I never set out to prove anything to myself or anyone else for that matter. I just knew it was time to get up and shake up my life. So before I was fired from a job that I had lost all interest in which was being felt among my colleagues, I decided to quit. See after suffering from depression for 12 years, I knew I couldn’t go on in a job that my heart wasn’t into. So in September of last year, I spoke to my bosses at CTV and gave them my two weeks’ notice. I told them I could stay longer if they needed me to do so but that in month’s time I was to go overseas to volunteer - At that point I didn’t even know if my application was accepted at the organization I was volunteering through- Globalteer. I didn’t care. I was suffocating. That’s what depression can do sometimes and if I didn’t take a deep breath soon my mind was going to explode. I never mentioned my depression at work. I was afraid the stigma that is so often attached to this mental illness would have been used against me and now when
I look back I wish I had the courage to speak out. I do now.
My decline in interest at work began only six months after being encouraged to apply for the job by CTV Power Play’s former host. At the time I was working as a part-time chase producer for CTV News Channel in Toronto. Working in Ottawa for CTV’s political show would be a huge step up, as I was told by colleagues. I knew they were right but I wasn’t sure the move would be right for me. I knew by moving home not only would I be giving up my social life but any chance of having a career in acting - my true passion. At that point, my acting career, or lack there of, was going nowhere and I was afraid that if I didn’t jump at the offer I wouldn’t get such an opportunity again. But isn’t that just what we all think when we’re guided by our own misconceptions of what we think we ‘should’ do? So instead of listening to my own inner voice I let fear and doubt guide me – never a good way to make an important decision. So I packed up my little bachelor pad into boxes and headed to the capital city.
Once the initial excitement of having a new job began to subside, trying to keep up pretences increased. I figured it was the 10-6pm routine that had me doubting my decision of taking the job - I had shift work in Toronto, which seemed to suite me quiet well- so I tried to busy myself with ‘stuff’: seeing friends, shopping for yet more work clothes, spending time with family and taking weekend trips to Toronto. But I couldn’t shake the restlessness and I couldn’t make sense of the feelings of depression that were resurfacing. I had been off anti-depressants for about a year then and was naively optimistically about ever having to take them again.
None of it made sense. I was working a job so many other journalist grads would have loved to have. I was an associate producer for CTV’s Power Play with Don Martin - a political show hosted daily from the interiors of Parliament Hill. I was rubbing elbows with the decision makers of our country and the political elite. It was interesting, fun, stressful at times but I was part of something important. My whole life revolved around the job. At least once a week after work, my colleagues and I would hit the sparks street bars frequented by political journalists, MPs, their political staffers and anyone else addicted to the soap opera that is Ottawa politics. My blackberry was my life source and that darned blinking red light was always within my peripheral vision. I could have gone far if I wanted. The opportunities were endless; however, despite all this something was tugging at me.
I couldn’t help wondering what else. What was the purpose of my existence? When I had achieved my career goals then what? There had to be more, no? However these metaphysical questions that kept replaying in my mind weren’t getting me anywhere and they certainly weren’t helping with the symptoms of depression that were resurfacing: the inability to focus and concentrate for long. So after reluctantly admitting to myself that the thick cloud fogging my brain was in fact depression, I was back on my ever so reliable anti-depressants, Celexa. For the next eight months I excused my feelings of restlessness as symptoms of depression and tried to keep my head a float at work. To keep my mind occupied from thoughts of ‘what else’ I took up volunteering with Mood Disorders Ottawa where I was facilitating group sessions in hopes that by focusing on others’ mental illnesses I would get my mind off my own. I also got back into acting and was heading off to rehearsals in the evenings for a play that was to be staged that summer. I should have been so happy, so why wasn’t I?
It would have been easier to justify quitting work if the situation at the office was unbearable but the thing was, everyone at the office was wonderful. I liked my colleagues. It was the person I was becoming I didn’t like – bitter, frustrated and indifferent about my existence. However, what cemented my decision to quit were the all too frequent drives home after work where I found myself sobbing for no apparent reason and having recurring thoughts of death. My restlessness was making my depression worse and I knew I didn’t have the strength this time to pull myself back out from the dark hole that is depression.
