Parasitic Brain Mold

     I have often compared my depression to what I call "a parasitic brain mold."  If someone asked me how I was honestly doing, I wish I could just say,"moldy."  Maybe it's because it needs some kind of physical form, at least metaphorical, that can explain the physical and psychological effects, and even more, have people see it as a real disease.

     In 2013, the majority of over 41,000 people in the United States died from a parasitic brain infection. This was almost 200 people less than those who died of breast cancer that same year.  Yet, there were no fundraisers, ribbons, or hardly any "Get Well Soon" cards. No journalist is trying to interview you for a human interest article, commending your bravery. Those who suffer with such infection sometimes "quarantine" themselves from their families, friends, and the rest of society.

     Parasitic brain mold spreads through all sections of the brain, causing a physical heaviness and sometimes irritation. The head is harder to hold up straight under its weight, it requires too much energy. Energy is what is being consumed by parasitic brain mold while the rest of the brain slowly deteriorates. It leaves the host exhausted, even zombie-like.   It's  not just about  a single organism, but a mini-ecosystem - like a petri dish. Other bacteria and single-celled feelings like apathy, irritability, inability to concentrate, and anxiety enjoy a symbiotic relationship with brain mold and often flourish in the darkness of the soul. Often, it serves as a barrier from positive feelings reaching my brain. Joy, amazement, peace, enthusiasm are all unable to penetrate the Gortex-strong mold. As the brain slowly deteriorates, so do cognitive functions. Movement becomes slower and activities of daily living take quadruple the amount of time to accomplish. Existence is hard.

     Many times I wished there was a metaphorical bleach that I could scrub my brain with  that would  dissolve and wipe away all of the grime. Brain mold does not  respond well to positive thinking, counting blessings, or even taking a vacation. Brain mold is sometimes perceived by others to be completely different from what it is. People might as well say that you are suffering from a case of Hobbits' Feet or an allergy to concrete, so the host gives up trying to explain.  The host may wonder even more what others think of their mold, and what they may do with such information.

     How would it be different if clinical depression and other mental disorders were viewed by society like the diseases that they are? We call people with other diseases, "survivors" and "fighters," but many people are trying to survive day by day, quietly, just struggling to function with the demands of their existence. And many do this alone.

     So if you suffer from parasitic brain mold, keep fighting! There are moments of remission ahead, despite the dampness and darkness that you my currently feel. I may even be able to share some bleach.

Soaked Socks

     Have you ever walked through the kitchen at night, wearing socks, and you somehow manage to find the puddle of a dropped piece of ice? Makes you cringe a little.

     Have you ever attempted to jump over a puddle or stream, only to not make it and have your entire foot get soaked? Walking with squishy, wet socks for the next few hours or the rest of the day can feel a bit uncomfortable.

     Now imagine it is dark and you can't see hardly anything, not even your own feet. You're walking through a wilderness and you notice all of a sudden your feet are wet. You don't know why, you just know they are now soaked and your uncomfortable, colder. Blisters will eventually develop as you feel gravel in your shoes. Your skin will feel  raw.  It may have just been a walk through a puddle, across a stream, or into a river. Or,  there may be a small leak in the cracked damn that is just about to burst and drown you.

     You don't know where this is taking you. It may just be a bad hour, a bad day, a bad week, or maybe you're about go downhill for the long-term or maybe permanently. You don't know; the only thing you know is that your socks are wet. You keep walking and you start getting ankle deep, waist, deep, chest deep in water. You are fighting against a current, moving in a direction that you  hope is right.  Each step requires an exhausting amount of energy. You hit some rocks and tree branches scratch at you. You swallow the turbid water, only to choke and cough. You feel like you are not getting anywhere. Your weakness has never become so apparent. Why not let the current just take you? You search for a light on the shore, just something that can orient you back into the right direction.

     Just one light.

     I have been blessed to find some lights, but I have still trudged through deep water over and over again, often getting progressively deeper until I am sometimes treading.
   
   This is my journey.