The Face of Courage

The early morning breeze caresses my face as I pedal my bike on the familiar pavement that will take me to downtown St. Albert. The journey through the small city is pleasant as I cruise toward the main street. Shop keepers are getting storefronts ready for a new day of business and I see someone putting up a sandwich board listing the daily specials for lunchtime goodies. Further down the street at a café bar, tables and chairs are being set out for folks who want to sit outside and enjoy today’s sunny skies. I hope my mood allows me to savor the pleasures of this day.

After parking my bike in front of one of my favorite café bars, I enter the busy little shop and the proprietor yells out, “Hey neighbor, how’s it going?” I chuckle and reply “Great, and how are you today?” I like the routine of chatting with the gals while my latte is being prepared, there is always something to laugh about and the merriment is good for my soul. With drink in hand I then chose a comfy chair, dig through my backpack for my day-timer, pen and stationary. In the charming little café I somehow manage to keep busy with my creative mind and lots of paper. After the last sip of steamed milk and espresso I pack up my backpack, head out the door and prepare for the next journey on my bike.

As usual I had to force myself to leave my house and take care of a few errands that I have put off because I haven’t been feeling well lately. To look at me you would never know that I face daily challenges with depressive illness. I always hear comments like “you look so good”, “you must be feeling better.” I generally have no reply and produce a quirky grin and scrunch up my eyes. What answer are they looking for?

If I am out and about in the community and able to chat with a friend I might run into, or actually complete my list of errands, one could assume that I am feeling better. That I am cured of this insipid illness of grey fuzzy days and profound sadness; I can now live a life with purpose and go back to work. What you don’t know when you see me in the mall, or the café bar is that by lunchtime my mood will be very low and my desire to be with people or do anything for that matter will have vanished.

In the morning when I rise to the new day I can sometimes feel the rhythm of calm ordered thinking. I have created a comfortable routine for myself where I go out in the morning while I have the energy and peace of mind to accomplish the small goals written in my day timer. Then as the morning passes fatigue and apathy engulf my spirit, and I know it’s time to make my way home. Sometimes fear of how I will get home causes me to panic; I’m filled with fear and riding my bike or walking home are impossible journeys ~ so I call my father to come an pick me up.

The ride home is quick as I never venture too far from home. My father backs the car into the driveway; I grab my belongings and make a quick dash to the house. A sigh escapes my soul as I enter the small room at the back of the house; my safe haven. The bedroom is cozy and quaint, filled with teddy bears, pictures of family, and little treasures that remind me of days gone by. Here in this room life is simple and I can usually escape from the pain of the past or the bothersome thoughts of the future.

Thirteen years have passed since I have heard the words, “you have major depressive illness” and I still ask myself – Where did I go? Where’s that young girl with all the energy and enthusiasm for life? I vaguely remember days of plenty of activity and lots of social contact.

I was the happy friend with lots of giggles, smiles and jokes. Now I am reclusive and you rarely see me out and about in the late afternoon or evening. Friends and family have grown accustomed to my hibernation but, do not understand the tumultuous emotions that render me helpless and fill me with a sense of anxiousness and restlessness.

Many people know of my battle with depression and they also know of the numerous obstacles that have made my journey to health and happiness extremely bumpy. People often say that I am a woman of great strength and courage. I used to argue that statement over and over in my mind; doesn’t anyone see the tears in corners of my eyes? Don’t you feel the perpetual anguish or hazy melancholy that wreaks havoc in my brain? Don’t you know how difficult it is for me to leave my home? Courage, there is no courage in this spirit; you’ve got the wrong lady.

And then one ordinary day while I’m out running my errands, I came across a print with the following inscription:

Courage doesn’t always roar, sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying –I will try again tomorrow. (Author unknown)

I wrote the words in my little day timer so I wouldn’t forget them. When the day has been incredibly rough; when I think I can’t take one more minute of living with the darkness of depressive illness, I hang onto those words, say a silent prayer to God, close my eyes and wait for sleep to come.

Now when someone suggests that I am person with courage; I say “thank you for the kind words” and smile, indeed I know the face of courage.

Living with a mental illness requires courage. I hope you find the courage to take care of yourself, find meaning in your life and seek medical help if you are really struggling with the illness.