I have trained my dog, “Dog” to run in front of my bicycle on a retractable leash. He loves it. I love it. Every morning we ride down to the park, about 1/2 mile from my house. At the north end of the park is a little pond, where I let him off the leash and he runs free. The pond is home to three ducks, a little blue heron, egrets, anhinga and an alligator. On days when the water level is high, wood storks -endangered – also visit the pond.

The park is stunning. Filled with giant ficus trees with bizarre shaped trunks and huge canopies. There is a dog park, soccer field, baseball diamond, playground, tennis courts and exercise trail. It’s not unusual to hear five different languages spoken and people of every color playing at the park. I love my park and I have visited it everyday for years.

Monday was a perfect Florida winter morning. Sunny, about 68 degrees. As I rode with Dog to the park I was amazed at the park’s beauty in the early morning light. We have had a lot of rain lately and the greens of the trees and landscaping were so green. The light was perfect. I said “mornin’” to my neighbors out walking their dogs. Swear to God there was even a faint rainbow over the soccer field.

How the hell did my life come to this? Pinch me, I thought. My life is so good. I am so blessed. Look how beautiful my world is. Amazing.

Four years ago, in the same park, on the same bike with the same weather I was asked myself the same question: How the hell did my life come to this? I was in the beginnings of a severe depression that would take me to death’s doorstep. I hated life – I hated MY life. I hated my weakness for not being able to pull myself up by my bootstraps. I hated the monotony of daily routines. I hated working so hard. I hated being a loser.

Same park. Same weather. Same pond. Same funky trees. Same colorful people. But none of it was the same. That’s one of the freaky things about depression. All the physical, tangible things around you can be exactly the same as they were when you were happy and grateful – but they are not the same. I don’t know how to explain it other than to say it’s like living in the reflection of a mirror of your life. You know all the things you can touch – your bank statement, your dog, the sand on the beach – are the same as they were in happy times. But they look and feel nothing like they did in happy times.

I’m sure this happens with other illnesses. That’s why people say their world was never the same after they were diagnosed with a horrible physical disease. But with depression it is a bizarre, surreal phenomenon. The world is an awful place but it looks exactly the same. You slog through it like you are suspended in Jello. You can barely move. People around you say and do what they have always said and done and you wonder how you can be at the same place, at the same time and yet in a completely different world.

It must be some weird quantum physics thing. Colors are not as vivid. Sounds are sometimes tinny or very dull. Food has little taste. It’s like living in a Claritin commericial: when the woman’s head is stuffy her world is dull but when she takes Claritin a film is rolled away and the world – the very same world – is bright and colorful and she can breath again.

There is probably some physiological explanation for this phenomenon – something to do with synapses and dopamine or serotonin. But on Monday, as I rode my bike to my park, I felt like the woman in the Claritin commercial – happy, breathing deep and seeing the world in technicolor.

And it looked pretty damn good.

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From Psych Central's website:
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    Last reviewed: 27 Jan 2010