It was a couple of weeks after I received my diagnosis when I began to understand what I’d ignored for so many years. One morning, I woke about 3:00am and went downstairs to make some coffee. This was the perfect time for some privacy, the only time for some privacy. Kathy and the girls wouldn't be up for hours and I welcomed the time to think in solitude.
I made some coffee, strong like I like it. I turned on my favorite contemporary jazz radio station, sat down with my freshly brewed cup of coffee and I fell deep into thought; I thought long and hard about my legacy as a man and as a father. I wondered what my girls would think of me, what impressions have I made upon them as individuals, so far.
I felt a deep sense of loss when my father passed away. There were so many things that I didn't know about him. There was so much he didn't know about me. If I could have seen things from his perspective, perhaps our relationship may have been different. Unfortunately, any opportunity to salvage a relationship ended with his passing. I felt a tremendous emptiness when I heard of his passing but I didn't shed a tear.
I felt really close to my maternal grandfather. In many ways, Thomas Pirtle was my surrogate father. He certainly filled that role in my life when I was very young. My grandfather was very old fashioned in many ways. He was born in a small town in Tennessee back in the mid twenties. Black men who were born in the deep South in those days had a different view of the world then most other people; a different view, a different work ethic, a different expectation of children and family. Consequently, he was very hard on his children. He had seven children, each one may have a different overall opinion of him but they all will tell you that he was a mean and very difficult father. I was the first grandchild and I spent a lot of time with my grandparents. Perhaps having seven children had softened him up by the time I arrived but my experience with my grandfather was much different than that of his children. Sure, he was stern, grumpy and argumentative. He was demanding and while he was quick to compliment others, he was reluctant to compliment those he loved. However, as his grandson I could never say that he was a mean person. To the contrary, in his own grouchy way, he was very caring to his grandchildren.
As my grandfather aged, he began to try to make amends and rebuild the relationships he’d neglected and/or damaged over the years. In many cases, his attempts at reconciliation were clumsy and lacked tact, but he should have gotten some credit for the effort. Unfortunately, much of the damage done over the previous thirty-five years resulted in wounds that were too deep to heal in the limited time he had left. When my grandfather died, I felt sorry that there were still so many open wounds. There were so many ugly things that were said and never apologized for. I felt deeply sadden when my grandfather died but I didn’t cry.
When Danielle’s Neurologist confirmed Danielle’s diagnosis as severe autism, I cried. I’ve cried off and on for many years beginning that day and I haven’t stopped crying yet. I cry out of concern for her safety. I cry because I know that the world can be a very difficult place for women. Danielle’s challenges are multiplied by the fact that she will be a minority woman with a cognitive disability. I don’t want her to be a victim. I know her best advocate is me and sometime I fear that I’m not up to the task. I cry because I don’t know what the future holds for Danielle.
I usually don’t cry for myself, that’s not allowed. But, for now, this moment in time was for me. There was no one around to bare witness to this lapse of control so it was all right. This night, in my solitude, I was going to allow myself just this one moment. I was going to allow myself this moment to openly grieve about my struggles and the affect that major depression has had on my life.
My first true recollection of my depression began in my late teens and early twenties. As a young man, I had a well-deserved reputation for disappearing for days or weeks at a time. At the time, I had no idea what I was experiencing. All I can say is there where often times when I was overwhelmed and felt the need to withdraw. I would close the windows and blinds, lock the doors, unplug the telephone and lay in bed for days at a time. I wasn’t really sick, just exhausted. I felt like had been digging ditches 12 hours a day for the past two weeks. I didn’t want to talk to anyone; not my mother, not my friends, no one. These “dark periods” would last anywhere from a couple of days to weeks on end. I had no idea that there was anything that I should be treated for. What 20-year-old young man thinks to talk to a doctor because he wants to spend time alone?
There were many times when I would withdraw without notice and “re-appear” days later only to find a friend(s) who’d expected a call or visit from me and was “stood up”. This type of behavior doesn’t exactly install confidence in a relationship. It certainly wasn’t a lack of concern or consideration for others I felt, it was one of the symptoms of my depression. During these dark periods, I believed that everything I was endeavoring to do, school, career and relationships was domed to fail; complete acts of futility. If it were my career path I was thinking about, it was completely wrong. If it were a relationship, it was not going to work. The feelings of impending failure were so overwhelming that all I could think to do was retreat. I would retreat to my apartment and sleep until I felt better.
