in search of treasure

It could be a touch of post-holiday blues, sliding down off the high of sun and surf and sleeping late into wind and cold and schedules. It was just the break we needed, but it was over too soon and isn't that enough to make any normal person feel somewhat miserable?

Personally I don't think it is post-holiday blues. More a touch of mild depression. For some time I have felt detached from events going on around me, a puppet on strings woodenly observing everyone else living life. My internal mood gauge is flashing its own warning sign - the clouds are devoid of beauty. When I am happy and engaged and enthusiastic about life, clouds never fail to capture my attention. Be they dark and threatening, scudding in fast motion past azure blue, billowing upwards in sun tipped splendour or making faces, I notice and drink in their beauty. Not now though. Now they seem all grey. The sky is grey, the flowers are grey, life stands out in monochrome.

I've been here before, in this greyness. Same story, different stressors: too much emotion leaking from numerous small wounds, too little restocking with love and light and life. God is love. Jesus is the light of the world. The Holy Spirit breathes life. I missed them. Forgot them in the midst of the wounding and now I am depleted, reduced, a shadow.

The trouble with depression is that it draws me so fully into its misery. The sky is not grey, nor are the flowers, and life beckons me in full colour, yet depression dulls my senses, shutters my eyes and the truth dances past unnoticed.

I was depressed once before and it was worse. My good friend contracted me to call her if I thought I might kill myself. I never really contemplated ending my own life, there was no plan. I only wished someone else would end it all for me, that I might not wake up and have to face another day. No, it's not that bad this time and I'm imbibing St John's Wort, Berocca and endorphins in an effort to prevent any further progression in that direction.

Something else I remember from previous blue days was the turning point. I know depression is more than the result of negative thinking, but when you're miserable the mind tends to misery. Negative thoughts crowd in unbeckoned. There is a temptation to wallow: woe is me, for I am undone. I remember deciding then enough was enough. I had sat in the pit for long enough and it was time to look up. In the end I came out of that depression in a matter of days, although I had been down there for a few months.

With previous experience in mind, I'm trying to cultivate positive thinking. The world is not playing out its life in black and white, so every day I look for a flash of colour and cling to it. Today it was the sense of community at the homespun market I stumbled across, chatting casually with people I knew, barely knew or had never met before in my life. Yesterday it was the moon shining it's pure white light onto a world already tipped with pink from the setting sun. Like extra lighting in a photograph that cancels out lines and wrinkles, the moon cast a soft, perfecting glow over our very ordinary street. On holidays I was fascinated by the sand balls produced by tiny crabs.

Natural artistry that delighted me no end.

I call them my treasures, those daily flashes of brightness in the midst of the grey. God's gifts breathing love and light and life back into the dark recesses of my mind. Each day I find one and hold it in my hand, gazing upon it, letting healing and hope flow. Day by day colour creeps past the shutters of my mind.

I am restored one treasure at a time.

it's only a game...

You may recall the 2002 FIFA World Cup a few years back. I remember it. A bunch of us at bible college were crowded around the television as England fought it out against Brazil for a place in the the semi-finals. Not that I really cared who won - I was more interested in enjoying a study break in the big-screen atmosphere. In fact after England lost the match I recall rather heartlessly dismissing the feelings of the resident Englishman by asserting it was only a game. I'm still not sure if he has forgiven me.

Fast forward six years and here I am married to a die hard Collingwood supporter. Collingwood supporters are their own breed, unswerving in their devotion despite their team's discouragingly fluctuating form, much maligned by the supporters of every other team in the AFL competition. Doggedly they cheer for their team when incredible victories are out numbered by the almost predictable spectacular flops. Collingwood just don't seem to be able to do what it takes to win when it really matters and their fans keep cheering but feel it like a crushing blow.

Frank is no different in this. His delight following a win is barely containable, while I am yet to plumb the depths of his despair following a loss. Occasionally I doubt his commitment to the team when he mutters about their uselessness when things turn bad - aren't supporters supposed to cheer a team along when the going gets tough? When the gloom and doom threaten to overwhelm both Frank and myself I gently? sensitively?... callously remind him it's only a game.

So last week Collingwood were playing Essendon in a match one might have expected them to win, but things did not go well for the 'Pies. Things went from bad to worse, the life ebbing
out of Collingwood's game with each succeeding minute. It was not pleasant to watch and Frank did little to hold back his feelings of woe. I kept myself busy doing housework, cooking tea for our impending entertaining and monitoring Frank's reactions. As he berated Collingwood's poor form with increasing fervour, I pleaded with him to just turn the television off. 'Spare me and spare yourself the misery; pull the plug; Collingwood are going to lose and I cannot tolerate your
fit of depression; for goodness sake, turn it off!' until finally in the last quarter, Frank gave up all hope and let the screen go blank.

As all good counselling students are wont to do, I began to reflect on my own response to the afternoon's television viewing. It was then I picked up on my tension, the stomping around the house, blocking out the game with headphones, increasing agitation... my need for Frank to turn off the television had nothing to do with his reactions and everything to do with mine. I was upset. I wanted Collingwood to turn around and win back points. I was desperate for them to show us their stuff. I felt angry with their poor performance... in truth I could not stand to watch them lose. Blow for blow, their loss was mine and I could not bear it. This was no longer just a game, it was Collingwood doing poorly, Collingwood going under, Collingwood staring down the barrel of losing their place in the top eight.

What the heck?! When did that happen? When did I convert from cold indifference to loyal supporter? When did I lose my objectivity and stop seeing this as only a game? How on earth did this happen?

One week later I am still scratching my head. And it does not help that Collingwood have been beaten, again. Definitely out of the eight this week.

I'm off to mope. And please - don't tell me it's only a game!