From time to time I experience a Dark Night of the Soul. It is defined on Wikipedia as:
Dark Night of the Soul (Spanish: La noche oscura del alma) is the title of a poem written by 16th century Spanish poet and Roman Catholic mystic Saint John of the Cross, as well as of a treatise he wrote later, commenting on the poem. The expression has since become a metaphor used to describe a phase in a person's spiritual life, marked by a sense of loneliness and desolation. It is referenced by spiritual traditions throughout the world, but in particular by Christianity.
I was always familiar with the metaphor. Actually I did not know it was originally a poem. I always thought that the phrase was coined by Winston Churchill. From what I have read and heard about Churchill, he was known to go into the depths of despair. Recently I have been in that place of darkness and isolation. Some of it came from my own inner demons other parts of came from family troubles.
Actually various forms of mental illness run on both sides of my family. My poor mother suffered from schizophrenia which she tried to medicate thru alcohol. She finally got treatment right before my father passed away. It was like a veil was lifted from her life. Unfortunately she was only free for three years then she too died. Many of the women in my family have depression. My cousin Sheri, well she is just a sociopath and psychotic. She should actually be institutionalized for the benefit and salvation of her family mainly her children. Sheri is training the two youngest to be just like her. Sheri is self destructive and began her descent into hell over 20 years ago. When she made the decision to have children, well those children are headed to the same path. No amount of family intervention has helped.
However I digress. I've struggling with depression for years. I had it from the onset of puberty I just did not know what was wrong with me. Finally I was diagnosed after my mother's death. I did not handle her passing well. I had thoughts of suicide. From 1999 until I lost my health insurance in October 2007 I was on antidepressants. Well I'm here to testify that those drugs do not work. They only make you gain weight and turn you into a zombie. The last drug Zyprexa nearly did me in. It took away my personality. As I said before there was the weight gain and another side effect is loss of libido. You lose your s*x drive. That is not normal.
Worse than that was I lost my ability to write. Writing is my life, my outlet, my reason for being. Even when I got health insurance thru my current job at the museum I have never went back on those antidepressants or to any psychiatrists. Those people exploit your illness in order to make themselves and the pharmaceutical companies rich. I still have the depression and sometimes I do think about taking my life but my salvation has been my writing. Even if I was to die I'd rather hold onto the essence of me than to be hooked on some kind of drug just to stay alive. That's not living. You may be alive but you have no quality of life. The mood swings and the depression are just a part of me I have accepted and I try to adjust my life accordingly. In fact that's what makes me creative. That is my muse. Gives me my talent. Actually as I have come to find out as an English major and working for a museum, many writers and artists suffered from some type of depression, fear, anxiety or mental instability but they were the most talented people on earth. We all have our inner demons. I just make mine work for me, not against me.
Sometimes I feel as though my life has taken on the parameters of a Hieronymus Bosch painting. If you've ever seen his paintings you know what I mean.
Friday night I dreamt about my Dad. When I am in deep stress I always dream my father. Once again in death as he did in life he returned to rescue me from a place of lonliness, despair, and fear. All he did in the dream was hug me and let me cry, but that made all the difference. Been 15 years since he passed away but I always go to him for help. Strangely enough he answers me.
Sunday morning before I went to work I thought about the poem Invictus. My Dad had me read this poem over and over again as a young girl. Some of it I memorized, some I forgot except, the last lines.