Once a friend asked me where I’d been for the past week. I told him that I was overwhelmed and needed some time alone so I stayed in my apartment for the past five days. I was really honest with him. After all, I saw nothing odd about my behavior. My friend looked at me and very seriously asked me how I was doing. At that point, I felt really uncomfortable with the conversation and quickly switched subject. From that point forward, I never discussed this with anyone again. I didn’t think there was anything wrong but I didn’t feel like explaining anything either.
Of course, there is another side to these dark periods; the polar opposite. It’s an unbridled optimism and self-confidence that amplifies strengths and weaknesses alike. There are times when I believe that I can do anything that I put my mind to. One of my most used sayings is “How hard could it be?” I am notorious for my ability to over simplify even the most daunting challenge. On many occasions, this attitude has led me to successfully tackle some amazing challenges, issues and projects. On other occasions, my “can-do” attitude has put me in a position of having to learn and react on the fly. This “up-side” can be just as difficult for others to deal with as the dark periods. Often times, I was so engaged with what I believed I could and should do, that I often neglected those closest to me. I was too busy.
Last Spring, applied to return to college to pursue my Masters Degree in Business Management. As part of the application process, I had to retrieve my transcripts from the local Junior Colleges and San Jose State University. It had been more than twenty years since I had been at the University and at least that long since I had seen my last grades. When I received my transcripts from San Jose State, I was amazed to see the number of “I”, Incomplete grades listed on my transcript; I after I, after I. When I received my Junior College transcripts, I was disappointed to find the same pattern; incomplete after incomplete.
My mother is a college professor and school has always come easy for her. I come from a family of educators who have always stressed the importance of college from the time I was entering elementary school. While my scores on standardized IQ test have always been very high, that did not translated into the college classroom. My mother said that I lacked the work ethic and discipline. Actually, I agreed with my mother; what else could it be? I would enter the semester, things would be going fine and two-thirds of the way through, I would retreat into my apartment and close the door for a week, perhaps two.
The severity of my condition went unrecognized for more than twenty years. During that time period, my depression had a devastating effect on nearly every aspect of my life. Depression affected my education, my friendships, my career path and my romantic relationships.
I met Kathy Louise Taylor in August of 1993 and we were married in October of 1994. Like me, Kathy was not aware of my depression or the challenges she would have to face as my partner in life. As with all bachelors, marriage meant major changes to my lifestyle. However, unlike many bachelors, I was going to come face to face with a problem that I had little awareness of and virtually no control over. Married life meant an end to my periodic vanishing act, my self imposed exile from society. We were living in a sixteen hundred square foot town home. There was no place to retreat to, no way to shut the world out. There was no way to isolate myself, or so I thought. I learned that the isolation caused by depression does not simply manifest itself in physical ways. The isolation and sense of retreat can be emotional as well as physical. The toll this can have on a relationship or family can be devastating.
There are a lot of misconceptions about depression. The most disturbing of which is the idea that depression is a mood that can be controlled at will. We’ve all heard it or said it, “I was depressed after a bad day at work, so I went shopping and I felt better” or “I was depressed after we lost the game but I felt better when I got to the party.” These perceptions tend to minimize the seriousness of depression. I cannot speak for everyone who suffers from depression but from my experience the negative effects of depression were not connected to whether or not I was happy or sad. I could be in the most wonderful situation and in the best of spirits when I would be overcome by a dark period. I have also been at low points in my life when one might expect to be overcome by the stress of situation and never experienced any problems at all. My triggers were very different from the stereotypical descriptions and images of depression many people have.
I never experienced dark periods because of mood or stress. What triggers my depression and sends me into my dark periods is simple routine. It’s a strange thing to say; most human beings thrive on routine. You have your morning routine, lunch routine, your weekend routine; most people need the security of knowing what’s going to happen the next day. For me, the idea of following a set schedule was difficult to comprehend. It’s not that I like unpredictability or want to go into situations blind. I like being informed, I believe it’s important to know what’s happening in your world and the greater universe.
I know there is an inherent contradiction in what I’ve just said. I’d like to be able to tell you what this means or why I respond the way I do but I can’t. That’s the way it is. It makes no sense. I cannot describe or tell you why my particular trigger is routine, I just try to understand my problem and recognize the symptoms.
