• 50°

A prescription for the Blues Brothers

I was in the middle of experiencing days of the blues or blahs and finding comfort by laying on my sofa.   

I really had no reason to feel that way.  I had just returned from a whirlwind vacation with my whole family. I had visited and laughed with some precious friends I missed while gone. I had finished some yummy chocolate, washed all the clothes, and gone through the mail. Why was I down?

Usually, when I fly home after visiting my children in south Florida or Colorado, I get a sinking feeling. Leaving my children and grandchild is never fun. I go under for a day or two, but then I pull myself out of the water, dry off and enjoy the sun.

From someone who suffers from clinical depression, I do have to be cautious. “Did I take my medicine?” “Is my medicine broken?” Why am I not getting better?”  “I need to call the doctor!”

During the week, I wrote my article and submitted it early which usually makes me and my editor happy.  No, not this time.  Mr. Blue had parked himself in a chair beside my desk and waited anxiously for me to finish, so we could return to the sofa.

“Maybe I just need some quiet time and all will be well.” I whispered to myself.

  I went to Barnes & Noble, sat with my Starbuck’s Americana and listened to pages turning as soft music played in the background. I poured myself into books about writing and decorating.

Mr. Blah was in the passenger seat as I drove home asking me, “Why don’t they have a sofa in the book store?”

After two weeks of this depression, I decided to ask God for help. (I am a bit slow.)  It was hard to pray because it sounded so selfish and silly. I should be the most thankful person on earth, but clearly knowing that and feeling that is two different things.  That’s the unreasonableness and darkness of depression.   

I am not even sure I said, “Dear God.” Instead, in my blue mind I said, “God, what is wrong with me?”

My husband’s girls had just left with their two precious babies after dinner one evening.  They took my mind off my soul, but the minute they walked away, the Blues brothers put me back on the couch.

I picked up my iPad from the coffee table. I usually write a list of things that I need to do on paper. However, wasn’t there a thingy on the iPad for notes? Why would I leave my sofa?

Yes, the note icon!

I clicked on it and what came up took my breath away. I must have been on a flight a while back and decided to write. Once I landed, I am sure I forgot all about it and never hit the icon again.  Here is what it said:

“As I fly over the land and rivers below me, I am thankful. I get to see the shape of the earth and soar amid the clouds. I am thankful for the God who blessed little old me to be able to take journeys by plane or journeys in my mind.

I am thankful for the adventures I have had and for those to come. I am thankful for those that have journeyed with me and for those I have yet to walk with.

How was I so blessed and others not?  Humbled is a huge word and it is in that vastness of humbleness I stand. The world so large and this little human so small. I don’t deserve any of the things I have. With certainty, I know that they are blessings and gifts from God.

I wish I could travel beyond the clouds and tell those that traveled before me, “thank you.” I wish I could travel back to those I passed by and stop to hug them.

However, since I can’t, I can only hope that they are loved and my ignorance forgotten.”

God sent my words back to me.  A reminder that gratitude and thankfulness for the joys we have, the life we live, and the folks that are a part of it, is the prescription to help rid ourselves of those pesky twins, Blue and Blah.

Am I 100 percent cured? No, not quite. I am working on it. I can see the blues brothers are getting grayer and the sofa is getting imprints I don’t like to see.

Without a doubt, I have the cure, but I must take the medicine: Heaping tablespoons of gratitude, a cup of hot thankfulness tea, a big slice of humble pie and sitting alone at my table with Dr. God.

Lynn Walker Gendusa is a former resident and writer who currently resides in Roswell. She can be reached at lwgendusa@bellsouth.net