In the dark.

I grew up in the dry air of the Rocky Mountains.  Summers there are hot, yet it is a dry heat, so even at 100 degrees, being outside is doable.  Unfortunately my current home of New Jersey is the exact opposite.  Here it is always so humid that even walking outside to go to the mailbox results in sweat dripping off of you like a Gatorade commercial gone wrong. So running for now has to be either really early in the morning or late in the evening when the sun is almost completely gone. (Don't worry, my husband has amply equipped me with reflector belts and portable pepper spray.)

Still, running at night is not something I do frequently.  I like to run in the light.  I like to see what is coming and where I am stepping. I like to look around and enjoy the beautiful scenery around me.  I like to run and feel the openness and freedom.  And most of all I like to be able to know where I am going and see my destination get closer and closer.  But sometimes in life with my illness, being in the light is not a possibility.  I have had to learn to run in the dark. 

This evening my mind seemed preoccupied with finding the patches of light. The streetlights glowed in front of every third house or so, or on every corner sending a circle of light downward spotlighting the black road underneath, and I felt as though I was running down an all too familiar path.

While a mild amount of research and a quick perusal through WebMD anyone can learn that depression is actually a group of symptoms which impact mood in a way that causes pain, despair, disability, and a reduced ability to function, if you were to run down this nighttime road with me, you would be able to see a small glimpse of what it feels like to live with depression.

Sometimes my life is best described as a dark road I need to travel.  It is a harsh reality that my journey through life is always going to involve darkness at times.  There are days of immense darkness and the only way I can get from sun up to sun down is by telling myself sometimes minutes at a time that if I just put one foot in front of the other soon it will be over. But, there are times filled with light too.  I am grateful that there are small patches of light urging me onward.  Grateful for days when my heart is full and happy and grateful.  Days when I can see who I really am and truly feel happiness and peace. 

Running in the darkness of my disease is something I have become accustomed to.  And thankfully since my diagnosis I have started to learn how I can actually enjoy the dark too.  Yet, I am just beginning to realize the joy of coming into the soft glow of the streetlights, if only for a few quick minutes, to bask in their warmth and safety before stepping into the dark unknown once more.
So though running in the dark is not what I want to do, I will keep running for my life because even the possibility of another patch of light up ahead is worth running to.

Why I try.

I think I first was interested in running after high school and early in college. I was never excited about it before then, but looking back, I think it sort of unknowingly was also the beginning of my journey through depression.  Though it was years before I was officially diagnosed with a mental disorder, months of treatment have helped me to see its affects way back in those times as well.  I almost feel as though my body sort of knew it needed an escape, and that was all that I had.  Without even thinking about it, I had figured out a way to get out of myself even for a little while.

Now, more than a decade later, countless 10K and 5K races and 4 half marathons later I found myself not wanting to run anymore.  It was almost a sort of angry rebellion at the "old" me.  I ran a half marathon in the summer of 2011, the most brutal one I have ever run, and after that I just didn't have it in me anymore.

After being diagnosed with a mental disorder it is kind of a given that you are going to walk yourself through hours of thinking.  "When did this actually start?", "how much of my life have I wasted on this", "what will people think of me", "what do I think of me", "how long have I been dealing with this and didn't even know it?", "why didn't I realize this sooner?", "how much different/better could my life have been if I had only....?", "is my life even worth living?" and of course "will this ever get easier.....will I ever be normal?".  These thoughts start slowly and each question is mind blowing, time consuming, and all encompassing.  And they never stop coming.

I started going to therapy and found "Dr. Marie" who also helps me walk through my life, the past events, and also current events that shape the person I am and why I think the way I do, all while teaching me HOW to think clearly.  The disease itself tends to distort your thinking.   "Thinking" isn't what I would call a normal process.  Everything you think has to be sorted out into categories....is this the depression talking, can I afford to make this decision, is this a true thought/statement.  And this doesn't just apply to BIG decisions, it literally applies to the very simplest of things like debating whether or not to get out of bed, or even go outside on any given day. All of the explaining in the world truly can't explain what it is like living with this disease.

I think I quit running because I thought it was part of the "old" me, and I have been trying so hard to become the "new" me.  The "new" me in my imagination has this disorder under control and knows how to manage it, not one day goes by without living it to its fullest, I always feel fulfilled and I love myself and my life,  and most importantly I always feel driven and excited about what comes next in life.  I really like the "new" me I have imagined. 

But tonight, I finally figured it out.  There isn't going to be a big jolt of lightning proclaiming the new me has finally arrived.  I've waited for it. I've waited for her.  I've waited to see her coming around the corner full of confidence and spunk.  I've waited for her energy, life and vitality to suddenly appear because surely I have put in the hours and hours and hours of thought, prayer, therapy, and effort to learn about and gain control over this disease.  I've been waiting for a week to go by without even one day where I question whether or not I should even try.  I've been waiting.

But I think that maybe I should stop waiting and get back to what my body originally knew it needed.  After a year long hiatus I finally realize.......I need to run.  Perhaps it will seem some days like I am running away from the old me as fast as my legs will carry me.  And hopefully most days will feel like I am running towards the imaginary finish line in my brain where I will find her.  Find "the new me".  But mostly I think I will just be running.....one mile at a time........because that is all I can do.