The Sun'll Come Out Tomorrow

THREE MONTHS OLD AND ALREADY LOOKING WORRIED.

Twenty-five years ago, I was diagnosed with clinical depression. I've shared some of my struggles here, so I don't know that this is any major revelation. It wasn't that I was suddenly clinically depressed 25 years ago. It was simply that, after a lifetime of depression, I finally just couldn't manage it anymore. There are so many things I can point to as root causes for my depression: Genetics is a possibility. Growing up gay, and ashamed and hating myself for it (I'm over that; it really does get better). Being expected — and expecting myself — to be perfect, although I believed every waking minute that I was seriously flawed. Inconsistent and hurtful messages in my life... It's easy to find reasons for it. What was not easy was accepting that I needed help and that I couldn't just make it better myself.

SMILE? BUT, DAD, DON'T YOU SEE THAT SHADOW LOOMING.

My brother's developmental problems were discovered when he started school. I was 11. I was already feeling kind of damaged myself, but my brother's problems definitely had a major impact on my own emotional growth. I spent a good part of my life convinced that if only I were a better person, he would be OK, that somehow I was responsible for his problems. Every year when my birthday came around and there were candles to be blown out and a wish to be made, my wish would be that my brother would wake up in the morning "better." It never happened.

I'M SURE THE CLOTHES DIDN'T HELP MY EMOTIONAL DEVELOPMENT.
(SEE THE SHADOW STILL LOOMING EIGHT YEARS LATER?)

Then, when I was 23, my sister was diagnosed with cancer. Until she died 3-1/2 years later, my birthday wish was that my brother AND sister would wake up "better." It never happened. And I continued to figure it was because I just wasn't good enough. On my 27th birthday, three months after my sister died and two months before I met Jerry, I made my own birthday wish. I wished I would know what to wish for — for myself — next year. That didn't happen either (but, in the meantime, I had gotten Jerry anyway).

NO ONE NOTICED THIS?

My moods can be, if not manic, at least changeable. I smile a lot. People think I'm happy when I'm not. I also brood a lot (I used to brood a lot more than I now do). People would think I was angry when I was just ... thoughtful (as in thought-filled).

WAS IT THE HARSH PUNISHMENT? (I DON'T LOOK LIKE I'M SUFFERING.)

I can't live without change in my life. I like to move. I like to shake everything up. Often. And that has its consequences. So, although, I am elated to be living this new life in Sevilla, I also appreciate that making this choice has brought lots more stress along with it and that stress, for me, usually translates into depression. So, I have to work a little harder right now to not allow it to overwhelm me. And sometimes I need outside help.

MAYBE IT WAS JUST THE CHOICE OF FAMILY VACATION DESTINATIONS.

I know how to deal with things now, which doesn't mean I don't still have my moments (as you have witnessed — recently "dropping a sock" among others). It also doesn't mean there's an easy fix. If I just count my blessings every day — or meditate, or exercise, or keep myself busy, or drink herbal tea, or volunteer, or talk to a friend, or go to a chiropractor, or make lemonade, or let a smile be my umbrella — it doesn't get all better. The sadness lurks in corners or sometimes takes up every inch of space. I don't let it control my life anymore, but I have learned to accept that it's a big part of who I am. And despite the title of this post, I will not torture you with a video of Annie singing that the sun'll come out tomorrow. Because it might not. I simply hope the sun'll come out eventually. Clouds every now and again aren't so bad.