the reprisal, only served to prolong and compound it.  Procrastination increased my depression by reason of piling on anxiety over unaccomplished tasks and missed deadlines.  I've heard it said, "you cannot conquer what you will not confront" (Paula White-Cain).  If I wanted control of my life back, it was time to stop hiding; playing the victim.  The painful truth is, I procrastinate.  The power lies only within myself to overcome it. 


Until next time, remember you matter, you have something to contribute, and I hope you'll share it. 

DEPRESSION - AGORAPHOBIA

What you are about to read is only my opinion; it is the footprint of my journey out of depression.  I make no promise nor assertion that what has worked for me will work for you.  I can only share my story.  However, I do recommend depression sufferers seek professional help.  (If you feel suicidal, call 911 IMMEDIATELY).  - lesli

I'm still walking out of depression, myself.  You may wonder why I didn't wait until I was completely out before I started blogging about it.  My answer is twofold.  First, I think it's helpful to get beyond ourselves when fighting negative emotions; do the opposite of what we feel.  If we're feeling lonely, go visit someone in a nursing home; bake cookies and take them to a shut-in, etc.  While battling depression, it came to me it would be healthier to get my eyes outward, and try to help someone else out of this mess.  I can only help you to the degree I've helped myself.  These steps are ones I've taken and am standing on, ready to take the next. 

My desire is to be honest, transparent, and relatable.  In full disclosure, I'm reminded of what Paul said in Philippians 3:12-14...

^12 "Not that I have already obtained it [this goal of being Christlike] or have already been made perfect, but I actively press on ^[a]so that I may take hold of that [perfection] for which Christ Jesus took hold of me and made me His own. ^13 [b]Brothers and sisters, I do not consider that I have made it my own yet; but one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and reaching forward to what lies ahead, ¹⁴ I press on toward the goal to win the [heavenly] prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.

Footnote:

1. Lit even if I may. Paul knew that he could not really reach perfection in this life, but his goal was to “press on” as if it were attainable."

I may never get all this down in synchronized succession; I may just hit my own advice a fraction of the time.  That's ok; I intend to get as close to all the time as I can.  Forgetting my failures (what lies behind), I'm determined to press on toward being 100% depression free.  My purpose in writing this is to leave a path for you to follow. 

I want to focus on a little discussed phenomenon related to severe depres-sion, agoraphobia.  Don't be too quick to dismiss this issue, thinking it could never happen to you.  You'd be surprised at how subtly it creeps in, wraps it tentacles around you, and squeezes the breath of freedom from your body. 

Many times, severe depression and elevated anxiety run hand-in-hand.  Stop and examine your life and see if there isn't a remnant of truth in that for you, too.  The anxiety of which I speak, reveals itself through severe dread or stress related to leaving the house for things as simple as running to the store, going to doctor appointments, or as serious as going to work.  There's no logical reason for the anxiety, but it's there nonetheless.  You can even become anxious about being anxious; I did. 

Agoraphobia slowly engulfed me; so slowly, I didn't realize what was happening until it was too late. I was afraid to leave the house.  I could offer no rational explanation for my anxiety.  As soon as I started getting ready to go, sometimes as soon as I started thinking about leaving, I became paralyzed at the mere prospect of walking out the door.  It was crippling, and I knew it was a very serious situation.  I had to get it under control before I became one of those people who don't leave their home for years.  You may scoff, but this is precisely how those things can, and do begin. 

I was only leaving my house one day a week, and then only if I absolutely 
had to.  The only way I could successfully go out was to take Xanax and be
on the phone with my sister during the entire outing.   I'd be so emotionally exhausted by the time I got home, I'd collapse into bed; sick for the rest of the day.  Leaving the house continued to grow harder.  I was in trouble, but felt helpless to contend with the symptoms.  I knew I had to come up with a plan before my fate was sealed. 

The solution to my agoraphobia wouldn't be found in forcing myself to run errands for 8hrs a day.  I knew this battle would have to be fought with the same principle as everything else; one day/one thing at a time.  That will be a recurring theme throughout my battle with depression.  I don't really have any earth shattering revelations.  Just practical, common sense suggestions I hope will help you, as they've helped me.

