Let me begin by saying that I suffer from depression. This may not seem like a big deal, but there are times when it is all consuming. Times that are so difficult to deal with the problems that it feels like my only recourse is to give into apathy. To just lay down, close my eyes, and dream the never ending dream. In my dreams, I am always the hero. I have done everything from fight criminals and terrorists to fending off aliens and monsters. I even remember throwing myself in the line fire to protect my son from a gunshot. This action was so vivid, I jumped (fell) out of bed in my attempt to save him. It's funny when you think about it. I live a far more adventurous life in my sleep than I could even dare imagine living in the real world.
My reality is this; I have done things that I am very ashamed of to people who I love with all of my heart and soul. I have given over to compulsions without hesitation. Never during these times have I given any thought to the consequences of my actions, only after the action was irretrievable. I would then hide my deeds with lies and elegant subterfuge. It was not until I had created so much damage and painted myself into a corner with no more ideas of how to escape that I then confessed my sins to my wife. Until that moment arrived however; I looked at was I was doing, knew I was doing was wrong, and felt the shame of it weighing me down but only after it was done. No real thought would enter my head in the beginning that would say maybe I shouldn't do this. Or if it did, I was very good at ignoring it. When it was done, the shame and self loathing would set in, only I was afraid that if I confessed, I would lose my family. My greed and irresponsibility would surely drive them away.
Well, the feces struck the oscillating mechanical air mover to a degree that I knew I could not keep up my charade. Bad things were going to happen if I didn't get things reigned in and I knew I couldn't trust myself to do the right things without help.
To make a very long story into only a long story, I confessed. The relief I felt was immeasurable. The fear of confession vanished. I found that the act of confession was actually very easy! Almost too easy. Even the much feared aftermath was better than I expected. What I did not realize was that confession was only the beginning. Cleaning up was going to be a difficult process for both myself and my wife. And it was not going to be pretty.
The point of this opening to my blog is this. I honestly don't know if my depression was caused by my compulsions, or if my compulsions were created by my depression or if they are even related to each other. What I do know is that what came next was at this time, the most difficult time of my adult life. And what lies down the rode will either be my salvation or my damnation. Only time will tell...
