A few years ago, Brian was giving me a swim lesson. Brian had swum Division 1 butterfly. I was a 60-year-old guy taking my swimming technique seriously for the first time. I said I wanted to try the butterfly, but confessed any attempts were literal flops and embarrassing. He said never be embarrassed to try anything, and he gave me instruction and redirection. My flops became less awkward.
This Saturday, I woke up after a full night's sleep to a beautiful late summer's morning.
And to a weight of depression and anxiety.
There was no particular event provoking it. I recognized it as the recurrence of a lifelong condition. I was ruminating on all the potential threats in my surroundings. None apparently present in the moment.
This morning, I was having my first coffee in what we call the sun room: a glassed-in space between the house and the outdoors. I was planning to have a small breakfast, then get on my bike to the pool for my morning laps. Its being a Saturday and with no appointments or particular commitments, I could proceed at a leisurely pace.
I know now, my cognitive profile activates a heightened awareness to what's present. It can produce a rich joy from the simple pleasure of coffee in a sunlit room.
This morning though, this heightened awareness just as easily became a hypervigilance. What I've learned from an adult life of treatment for what's now called high-functioning pervasive depressive disorder, my hyperawareness can activate a pervasive dread for all the potential threats.
In 1936, in the middle of the Great Depression and the prelude to WWII, there was a parody of the opening to the poem, IF, by Rudyard Kipling. The parody went "If you can keep your head when all around you are losing theirs, then it is very probable that you don’t understand the situation."
I'm not experiencing any distortion of reality. I was not able right then to access a functional level of obliviousness to reality.
This existential dread exists as a psychic knot that Jung called a complex. My dread response is an overactive component of my mental processes. I need to calm it. I begin to exercise metacognition; that is, watching my mind at work. I can be fully in the dread, but observe it. I tell myself, I'm safe. I'm surrounded by beauty. My dread responds that it can all be destroyed in a moment. I tell it all we ever have is this breath, and this breath is good.
My dread isn't convinced. Often coffee, awareness, and the sunroom is enough. My dread is resisting going to the pool. I tell it I'm pushing out. The depression says any action is futile. I go through the motions. I'm almost stopped by the realization my front tire needs air. Even though I have a tire pump, the sequencing and delay feels like an ordeal.
My ride is uneventful. My depression doesn't want to do the work of swimming. I decide to sit in the hot tub. After 10 minutes and no change of mood, I get back on the routine, even though it's producing no pleasure. I get in a lane and start laps
After 20 minutes, I'm now more bored from lack of pleasure than depressed. I remember how much I get energized by the butterfly. I remember that this summer, my butterfly became smooth all of a sudden. My mind is lethargic and doesn't want to engage the exertion and the concentration. I push off the wall anyway. A couple of strokes in and I feel smooth. My pulls are strong, and I'm, well, flying down the lane. I complete my set. I find myself standing at the end of the pool about to hop out, and realize I feel good. The psychic knot loosened, and I feel calm.
What happened? The first and most truthful answer is, I don't know. Our brains are so complex, up to now, and likely beyond now, they're too complicated to understand themselves.
At the same time, I've run this experiment in metacognition before. I know watching this tightened knot from a cognitive distance offers insight. I took multiple tugs at loosening it. I know I get a neurostimulus from neuromuscular activity, I went through the motions of engaging it. Even though it didn't seem effective, I followed the process. I know I have a highly active Associative and Observer nexus. This can turbocharge my hypervigilance. Being in the water, in my lane, creates a significant reduction in surrounding visual stimuli. The Sequential work of maintaining stroke form, maintaining breath and balance, further pulls me out of Associative rumination. Finally, the butterfly with its requirement for full mind/body integration of likely every muscle in my body floods my body with Mover neurostimulus.
I don't want anyone to underestimate my need for decades of support from psychotherapy, talk therapy, and medication. These and metacognition are mutually supportive. Of utmost importance is if I became overwhelmed, my first call would be to my primary care doctor.
And initiating that call, takes metacognition too.
This breath is good.
Warm regards,
Francis Sopper