I usually had to go to the store one day a week.  I didn't have much shopping to do, so thankfully, it was a short trip.  If I needed several items, I'd break my list down to what I had to have immediately, and make a list for the following week with the remaining items.  The point was to keep the trip as short as possible.  I got through it by calling my sister and staying on the phone with her throughout the duration of my outing.  Being on the phone is how I got through my outings for a long time.  I still felt anxious, but having her on the phone was enough of a distraction, I could get through it. 

The next thing I added to my day was walking the block and a half to my mailbox.  This got me out of the house and provided a touch of exercise.  It drew me outside without throwing me into a crowd, and triggering social anxiety.  The important thing was getting out daily.  Yes, when I first started, I had to be on the phone with my sister. 

I can now check the mail by myself, and make quick trips to the grocery store in the same day; without taking Xanax or being on the phone with my sister.  Sometimes I'm away from the house two or three days in one week, and I'm able to do three tasks when I'm out.  This is a huge success for me.

Just like gradually adding tasks to your daily schedule, you have to structure your outings.  Determine a specific time of day to go, and then don't let your emotions back you down.  This can be tough because you've got to fight both depression and anxiety to get out the door.  You can do it.  Remember, it's a decision, not a feeling.  I assure you, as I've continued making healthy decis-ions to leave the house, my feelings on the subject have improved.  Last week, I noticed I had no anxiety when I went to the grocery store.  That can just as easily be you.

How long did it take me to improve?  Honestly, a few months.  It may not take you as long as it took me, or it may take you a little longer.  I'd been battling agoraphobia for about 9 months, so I knew I wasn't going to conquer it overnight.  How long it takes isn't the issue; hanging in there until you have a breakthrough is.  You must press through the pressure of anxiety and depression.  Anxiety is a liar, and depression a thief.  Billions of people leave their homes every day, and nothing bad happens to them.  You aren't any safer by consequence of staying home than you're in peril outside.  Leaving the house isn't inherently dangerous. 

Start small if you have to; maybe a short walk to a safe place where you don't have to be around crowds.  Do that until you're comfortable; then try some-thing a little bigger.  Try going for a short drive; try driving to the store, but don't go in, and home again.  That can be your outing for the day.  The point is to start where you are.  Talk on the phone with a friend if necessary, and gradually work up to running your errand(s) by yourself.  Don't get overwhelmed; know in advance you'll have to (continually) do something different before your feelings are different.  Small steps and small victories; celebrate them both. 

If you'll stick with this one day/one thing at a time suggestion, I think you'll be surprised at how much easier it will be, not only to leave the house but, to walk out of depression altogether.


[note: do not drive while under the influence of Xanax, or any other anti-anxiety medication, if it makes you drowsy or causes impairment].

Until next time, please remember that you matter; you have something to contribute, and I hope you'll share it. 

DEPRESSION - PERSONAL HYGIENE

What you are about to read is only my opinion; it is the footprint of my journey out of depression.  I make no promise nor assertion that what has worked for me will work for you.  I can only share my story.  However, I do recommend depression sufferers seek professional help.  (If you feel suicidal, call 911 IMMEDIATELY).  - lesli

If you truly, earnestly want to be free from depression, you're going to have to do something about it before you'll feel the depressive mood lifted.  Very rarely does someone just become instantaneously free from depression.  Even with medication, there's often a remnant of depression left behind that you will have to contend with on your own.  Most people have to choose: will I fight through the quicksand of depression until my feet are free from its clutches, or will I allow myself to be sucked under?  We always have a choice to fight or surrender.  The painful reality is, surrendering is easier. 

