Relief or release, call it what you will.

Tomorrow marks two weeks since my best buddy went to Heaven. While I’m cognizant that he is gone, I’m not sure it has truly sunk in. I’ve lost important people in my life, but not one who was so much a part of me. Grief is a process and mine has just begun.

This is coupled with my mom transitioning to assisted living. She’s in her 90s and was able to make the decision for herself. It’s time. I get it. Watching the aging process is hard.

Here’s the real crux of it. Since 1982, I’ve lived with a diagnosis of severe clinical depression and a generalized anxiety disorder. Those two individuals fought through it with me. They were there for the panic attacks, general emotional meltdowns, the mood swings. It’s not easy, I’m not easy, my existence isn’t easy. They overlooked all of that and understood it isn’t who I am because they knew me before it all started.

If you didn’t know me and saw me interact with people, you would have no reason to suspect I had anything wrong. That’s been cultivated over decades and I’ve worked hard to perfect that image. There have been periods of time with dark thoughts. For the most part I know there is no question that I will keep putting one foot in front of the other, even when it feels I’m walking through quicksand.

Mental health issues still carry a stigma. I’m not always comfortable discussing it and people aren’t always comfortable hearing about it. I don’t spend my days consciously thinking that I’m navigating through it. But anxiety is always nibbling at my heels, creating doubt, and exacerbating my atrial fibrillation. My body being in an anxiety-heightened state much of the time is not good for my physical health. I do the best I’m able. I take my meds, I do my counseling. I pray for release.

Don’t I mean relief? No, I mean release. I pray to feel free of this mental health torment. Relief, to me, may be achieved by taking more medicine, taking a nap, or taking a time out. It’s temporary. Release is permanent. Just as a prisoner being released from prison. Or an individual being released from their bonds. Bonds may manifest themselves in a variety of ways.

I’m feeling this is getting to a point of TMI. I’ve said enough for now. I do this on occasion in the hope it may help another person persevere. If I can do just that, my sharing is worth it.

The most effective relief I’ve found is being in the water. I’ve been a swimmer since age 2. The water is such a comforting place for me…except when I was caught in a rip tide in Maine. I float, I feel light, I’m almost at peace. On the other hand I do a lot of vigorous water walking and swim laps. Those activities offer a different type of relief.

In the water, I’m able to slow down, feel less anxious, almost relax. I’m in my element. I’m in control. I’m in my own heaven. The pool in my neighborhood has to work for me for now. I miss my lake rental when I could kayak and glide through the pond lilies and spy on the turtles. It will be in my future again.

For now, one of my favorite tunes will play through my head. “I see my light come shining/From the west down to the east/Any day now, any day now/I shall be released.” This verse has gotten me through many a bad time. It encourages me to keep plodding. This song, “I Shall Be Released,” was written by Bob Dylan and is about prison issues. It has been covered by many musicians but my favorite version is by The Band. Give it a listen. It features Richard Manuel as the lead vocalist and the haunting quality of his voice captures the essence of the song. I have confidence my light will shine.