I didn't quite have the guts to go up to Neale and say anything at that moment, so headed back up to our hotel room, happy with the pics I had taken. One thing I was starting to notice during my time at the conference was the incredible positivity and friendliness of pretty much everyone I encountered. I read in a spiritual book a number of years ago that heaven was a very friendly place where everyone acknowledged you, was accepting, and of good cheer. In the day-to-day world, you don't generally see this, but it was as if this conference and the people there were a bit of heaven on Earth, a preview of things to come, a taste of what this world could one day be. It was cool to think that most all the people I saw there were spiritual like me.
I reached our room. My beloved was still sleeping. I wasn't gonna let her sleep through this blissful day, so woke her up. She spent the next 20 minutes getting ready for the seminar. She is originally from Illinois and, in fact, her sister still lives there. They were looking forward to spending some time together that day. Her sister was most likely going to pick her up in a short time, but I felt we should go to the next workshop and that she could always leave once she received the call.
We left the room and headed for Dannion Brinkley's workshop. As mentioned earlier, he had one of the most notable near-death experiences on record. I was greatly looking forward to hearing what he had to say. My wife and I arrived good and early and managed to get a seat in the front row. Sweet! There were two friendly young women sitting next to us. One had come up with her mother from Ohio. Her mother had picked a different seminar to go to: this was the first time during the conference in which one could choose one of five different authors to listen to. Therefore, due to the reduced size, these meetings were more intimate than the prior ones.
One other notable thing about the conference and something my wife also noticed was that the attendees at the conference were probably 80% women. Pretty much every meeting I was sitting next to someone of the fairer sex. My beloved asked why there were so few men attending. I speculated that it was for the same reason that more women buy self-help books than men, because women are more in touch with their feelings and if they feel something is missing in their lives, they are more willing to find constructive ways to get help. Men, on the other hand, many times turn to vices such as booze, cigarettes, gambling, porn. This isn't to say that women don't also do the same from time to time, but generally, it's been my experience that men are less willing to go the spiritual route.
So you may ask, why am I, a man (last time I checked), so interested in self-help and betterment? Well, it probably started in 1993 when I became greatly depressed...
(cue going-back-in-time music)
In the late spring of '93, I was finally coming out of my shell and making friends. The man who started this was a chap named Dean. He was a member of CIA. No, not that one. Christians In Action. We both attended Winona State at the time and were business majors. I lived off-campus in a house on East 3rd. He lived at Lourdes (how appropriate for a Christian) Hall.
It was a very old building with a lot of character. From time to time, I would get lost in their halls. There was much to do there, however. We played frisbee outside, walked around the neighborhood, and I once even ate at their cafeteria, which reminded me of a monastery (not surprisingly, it once was). I also got to know a friend of Dean's named Candy and spent some time with her as well. I had friends now, but still wasn't happy. How could this be? I gradually became more and more depressed.
It's hard to describe depression to someone who hasn't experienced it. It's not something that you can "snap out of". It's like telling someone with diabetes to "get over it". No matter what I did, no matter where I went, I was in emotional agony. All I wanted to do was stay in bed, in a fetal position, no less. If I couldn't be happy, what point was there in living? Dean encouraged me to pray which I did, but I still couldn't seem to get out of the shitter. I talked to my mom about what was going on. She suggested I see a counselor. I agreed. After all, this was something I could no longer handle on my own. I was seen at the Hiawatha Valley Mental Health Center.
They were located in downtown Winona, just a couple blocks from the mighty Mississip. I saw a nice lady there and talked about many things. My childhood, my time in college, the passing of my grandmother just a few months before. She encouraged me to get counseling regularly and that it probably wouldn't hurt to go on an antidepressant. In order to do this, I would need to see a psychiatrist. I was referred to Dr. Smick. She worked at Parkview Behavioral Health Systems (located just adjacent to the hospital). She did my intake and said there were several meds available for depression. She decided to put me on a more old-school one called Desipramine.
Smick told me it would take several weeks for me to feel the full effects. I didn't feel like waiting, but if it could improve my mood, I guess I could hold out. I started the meds, but there were problems right away. One of the main side effects of desipramine is difficulty urinating. That was something I tried to deal with, but couldn't. So a week or so later, I was put on a more recently discovered antidep, Zoloft. I lived right across the street from Goltz Pharmacy, so had no problem getting my fix, I mean, pills.
My friends knew I was getting professional help and were quite supportive. I called my mom most every day to let her know how I was doing. She had recently separated from her 2nd husband and was sharing custody of their twin girls, who were just 5 years old at the time. I went to Winona's book store and found a
book that helped me deal with the negative thinking that had begun to consume me. The Zoloft was better than the Desipramine, but not by much. I seemed to constantly have headaches while on it. Smick had told me to be patient, that one of the meds should be able to give me the kick I needed, but, thus far, it just felt like I was treading water.
After I couldn't deal with the side effects of the first two antidepressants I was put on, Dr. Smick put me on Paxil. Again, I was hopeful, but somewhat doubtful that it would work. I had read that some people do not respond to medication at all. That would suck, to be depressed indefinitely. Actually, in such cases, they would pursue something like Electroconvulsive Therapy (ECT).
I continued to work on reversing my negative thoughts. I spent time with friends and was able to continue working in the kitchen at Sammy's Pizza. A coworker, Jerry Kohner, said he heard that I was experiencing depression and told me that he had gone through the same thing. He said that it was a real "bitch". He was able to get over it, however. It was around this time that he asked a lady that worked the morning shift if she would like to go out with him. She accepted and they eventually were married.
But, anyway, back to my sitch. I was also put on Trazodone. During this time, it took me quite a long time to get to sleep. I would just keep thinking about things and not be able to drift off very easily. I remember the first evening I took Trazadone. About 20 minutes after ingesting it, I started to get really tired. I wanted to think about things as I usually do, but I was just too damn tired. I could definitely get used to this.
After a couple more weeks, I did start to feel the effects of the wonder drug, Paxil. It's hard to describe, but it really gave me a kick. I did things that I was way too depressed to do before like the dishes and cleaning the house. I became, what I liked to call, "blazingly optimistic". I wanted to experience life again. Laying in bed was no longer an option. I had been reborn. My Christian friend, Dean, was a bit dubious. He would've preferred that I got better the old-fashioned way, through suffering, through prayer, without the meds.
During the height of my depression, I had gone to the movie "Mrs Doubtfire" with my mom and her girls, but left about a half hour in because I was just too depressed to laugh (or maybe the movie just wasn't funny). I went into "A Perfect World", a ponderous movie starring Clint and Kevin. One of the main characters was shot. It definitely suited my state of mind at the time. A few months later, now cured, I returned to "Doubtfire" and was able to get a few chuckles out of it (I still don't think it's super funny, though many people think it's the shit, including my wife).
I started going to my counseling appointments in a really good mood, almost too good a mood. My support network was quite happy to see that I had recovered. I eventually stopped going to CIA (Christians in Action). There were just too many things I wanted to explore now, such as going to the sinful Aquarius club in Rochester and dancing with a hot mama. Yes, indeed, my tropical depression had passed and I believe that I am a stronger person now due to the experience. Once you've been to hell, you really appreciate all the other realms. Almost 15 years later, all is well.