I confess, throughout the years, I've had many opportunities to battle depression.  More often than I care to admit, my initial response was one of submission; I'm striving to change that legacy.  It would have been much faster to come out of depression had I not allowed myself to dive so deeply into it in the first place.  Had I resisted at the onset, I think I could have prevailed. I would have been attacking depression from a stronger foothold than waiting until I'd been buried beneath it for months, or years.  Some-times it's a short-term battle; waves of depression hit you for a few days or a week at a time.  I still recommend employing the same behavioral modifi-cations.  Why allow depression to squander even one day of your life?

My ultimate objective will be cutting depression off at the pass; avoiding
the pitfalls of entertaining depressive thoughts and behaviors at their incipience.  For now, we're operating from the presumptive standpoint that we've already begun to drown beneath the cesspool of depression, and are in desperate need of a lifeline's guidance to shore. 

In this and the subsequent posts, I want to delve further into a concept I call, "one task, one day at a time".  I'd also like to expose some secondary complications of depression that can wreak havoc in our lives if we're not aware of them.  Once armed with a plan,  we'll be empowered to overcome them at the onset.

My personal first step was to admit to myself, and a trusted confidant, the truth of how deeply I was battling depression.  One suggestion I will make, is that you seriously consider seeking professional help; doing so with the knowledge that medication won't magically rid you of depression. I believe having the expectation that merely taking a pill(s) will make you totally symptom free, is setting yourself up not only for failure, but for the potential abuse of prescription drugs.  That mindset can cause you to seek constant increases in doses or stronger medications, hoping to find 100% relief.  I'm of the opinion that antidepressant medications only serve the purpose of taking the edge off the most overwhelming components of depression, so we might then work to overcome the remainder of them through cognitive and behavioral modification.  Again, that's my opinion; it's how I approach depression.  My personal long range goal is to be depression free.  At the very least, I want the ability to manage my depressive symptoms with the lowest dose of medication possible; if I have to take it at all. 

In my last post, I lightly touched on our need to ask the hard question, did we want to be free from depression, and simply accepting ourselves where we were with the answer.  I introduced the concept of doing just one task a day.  Eluded to ascribing a specific time of day to do it, and holding fast to its accomplishment no matter the emotional battle that ensued.  I'll add, it's not the task or its size that matters so much as making the decision to do it and following through. 

Though I wholeheartedly recommend doing one task a day, don't condemn yourself if you don't. Be careful not to give yourself an excuse to do nothing.  If all you can manage is to crawl out of bed and put on a pair of socks, do it. Focus on what you did, not on what you didn't do. Do something a little bigger the next day.   I would encourage you to get totally dressed; it helps immensely.  Try to wear real clothes; not just sweats. 

If you're a female, as you feel stronger, work toward the goal of washing your face before going to bed.  Once you're doing that on a consistent basis, add putting your makeup on in the morning, and find an easy way to fix your hair.  Chances are, you won't really fix your hair until you're showering consistently, but find something acceptable to do with it in the meantime (put it up in a clip, etc).  Men, maybe you need to work up to shaving.  You'll be surprised at how simple daily tasks of taking care of yourself will make you feel better.  These activities can have a transformative effect on us, if we'll let them.

With success gaining momentum behind us, my original plan was to talk about another tentacle of severe depression that can have devastating effects on your life; agoraphobia.  However, we'll table that topic until next week, as I've been asked to discuss another issue. I agree it's of great value; Personal Hygiene. 

If you've been severely overcome with depression, especially if it's been for a prolonged period of time, it's highly possible your personal hygiene habits have suffered along with the rest of your life.  This subject can bring shame and embarrassment; therefore, a person may shy away from discussing it, even with their therapist.  I'll touch on it only for the purpose of exposing that it is a very common symptom of severe depression.  If poor personal hygiene has become part of your depressive state, you're not abnormal and you're not alone.  Secondly, I want to offer a realistically attainable goal for walking out of this cycle.

When you're already crippled by depression, it isn't realistic to expect to return to showering daily in one fell swoop.  You need a plan you can commit to and actually accomplish.  Remember, setting unrealistic goals is only setting yourself up for failure.  People who've never suffered from severe depression don't understand how you can feel so loathsome toward yourself; so exhausted when doing nothing, that taking care of yourself requires more strength and effort than you can supply.  But if this topic rings true to you on any level, keep reading. 