When word got out I was leaving work to volunteer overseas, those around me would say things like “wow that’s admirable” and “I wish I could do the same” but then the questions arose: How was I going to survive without an income? How long would I be going for? Did I have a plan set out? The questions were coming from all directions and sometimes from within. I didn’t have answers. All I knew was that something deep in me was telling me I could no longer continue the way I was, so I took the leap.
Now I knew at the time my decision was going to be seen as inspired by the acclaimed Eat, Pray, Love phenomenon so I profusely denied any resemblance to author Elizabeth Gilbert’s journey and my own – I didn’t want to be that cliché. I laughed off the idea when my friend gave me the book before I took off but now, nine months later, I’ve accepted the truth that the similarities between Gilbert’s and my journey are in fact very similar. Actually freakishly similar. I too indulged in delicious foods, fell in love with an older Spanish man and now I’m praying in India.
So on November 16th, 2011 with a one-way ticket, I boarded a plane from Toronto to make the long journey to Siem Reap, Cambodia where I would be spending the next 6 weeks teaching English to children at the NGO, Anjali House. I loved the experience and the town so much I extended my stay by 4 weeks. From there I was off backpacking across South East Asia sometimes with a friend, sometimes own my own. Each moment was an adventure where I was experiencing something new everyday. In seven months I had hit seven countries and 15 cities. But there was something missing. What was I hoping to gain by all these experiences I was having? Knowledge about the world perhaps? But seeing yet another temple wasn’t satisfying my hunger to understand why the universe existed and what humans were doing on it. So with my travelers bible in tow, Lonley Planet, and my fingers crossed, I headed to the birthplace of yoga - India.
Without knowing much about ashram life I headed to Aurovalley Ashram about 10 kilometres from the city of Rishikesh and just steps away from the holy river, Ganges. Aurovalley, founded by Swami Brahmdev, is based on the philosophies of Sri Aurobindo and The Mother which encourages the study of integral yoga – the process of letting go of ones ego and uniting all parts of oneself with the Divine conscious. It was exactly what I was looking for. I needed to learn how to quiet my mind and find out who I really was beyond the negative thoughts and habits that I knew were holding me back from everything I had dreamed of. I needed to know the source of my depression.
It’s been three and half months and I’m still here. No I’m not scrubbing floors like Julia Roberts in the movie Eat, Pray, Love but I am meditating everyday for at least 2 hours, doing yoga asanas, teaching the school children who come to the ashram from the surrounding village and more importantly, discovering who I really am.
On my first day at the ashram I saw a quote that angered me: “It is the ego that gets depressed. Do not mind it. Go on quietly with your work and the depression will disappear." Now being someone who has suffered depression for over 10 years, I didn’t agree. But months of silent meditation and I finally understand it. I’ve realized that I am more than my thoughts. It’s the mind that gets taken over by depression but if I’m more than just a mind than I am also more than my depression. The depression doesn’t penetrate the truest part of me, my soul.
I’m now off Celexa and I know this time it’s permanent. Managing my depression no longer means trips to a psychiatrist and taking anti-depressants, it’s letting go of my ego – the part of me that thinks it is the sole controller of my life and it alone is in charge of the outcome of my actions. I have faith in something much greater than myself, much greater than the human mind. Now I’m definitely not endorsing weaning yourself off anti-depressants without medical approval or saying that pills don’t work because they did for me, for many years, but I no longer believe that they are a permanent solution. For the first time I feel like I’m in charge of my life and a deeper part of me is in control of my thoughts. Depression is no longer a dark force lurking around the corner.
Some would argue that it’s not necessary to go half way across the world to ‘find yourself’ but for me it was. I needed the assurance that when I was frustrated at not being able to get my chattering mind to quiet, I would find guidance in someone who had already gone through the process. In one months time, it will be a year since I left home and I have now accepted the fact that my self-discovering journey will probably always be seen as inspired by Eat, Pray, Love but if being that cliché means I’m more myself than ever before, I wear that label proudly.
