The Wolf at My Window

Tonight's post is one of those that's been churning around in my mind for a while ... one of those posts I have to mull over and ponder about and think on for a long time ... one of those posts that I worry will make some people angry ... one of those posts I know I probably need to write but I don't necessarily want to write. But what so very often happens with those types of posts is that something occurs that makes me realize I absolutely have to write them. Often, that something that occurs is a conversation with someone ... or several different conversations with several different someones as the case may be ... or one of the thousands of emails I receive each week ... conversations and emails that mysteriously all lead back to the same subject on which I've been mulling and pondering and thinking. That always freaks me out, by the way ... when people who don't even know each other keep directing me back to the same message, the same lesson, the same truth ... always, always, always freaks me out big time. So back to my original premise ... this is one of those posts I know I probably need to write that I don't necessarily want to write but that I now feel as though I have to write.

A while back, I mentioned in another post a recurring dream I've had since I was a little kid every time I run a fever. Once my body temperature climbs above 100 degrees, I can count on dreaming what I call my "super scary fever wolf dream." It doesn't matter where I'm living or how old I am, it's always the same exact dream ... there are wolves outside my house trying to get inside my house so that they can eat me. I'm sure there's a legitimate physical connection to me being sick and having a fever that sparks my wolf dream ... yeah, right ... what I'm actually sure of is that I'm just plain old downright crazy, and running a fever somehow transports my subconscious craziness to a whole new level ... a level that includes hungry wolves trying to break down the door to my house so that they can rip me apart with their razor-sharp teeth and eat me alive. That's gross, I know, but that's what I dream when I'm sick ... I dream my super scary fever wolf dream every single time I have a fever. But here's the thing about those particular wolves, friends ... the super scary fever wolves ... I always know they'll go away when my temperature falls back into the normal range. Those snarling, growling beasts leave when I get well ... they don't hang around unless I'm sicker than a dog after it eats a bunch of laundry detergent pods (one chocolate lab who shall remain nameless who now lives in Maine). Yep ... when the fever goes away, it takes the super scary fever wolf dreams with it.

As you can imagine, sometimes the conversations I have with my life-saving head doctor are pretty intense. I suppose it's a good thing to have someone who makes you see things about yourself that you'd rather not see, but sometimes I walk out of her office feeling like a wrung-out dishcloth. That's especially true when we talk about depression and what it can do to me or anyone who battles it every day. If you know me at all, you know the minute I was diagnosed as having major depressive disorder, I promptly consumed volumes upon volumes of information regarding the disease ... I wanted to know everything I could about the creature that was doing everything in its power to destroy me. I learned a lot ... trust me, I can quote a gazillion statistics about depression ... but it wasn't until recently that I've been able to verbalize what depression feels like to me. And when I finally began to talk about what it feels like to me, I quickly discovered that there are a ton of people who feel exactly the same way as I do.

Depression feels like a super scary fever wolf to me, but unlike the ones from my fever-induced dreams, this wolf is always there ... day or night ... this wolf sits right outside my window and never leaves. Sometimes he moves farther away from the window and sometimes he even falls asleep, but he never goes away. There are days when it takes every ounce of strength within me to make sure the window stays closed and the wolf doesn't get in, and then there are other days when all I have to do is glance at the window and I know the wolf won't be breaking into my house that day. But whether I'm summoning the last bit of fight I have left within me or I'm coasting downhill with not a care in the world, I know the wolf is there ... I know the wolf is there, and I know there's a damn good chance he always will be.

I know that those of you who are in the fight of your life against depression fully understand what I'm saying, and I know that a lot of you completely agree with my description. I also know, however, that there are people who will tell me that I'm being negative or that I'm going through my life with a glass half-full attitude ... there's not a trace of doubt in my mind that I'll receive a crap load of emails saying just that. And while you have a right to your opinion, I would ask that you consider this ... maybe, just maybe, knowing that I have to keep an eye on the window and the wolf outside of it makes me more diligent in my fight. Perhaps knowing that the wolf is right outside my window and that he'd like nothing better than to eat me for breakfast, lunch, dinner and every single snack in between until there's nothing left of me keeps me more vigilant. There's every possibility that looking through the window and seeing the ever-present wolf ... that hearing its low growl and smelling its hot breath and seeing its sharp teeth makes me more and more determined to do everything within my power to make sure he keeps his distance and stays the heck away from me.

Windex, anyone? I've got a lifetime supply, and I'm more than happy to share. I don't want my wolf sneaking up on me because I stopped cleaning my window, and I don't want yours sneaking up on you either, friends. We have to stick together, you know ... those wolves can be pretty sneaky critters when they want to be.