For the purposes of my example, let's say you're only able to make yourself shower once every 7 days.  Simply start where you are, and employ a one day at a time method of reduction. Each week, shower one day earlier than the week before.  If you've been showering once every 7 days, force yourself to shower on the 6th day this week.  Yes, I said force yourself; chances are that's exactly what you'll have to do.  You can do it; it's only one day.  I think you'll be surprised at the sense of accomplishment you'll feel.  The next week, take your shower on the 5th day; the 4th day the following week, and so on.  Each week, you're shaving one day off the number of days between showers; soon you'll work your way back to showering daily.  If you get
stuck on a day, say on showering every 4 days, don't beat yourself up.
Acknowledge your victories; know what feels like defeat, is merely a challenge. 

Now you're taking your shower every 4 days instead of every 7; that's a huge success!  If once every 4 days is all the pressing through the pressure you can do right now, then do it with pride.  My only caution is that we make sure we're not afraid of the pressure or challenge.  Being challenged doesn't mean you can't succeed.  Being pressured doesn't mean you're being crushed. Basically, we need to make sure we're not procrastinating or giving up.  If once every 4 days is the best you can do for a couple of weeks, do it without condemnation.  But do it ready and willing to move to the 3rd day as soon as you genuinely can. 

It's possible, even probable, you may not feel like changing.  You may still feel the heavy burden and dread of getting into the shower...until you're actually there.  Once in, you may realize it's not such a big deal, and wonder why it ever felt so overwhelming.  My point is, if we wait until we feel like changing, we won't change.  It's all about making healthy life decisions; a commitment to live by wise choices, not based on how we feel. 

Obviously, the improved hygiene phase will take several weeks to master, which is perfectly ok.  While working on it, I hope you'll allow music to be a part of your life; it can be very healing.  Try listening to uplifting music at least 30 minutes a day.  I believe you'll begin to see joy return to your dry soul; I know it's been working for me. Please continue accomplishing at least one task per day, even though it's hard to do.  Reward yourself in some small way for accomplished goals; buy yourself a candy bar, a cappuccino, or watch a favorite TV show, etc.

I believe how we feel will change over time.  In all honesty, even if it doesn't, personally, I would rather have the results of wise/healthy decision making than the fruit of decisions born from the abyss of my depression. 


Until next time, please remember that you matter; you have something to contribute, and I hope you'll share it. 

SILENT SHAME - DEPRESSION

I thought I was the only one.  And then I learned that friends, relatives, maybe even you had been touched by the black monster of depression.  A beast that has too long lived within the shadows of silent shame, depress-sion can carry the stigma of abnormality.  I share my struggle in the hope of exposing the lies it feeds the hearts and minds of those it consumes, and
leave a footprint of my journey out.  (If you feel suicidal, call 911 immedi-ately) - lesli

Where am I to begin?  Life had pressed me beyond the weight I was constructed to bear.  I buckled like a coffee table on which an elephant 
had been placed.  I wasn't weak; just not designed to carry this load.  I collapsed; buried beneath the rubble of what once had been my life.  All felt lost to hopelessness and helplessness.  My cries evaporated like vapors on the night air.  I couldn't speak; no one heard my silent pleas.  I lay suspend-ed between life and death, a never ending phonograph playing in my mind; go, rest in peace.

Would I? Would I have peace, now or ever? As if lying at the pool when the waters were stirred, the question whispered within me, was I in earnest to be made whole? We must all ask the question and accept ourselves where we are.  There is no victory in deceit. 

Like a paralytic able to move nothing but my eyes, I looked up.  I saw only
the bottomless pit of despondency.  I looked up anyway.  My eyes searching through the debris of depression for some vision of a better day.  In the far distance, I saw what appeared to be a glimmer of light; I fixed my gaze upon it.  It was harder than I anticipated.  It required the determination of wanting to believe there could be something better, even though I couldn't see it now.  

