Even more, I recall the times when I became morose and depressed, withdrawing from friends and family, spending hours in my room simply "thinking" - thoughts that had no beginning or end, but circled like a panther closing in on its prey. At these times tears were always close to the surface and a comment, whether of support or censure, would have them streaming down my cheeks in torrents. Yet I had no explanation for why it happened.
These periods were mostly short-lived, a week or less in duration and not so severe as to cause undue concern. "Teenage hormones" was the cause most cited by my parents... manic depression was never considered even though my mom had it. My small "episodes" were nothing compared to the major ones she experienced.
I was 23 when my second son was born. His birth was followed by a depression more deep than I had ever experienced, but he had been born with a heart problem (now corrected), and the depression was easily explained. After a couple of weeks I was able to bring him home and my mood gradually improved.
It was Autumn, 1979. The beauty of the sunshine and splendor of the gorgeous leaves in hues of gold, red, rust and orange had passed its peak. Dead leaves were falling everywhere to crackle and disintegrate beneath my feet as I walked. The scurry of the chipmunks and squirrels gathering their Winter supply of food had all but ceased. Looking around me I saw death and destruction and cried at the loss of precious life.
Each day was a struggle ...first to open my eyes, then to move my body. It was as if a solid weight had settled on me and it took super human effort to move beneath it. I had a mission to support my young family and a good job, so every morning I made that effort, and amazingly survived the days. The depression worsened daily, and I would cry all the way to work and all the way home, but was able to carefully mask it while there. A few weeks later the day came when it could no longer be hidden.