When you think about the ramifications of having “routine” as the trigger for depression, you can’t help but wonder how someone can survive in our society with such a problem. School and most jobs have a set time, a schedule or routine that you must adhere to in order to progress. How do people with this problem make it in the world? I was extremely lucky to find a career where my problems were actually assets. A career that helped mask my behavior and enabled me to live with severe depression, undiagnosed for nearly twenty-five years. Special event coordination and concert/festival management was the ideal career for a person with my particular challenges. The ever-changing work environment, the constantly changing schedules, the finite nature of events and projects are the ideal environment for me. My sometimes-manic behavior serves me well in a job where stress runs extremely high and major problems often arise without warning. The break between events, projects and concert tours allowed me time to recover while the odd work schedules provide an excuse when I occasionally disappeared into one of my dark periods. Special event management requires a person who can multi-task, make sound decisions and most of all work well under extremely stressful situations. When others panic under chaos and confusion, I am at my best. This is the ideal situation for a person with my particular talents. It can also be a very lucrative career given the right circumstances.
I have never worked a conventional, nine to five job in my life. I doubt that I would know how to do that. Since my diagnosis, I often wonder what do other people who have this problem do to survive. I know I’m not the only person whose depression affects them in this way. In hindsight, I know of many people that I’ve worked with who might have had some form of depression. Perhaps it’s these fields, special event, concert production, theater, television and film that attract people with these particular challenges. One thing I’m sure of, people with my particular symptoms probably aren't very happy working as accountants .
My dad dealt with his depression the only way he knew how, he drank. He drank until he felt better or forgot why he was drinking in the first place. Like me, I’m sure he didn’t think there was anything he needed to see a doctor about. After all, there is nothing wrong with drinking beer everyday of your life. It’s not like you need a prescription or anything.
It’s been two years since my last serious bout with depression. Following my diagnosis, I went through several months of experimentation with various antidepressants. Eventually, my doctor gave me a prescription for Paxil. The initial 15 milligrams dosage wasn’t doing the job so the dosage was increased to 30 milligrams daily. My daily regimen of exercise, diet and Paxil has given me a new perspective on my life. My mission is meaningful, my goals and objectives are clear; I’ve found my purpose. Though I can’t help but wonder about the validity of these changes. I can’t help but recall my “triggers”. I live amongst chaos, I thrive when others panic, I am my best when confusion reigns. Have the past two years of relief been the result of the medication and my new life style? Or, could the past two years been the result of the chaos and confusion of leaving a six figure career to start a nonprofit organization with no money, no experience and few resources?
I made some coffee, strong like I like it. I turned on my favorite contemporary jazz radio station, sat down with my freshly brewed cup of coffee and I fell deep into thought; I thought long and hard about my legacy as a man and as a father. I wondered what my girls would think of me, what impressions have I made upon them as individuals, so far.
I felt a deep sense of loss when my father passed away. There were so many things that I didn't know about him. There was so much he didn't know about me. If I could have seen things from his perspective, perhaps our relationship may have been different. Unfortunately, any opportunity to salvage a relationship ended with his passing. I felt a tremendous emptiness when I heard of his passing but I didn't shed a tear.
I felt really close to my maternal grandfather. In many ways, Thomas Pirtle was my surrogate father. He certainly filled that role in my life when I was very young. My grandfather was very old fashioned in many ways. He was born in a small town in Tennessee back in the mid twenties. Black men who were born in the deep South in those days had a different view of the world then most other people; a different view, a different work ethic, a different expectation of children and family. Consequently, he was very hard on his children. He had seven children, each one may have a different overall opinion of him but they all will tell you that he was a mean and very difficult father. I was the first grandchild and I spent a lot of time with my grandparents. Perhaps having seven children had softened him up by the time I arrived but my experience with my grandfather was much different than that of his children. Sure, he was stern, grumpy and argumentative. He was demanding and while he was quick to compliment others, he was reluctant to compliment those he loved. However, as his grandson I could never say that he was a mean person. To the contrary, in his own grouchy way, he was very caring to his grandchildren.
As my grandfather aged, he began to try to make amends and rebuild the relationships he’d neglected and/or damaged over the years. In many cases, his attempts at reconciliation were clumsy and lacked tact, but he should have gotten some credit for the effort. Unfortunately, much of the damage done over the previous thirty-five years resulted in wounds that were too deep to heal in the limited time he had left. When my grandfather died, I felt sorry that there were still so many open wounds. There were so many ugly things that were said and never apologized for. I felt deeply sadden when my grandfather died but I didn’t cry.