I tried not to berate myself for faithlessness; others would do that for me.  But loathsome thoughts beat upon my mind like waves upon the rocks. 
In my heart I believed there could be more but, before the leap from the bowels of hell to heights of an abundant life, hope and courage would have to find me and I was so very lost.  

Physically weakened by despair and despondency, I could scarcely move.  Daily activities were a distant memory for me.  My only hope of regaining control was by accomplishing one small task each day; it took all my strength and determination.  At the appointed time, like an actor in a scripted roll, I would perform regardless of the emotional pressure to ignore the curtain call. 

As the weight of rocks continued their pressing, a song began wafting up from beneath the devastation.  It filled the air with comfort and courage; soothing the savage beast that had consumed me. Music was a welcomed friend.  She'd been distant far too long.  I had abandoned her, but she flew to my rescue on the wings of angels; hope was at her side.  As I listened to her melody, my heart was gladdened; joy was reborn within my withered soul.  A ray of sunlight glistened through the darkness.  A fresh breeze brushed over my soot covered face; perhaps dawn breaks even after the blackest of nights.

I've heard it said, the height of a building correlates to how deeply the foundation is dug. That, how far an arrow is intended to fly the farther back it must be pulled in the bow (Bishop TD Jakes, paraphrased).  I don't yet know if that is true.  Perhaps the height and distance are meant to come as others benefit from my depth and stretching.  If so, you will soar and touch the sky.   


Until next time, remember that you matter; you have something to contribute, and I hope you will share it. 

WHEN THE BOUGH BREAKS

He had my son's frame, the eyes were wrong.  The voice too harsh.  The gait familiar, the hairline true.  The countenance bore no resemblance.  I didn't know him. 

I groped through the darkness, sifting through alibies to find him.  Where had he gone?  Only yesterday he laughed and played in green grass. I looked through the window and watched.  Today the swing sits empty.  The glass between us etches visions of a cement playground part of me built.  I was complicit.

They said they understood.  Amidst their sincerity, no clue. Void of benefit, good intentions bode far better than whispers and glances others thought I couldn't perceive.  None knew the weakness it caused, the strength needed to walk my path.  Neighbor's perfect children would never fall into this abyss of deceit.  Mine was perfect, too.  I was the fool.

Young mother, rebellion.  Rejection, wrong crowd.  Poor decisions, lost dreams.  Falling for lies, a simpler choice.  He was addicted.  I was afraid. 

Hate engulfed my angel.  Hell, my home of peace.  The deeper he delved into tunnels of forgetfulness, the higher violence rose to the surface.  I was alone. 

Desperate to save his soul, I raced to his side.  My efforts to lift him from darkness, blackened his night all the more.  I enabled him.

Endless years of wonderings and weariness brought me to my knees; nothing left.  Only he can break the spell.  How much farther it would drive him, no one else cared.  I am broken hearted.

Praying, hoping.  Wishing, waiting. Someday, somehow. Perhaps this is the end. Turning, returning the glimmer to his eye.  We will be free. 

FOUR SQUARE PEGS

The transition to high school is rarely one of ease.  For some of us I dare say it was a cold, lonely unhallowed hall of clicks and clubs, haves and have nots.  Those on the proverbial inside aligned shoulder to shoulder with those of us who were seemingly destined to remain on the out.

As if blind, we groped around in the darkness of our teen years searching to find a place we truly fit.  We were square pegs personified; square pegs amidst an ocean of round holes.  There were four of us:  Marty, Kim, Tina S., and yours truly.  Individually, I suppose we were precisely that; lost little square pegs.  But every square has four corners; when together we created our own square hole.  Together we were our own place of belonging; of fitting in.

I’d become friends with Tina soon after moving to Rossville, KS.  I still remember the hours of fun we shared dancing to music blaring from the jukebox in the basement of her family home, like the silly grade school girls we were.  Tina had a sense of justice; right and wrong were as clear as black and white to her.  She was strong; opinionated and outgoing.  Her smile lit up any room, as did the flash of lightening in her eyes at foul play.  She was one of the most loyal friends I'd ever have; I just didn't know it yet. 

