When adversity rears its repulsive head, look it in the face and say, "Adversity, kiss my warm, dry, fuzzy butt." - Nike
In our little family Sporty was always the stable influence in our lives, while I tended to hover somewhere between fine and stay the fuck out of my way.
So when the tables were turned recently, it took more than a little getting used to.
Soon after arriving back in Jo'burg, Sporty was inexplicably (or so we chose to believe, 'cos nothing ever is right?) laid up with a dreadful case of the depression lurgy.
We immediately labeled it her 'condishin' and proceeded to poke fun it at. In our house mockery is always the first line of defense. But then Sporty didn't get better, and we were left with no choice but to sit up and pay attention.
"Where's the Rescue Remedy?" I'd ask whenever I found her in a soggy heap on the couch.
"It's finished," she'd invariably slur through her tears.
I was flummoxed.
Then we discovered a homeopathic anti-depressant called Naturally High. Don't you just love the sound of that? The Piscean addict in me immediately took two on an empty stomach (I was sick for the rest of the day).
This miracle cure worked beautifully, so long as she took them with military precision. One minute too late and it would like pouring milk into a cake box and then trying to stop it from running out.
Then we heard about Dr Liang the acupuncturist.
"Depression sometimes chemical, sometimes emotion," he informed a despondent Sporty as he measured her blood pressure and studied her tongue.
"No way of knowing where one start and other stop," he continued sagely. "Come, we put needle."
Sporty left his rooms with a tub of dubious looking brown powder and high hopes. That's not to say she felt better mind you.
"With acupuncture you always feel worse before you get better, by Tuesday this will all be a bad memory." I stupidly promised.
Tuesday came and went, and we were still wobbling precariously along this unfathomable tightrope like a couple of dazed crack addicts.
"What about going to see Jenny?" I asked tentatively, and received a half-hearted glare for my efforts.
Jenny is my holotropic breathwork instructor, and (at that point) way too out there for Sporty's current state of mind.
We added Bach Flower Remedies to Sporty's already formidable collection of things she needed to take in order to manager her 'condishin'. Things started looking up, but with a counter full of weird tinctures, it was hard to pinpoint exactly which one was making the difference.
Still, a visit to Dr Liang was always followed by a meltdown. By then I no longer made desperate statements I couldn't backup.
Eventually after begging, pleading, cajoling and bribing (all without success), I got stern.
"Sporty..." I began.
"What did I do?" she looked panic-stricken. And rightly so, I only ever call her Sporty when it's serious.
"You're tackling your condishin from every angle except one. You're avoiding."
"I know,"
"Can I phone Jenny?"
"Yes,"
Sporty is good at that kind of stuff the way some people are naturally athletic. She's automatically open in a way the rest of us have to work really hard to achieve. I knew if I could just get her there it would make the world of difference.
She came back beaming and it was a whole month before her next episode. And compared to the others, it barely featured on the 'condishin' Richter scale.
Depression isn't for sissies or wusses or the fainthearted, but it does present you with the opportunity to grow.
You say it like that, kinda makes you want to stagnate doesn't it? ;-)
