Deep Fried Guilt With A Side of Forgiveness

The old saying goes, "that which does not kills us makes us stronger."   And I'm thinking there are all sorts of things out in this crazy world that can kill us; but in my humble opinion there is not a more painful death than that of the death of a soul.   I know, it sounds very philosophical and high brow, doesn't it?  Not so much.   Physical loss of a loved one is hard and traumatic and leads those left behind on earth to a path of grievance, healing, and sometimes searches for answers.   I imagine those deaths that are not natural, meaning those deaths via murder or suicide are the deaths that leave the greatest holes and vast amount of unanswered questions in the hearts of many a loved ones left behind on this earth plane.   But there is another death, a death that is not physically a total loss.    With this death there is still brain activity,  a heartbeat, a breath.  It is, instead, a death through the loss of spirit, hope, and smiles.

Approximately 16% report being diagnosed as suffering with "depression," in 2009, which this statistic is based on those who "report," their diagnosis, or bluntly those who admit it.   Various sources estimate that this means a much higher percentage are too embarrassed to report their diagnosis and alarmingly an even higher, (almost triple the percentage rate) go undiagnosed either due to lack of access to proper healthcare and/or mental health specialists.   Which leads me to the fact that I have lived with depression since my early teens.   I have done three stints in therapy and am on my fourth medicinal therapeutic protocol.   I went sixteen years between my last medical anti-depression drug prescription and the most recent which is newly titled a "mood stabilizer," protocol.   During those sixteen years I weaved in and out of depression but was able to keep my dark soul in the light through jogging, yoga, palates, diet, and what I thought was sheer determination and will power on my part.   Who knows, maybe it was due to my own mind power; however none of that seemed powerful any more over the past three years against the waves and sometimes Karina type hurricane force floods and storm winds breaching the levies, dams, and sea walls of my heart, soul and mind.   Six months ago I gave in and begin another round of the newest medical treatments for depression.   So far, (knock on the proverbial wood), the last prescribed meds seems to be bringing the hurricane beast inside me into a more tolerable submission.

When I let go of my pride this last time around and admitted needing some scientific intervention via drug therapy and the fog of my own self obsessed psychosis begin to lift and I begin to realize just how many of my very close friends and outlying acquaintances ARE presently being treated for depression and/or some sort of other mood disorder, i.e. bipolar and anxiety disorders, it hit me that I was not alone.   The other thing I realized in talking to these select friends and acquaintances was  we all carried this deep seeded sense of guilt that others without the messed up brain chemicals might otherwise have let go of as easy as wind spreading white flurries through a field of dandelions.

I recently decided I was tired of swallowing some of my own en trees of deep fried guilt so I set out about making amends to all of those involved of this past event.   All of us who were apart of this unfortunate battle of wills had our own side of the story and for the longest time I hung onto my side of the story as being the more accurate and that "they," were the stubborn ones and that they OWED me apologies.   By the time I had finished my letters of apologies I had realized that there was no way I could expect responses nor should I.  Most importantly throughout the process and exercise of writing these letters I realized that the biggest dose of forgiveness owed was the side dish and ultimately antidote to my guilt  I had pushed aside and denied myself for several years.   Like an emotional anorexic I had denied myself the nourishment and filling calories of forgiving myself.   I had starved myself of the gift of forgiveness.  As we all well know in the South, the en- tree is sometimes an excuse to justify gorging ourselves on the sides. In my case, emotionally, I had over indulged on the guilt and left the side of forgiveness wrapped up neatly under a shield of cellophane and pushed far back into the refrigerated recesses of my heart and mind.

Even though I received positive responses and "understanding," prose back from those I had sent letters to, it was the forgiveness I found for myself that allowed me to digest the whole event once and for all.   As with any fatty food, i.e. deep fried, an over abundance for guilt in anyone's emotional diet can slowly kill you.   Sometimes depression doesn't allow us the mental tools to chose better and healthier choices.   I don't believe we accomplish anything by backing away from responsibility either; but like any good and full meal we should always throw in a few lighter options with a sprinkling of forgiveness to at least make the medicine go down.