Marty and I became closer friends as we hit Junior High.  She could beat up the boys, and I remember thinking how cool that made her.  Marty couldn’t stand seeing someone picked on. Her righteous indignation toward the cruel and unfair treatment of others is what initially endeared her to me, finding myself on the receiving end of merciless torture at the hands of one boy in particular. To be honest, the details are a bit hazy now, all but those of Marty coming to my rescue. From that day on, there was never a shadow of doubt in my mind that, should I ever find myself in a perilous situation, Marty would be there.  She always was.

It wasn’t until high school that I met Kim.   

Ahhhh, Kim.  Tough as nails, but a heart as big as the world.  I think what I liked the most about Kim was that she refused to be anything she was told she had to be.  Kim wasn't going to change who she was to make you like her.  Take her or leave her; though one might want to hurry up and decide. 

I was suspicious Kim struggled with the same insecurities I did.  Actually, I suspected Marty and Tina did, too.  If they did, they never let on.  They seemed to have a way of being who they were and making no apologies for it.  I admired that about them; was drawn to it in them.

Our Junior year, the four of us began to get really close; if close is measured by the amount of time spent together, which it isn’t.  We had some crazy times; probably did a few things we technically shouldn’t have done.  But we never did drugs, or much of anything our parents needed to know about.  Though I will admit, 5th hour Geography class was certainly a lot more bearable when the four of us had gone to lunch together.  That’s all I have to say about that!  

High School was particularly difficult for me.  Insidiously insecure, and not a clue of understanding how or why people could be so senselessly mean.  I was involved in several clubs, teams and activities.  I was never particularly good at any of them except for music, but the teachers and I seemed to constantly be at odds.  Compounded by typical high school heartache, it was a rough four years.

It wasn’t that I had no friends in school.  I did; had some great ones.  But there was something I found, and hopefully shared, in my friendships with Marty, Tina, & Kim that was difficult, if not impossible, to find within the walls of a High School.  I found acceptance; freedom to simply be "me" without fear of judgment or rejection.  Unconditional acceptance and unconditional love; the two most important things every person, certainly every teenager, needs.

We've all grown up gone our separate ways.  I was bad about staying in touch, and in the whirlwind of life managed to lose track.  For the record, I really regret that.  We had Class Reunions: 5yr, 10yr, 15, 20; just last month celebrated our 30yr Reunion.  No matter where I was living at the time, I went back; always hoping to see those three girls.  The girls who had completed a square hole for this square peg.  

I received word that Kim was tragically killed in a motorcycle accident yesterday.  Less than a month ago we were together at our Reunion; her laugh still so contagious.  Marty tracked Tina down, and the three of us met her outside the Reunion Hall. One last time, the four of us were together.  Marty, Kim, and I grieved for Tina; the struggles of life we saw etched on her face.  I marveled at the love we all still had for each other.  So many years had passed but nothing, not even the inability to spend time together, had changed the fact that we still loved each other unconditionally.

Many years have passed since we walked the halls of RHS.  We’ve grown up, and we’ve changed, but in some respects remained unmistakably the same.  It took many years to outgrow the insecurities that were so crippling to me when I was young.  We all struggle with things from time to time but for the most part, the ghosts are gone. 

I believe the courage to discover who I am and the strength to remain true to myself began all those years ago when three other square pegs accepted me, and unwittingly taught me to love and accept myself as unconditionally as I did them.

Though in death she has now been separated from us, Kim will forever be in our hearts, and her fingerprints eternally embedded in the foundation stones of our lives.  

Sleep comes to us all.  For some like my friend, Kim, it has come way too soon.  We will mourn our loss, grieve for her family; cry for ourselves.  Eventually we will surrender to the healing peace of God to bring comfort to our now aching hearts.  We will think back on our brief time together with new perspective; a reminiscent fondness of the good old days when we were young and knew so little of life.   

At the end of the matter, we will embrace the truth “love remains”.  

Rest in peace, Kim.