When the black dog calls

Black dog came calling today.  I know why and it's positive, not negative at all - somehow you would think that that would make it easier to deal with; but it doesn't. And it doesn't make it any easier for your loved ones either.

It's hard to explain why you can't "just snap yourself out of it".  It's hard to explain why knowing what is happening and that it will pass doesn't seem at the time to make much difference.  It allows you to echo the usual words to those around you, begging them to not  take it personally, but they do ... and you know its your fault, because if you could control it, it wouldn't be so difficult for them.  And it always is.

Sometimes you want to just go into a room, shut yourself away and bide your time.  Other times there's a battle going on in your head and you just want to pull your hair out and scream.  Other times you just want to cry, or eat, or drink it all away.  Sometimes you just want to run, but you don't know where to.  Whatever it is, you don't want people around you.  Not because you don't want them there, but because you don't want to see what it does to them, whether it upsets them, makes them angry, frustrates them or causes them to think it's about something they've done or something they're not ... and of course it never is.

Nobody can really understand it unless they've been through it.  For some people it's situational, stricken with intermittent panic or anxiety attacks, for others it's like a wave that you can feel mounting until it reaches its peak ... at which point it stays ... lingers ... hangs in there, for what seems a lifetime ... before finally, it crashes you back down into reality, some sense of normalcy, letting you go ... so you can breathe again.  A weight lifted, a calmness ... until next time.

I watch it with my father, I can see it happening ... I sense it first ... withdrawn, dark, barking at my mother as if she's some annoying stranger for whom he's never cared ... his face will then go red, his brow furrow and holding his head in his hands he'll start to ever-so-slightly moan - trying to cope, while we watch, knowing what's coming, preparing ourselves for what lies ahead.

And here I am ... trying to comfort myself with all the reasons as to why this too will pass, and why it's not the black dog - visiting me.  I can so easily explain this, I know why this is happening but there's still that fear ... why can't I control this better, why do I let it hurt me so much, control me.  Why can't I just snap out of it, why do I let it effect me, effect those I love.  Why do I let it steal so much of my time, precious precious time.

Black dog, why do they call you black dog? ... maybe because you come, stay a while and then leave .... only to return ... black ... so very very black ... dark ... brooding ... feeding on the very essence of who we are ... gnawing away at every ounce of strength we can muster to try and fight you, to protect ourselves ... waiting, longing, dying for that moment that you will finally slip away .... satisfied ... and which point we can once again breath, once again live.  But it's short lived for we know that your hunger will only be abated for so long ... we know that you will be back, we'll sense it first and then we'll meet you one again head on ....  its a cycle ... a dark, vicious cycle and we know that there's nothing, nothing that we can do to stop it.