Black Dog

My neighbor just had her door painted a lovely shade of lavender, and against the also freshly painted periwinkle blue walls of her home, that lavender looks very nice…The daffodils are blooming again, all over our county - on the roadsides, in front of houses, in abandoned lots and in fields where animals graze…And, sometimes, even in the middle of a gray and windy, or cold and rainy, day the sun comes out for a while…giving us hope that Spring will soon return.

This is a difficult time of year for me. It always has been.

The holidays are long gone, but the Sun (at least consistently shining) seems very far away. The weather is too often cold, wet or gray, and hope is hard to come by…In the old days, the way I feel during these bleak end of winter months was simply known as depression.

Now these feeling are called S.A.D., which stands for Seasonal Affect Disorder. The notion is that we are depressed because our bodies aren’t getting enough sun to produce adequate Vitamin D, which means we need light boxes, and time in the sun, and antidepressants, and vitamin supplements, and a therapist, and whatever….

I have tried all of those things with limited success. And, so, I am left dragging myself from early January to mid March with a focused determination even a military hero or a cancer survivor might appreciate.

The famed author William Styron called his depression (I don’t know if it was seasonal…) “The Black Dog,” and I like that analogy. For years, I tried to fight my depression…conquer it…apply reason…bring it to submission…None of that worked.

I’ve also tried prescription drugs…no luck there either. It seems the Black Dog will let you harbor the delusion you’ve actually conquered him for a few months, but, invariably, he comes creeping back, stronger and more wily than before, in spite of the meds…

My latest and most successful approach, (success being a relative term with regard to S.A.D. and its many ramifications…) is to simply accept and coexist with the Black Dog during these bleak - but finite – few months he is in residence.

I acknowledge that he is here - watching me, always present. But, I do not let him take control.
And, he sits there, in the corner, lapping up my weak, sad, depressed energy. He knows his stay is temporary, but he enjoys it anyway.

It’s odd to think that one can develop an on-going, surprisingly predictable and respectful relationship with one’s depression, but, over the years, Black Dog and I have managed to forge that.

He lets me work, and feed the bright red cardinals in my yard, and gather daffodils by the roadside. And, I let him stay there ever present and watching, on the couch near my computer desk, in the back seat of the car, at my feet while I cook, on a rug near the fire.

We know our time together is temporary. We know he’ll leave again when the April Sun returns and the dogwoods begin to bloom. There is no need to force things…

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not advocating going off psych meds to get to know The Black Dog. Depression is a serious thing that can affect people, and their families, very deeply.

I’m just saying I’m glad my Black Dog and I have found a way to co-exist until hope returns again – and, it always does. In the meantime, it’s not such a bad sound – the sad, but familiar thump of a Black Dog wagging his tail at the foot of the bed, on one of these cold harsh nights.