When Danielle’s Neurologist confirmed Danielle’s diagnosis as severe autism, I cried. I’ve cried off and on for many years beginning that day and I haven’t stopped crying yet. I cry out of concern for her safety. I cry because I know that the world can be a very difficult place for women. Danielle’s challenges are multiplied by the fact that she will be a minority woman with a cognitive disability. I don’t want her to be a victim. I know her best advocate is me and sometime I fear that I’m not up to the task. I cry because I don’t know what the future holds for Danielle.
I usually don’t cry for myself, that’s not allowed. But, for now, this moment in time was for me. There was no one around to bare witness to this lapse of control so it was all right. This night, in my solitude, I was going to allow myself just this one moment. I was going to allow myself this moment to openly grieve about my struggles and the affect that major depression has had on my life.
My first true recollection of my depression began in my late teens and early twenties. As a young man, I had a well-deserved reputation for disappearing for days or weeks at a time. At the time, I had no idea what I was experiencing. All I can say is there where often times when I was overwhelmed and felt the need to withdraw. I would close the windows and blinds, lock the doors, unplug the telephone and lay in bed for days at a time. I wasn’t really sick, just exhausted. I felt like had been digging ditches 12 hours a day for the past two weeks. I didn’t want to talk to anyone; not my mother, not my friends, no one. These “dark periods” would last anywhere from a couple of days to weeks on end. I had no idea that there was anything that I should be treated for. What 20-year-old young man thinks to talk to a doctor because he wants to spend time alone?
There were many times when I would withdraw without notice and “re-appear” days later only to find a friend(s) who’d expected a call or visit from me and was “stood up”. This type of behavior doesn’t exactly install confidence in a relationship. It certainly wasn’t a lack of concern or consideration for others I felt, it was one of the symptoms of my depression. During these dark periods, I believed that everything I was endeavoring to do, school, career and relationships was domed to fail; complete acts of futility. If it were my career path I was thinking about, it was completely wrong. If it were a relationship, it was not going to work. The feelings of impending failure were so overwhelming that all I could think to do was retreat. I would retreat to my apartment and sleep until I felt better.
Once a friend asked me where I’d been for the past week. I told him that I was overwhelmed and needed some time alone so I stayed in my apartment for the past five days. I was really honest with him. After all, I saw nothing odd about my behavior. My friend looked at me and very seriously asked me how I was doing. At that point, I felt really uncomfortable with the conversation and quickly switched subject. From that point forward, I never discussed this with anyone again. I didn’t think there was anything wrong but I didn’t feel like explaining anything either.
Of course, there is another side to these dark periods; the polar opposite. It’s an unbridled optimism and self-confidence that amplifies strengths and weaknesses alike. There are times when I believe that I can do anything that I put my mind to. One of my most used sayings is “How hard could it be?” I am notorious for my ability to over simplify even the most daunting challenge. On many occasions, this attitude has led me to successfully tackle some amazing challenges, issues and projects. On other occasions, my “can-do” attitude has put me in a position of having to learn and react on the fly. This “up-side” can be just as difficult for others to deal with as the dark periods. Often times, I was so engaged with what I believed I could and should do, that I often neglected those closest to me. I was too busy.
Last Spring, applied to return to college to pursue my Masters Degree in Business Management. As part of the application process, I had to retrieve my transcripts from the local Junior Colleges and San Jose State University. It had been more than twenty years since I had been at the University and at least that long since I had seen my last grades. When I received my transcripts from San Jose State, I was amazed to see the number of “I”, Incomplete grades listed on my transcript; I after I, after I. When I received my Junior College transcripts, I was disappointed to find the same pattern; incomplete after incomplete.
My mother is a college professor and school has always come easy for her. I come from a family of educators who have always stressed the importance of college from the time I was entering elementary school. While my scores on standardized IQ test have always been very high, that did not translated into the college classroom. My mother said that I lacked the work ethic and discipline. Actually, I agreed with my mother; what else could it be? I would enter the semester, things would be going fine and two-thirds of the way through, I would retreat into my apartment and close the door for a week, perhaps two.
The severity of my condition went unrecognized for more than twenty years. During that time period, my depression had a devastating effect on nearly every aspect of my life. Depression affected my education, my friendships, my career path and my romantic relationships.
I met Kathy Louise Taylor in August of 1993 and we were married in October of 1994. Like me, Kathy was not aware of my depression or the challenges she would have to face as my partner in life. As with all bachelors, marriage meant major changes to my lifestyle. However, unlike many bachelors, I was going to come face to face with a problem that I had little awareness of and virtually no control over. Married life meant an end to my periodic vanishing act, my self imposed exile from society. We were living in a sixteen hundred square foot town home. There was no place to retreat to, no way to shut the world out. There was no way to isolate myself, or so I thought. I learned that the isolation caused by depression does not simply manifest itself in physical ways. The isolation and sense of retreat can be emotional as well as physical. The toll this can have on a relationship or family can be devastating.
There are a lot of misconceptions about depression. The most disturbing of which is the idea that depression is a mood that can be controlled at will. We’ve all heard it or said it, “I was depressed after a bad day at work, so I went shopping and I felt better” or “I was depressed after we lost the game but I felt better when I got to the party.” These perceptions tend to minimize the seriousness of depression. I cannot speak for everyone who suffers from depression but from my experience the negative effects of depression were not connected to whether or not I was happy or sad. I could be in the most wonderful situation and in the best of spirits when I would be overcome by a dark period. I have also been at low points in my life when one might expect to be overcome by the stress of situation and never experienced any problems at all. My triggers were very different from the stereotypical descriptions and images of depression many people have.
I know there is an inherent contradiction in what I’ve just said. I’d like to be able to tell you what this means or why I respond the way I do but I can’t. That’s the way it is. It makes no sense. I cannot describe or tell you why my particular trigger is routine, I just try to understand my problem and recognize the symptoms.
When you think about the ramifications of having “routine” as the trigger for depression, you can’t help but wonder how someone can survive in our society with such a problem. School and most jobs have a set time, a schedule or routine that you must adhere to in order to progress. How do people with this problem make it in the world? I was extremely lucky to find a career where my problems were actually assets. A career that helped mask my behavior and enabled me to live with severe depression, undiagnosed for nearly twenty-five years. Special event coordination and concert/festival management was the ideal career for a person with my particular challenges. The ever-changing work environment, the constantly changing schedules, the finite nature of events and projects are the ideal environment for me. My sometimes-manic behavior serves me well in a job where stress runs extremely high and major problems often arise without warning. The break between events, projects and concert tours allowed me time to recover while the odd work schedules provide an excuse when I occasionally disappeared into one of my dark periods. Special event management requires a person who can multi-task, make sound decisions and most of all work well under extremely stressful situations. When others panic under chaos and confusion, I am at my best. This is the ideal situation for a person with my particular talents. It can also be a very lucrative career given the right circumstances.
I have never worked a conventional, nine to five job in my life. I doubt that I would know how to do that. Since my diagnosis, I often wonder what do other people who have this problem do to survive. I know I’m not the only person whose depression affects them in this way. In hindsight, I know of many people that I’ve worked with who might have had some form of depression. Perhaps it’s these fields, special event, concert production, theater, television and film that attract people with these particular challenges. One thing I’m sure of, people with my particular symptoms probably aren't very happy working as accountants .
My dad dealt with his depression the only way he knew how, he drank. He drank until he felt better or forgot why he was drinking in the first place. Like me, I’m sure he didn’t think there was anything he needed to see a doctor about. After all, there is nothing wrong with drinking beer everyday of your life. It’s not like you need a prescription or anything.
It’s been two years since my last serious bout with depression. Following my diagnosis, I went through several months of experimentation with various antidepressants. Eventually, my doctor gave me a prescription for Paxil. The initial 15 milligrams dosage wasn’t doing the job so the dosage was increased to 30 milligrams daily. My daily regimen of exercise, diet and Paxil has given me a new perspective on my life. My mission is meaningful, my goals and objectives are clear; I’ve found my purpose. Though I can’t help but wonder about the validity of these changes. I can’t help but recall my “triggers”. I live amongst chaos, I thrive when others panic, I am my best when confusion reigns. Have the past two years of relief been the result of the medication and my new life style? Or, could the past two years been the result of the chaos and confusion of leaving a six figure career to start a nonprofit organization with no money, no experience and few resources?
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