There are many things, such as, personality traits, physical characteristics, and life lessons learned that I proudly want to pass onto my soon to be son, or daughter.  However, there is one genetic trait I hope and pray definitively doesn’t make it’s way into his or her DNA make up, continuing a harsh family genetic link.

It comes often.  Too often.  It stays for long periods of time.  Too long.  When it comes it is hungry, and it will feed on anything you give it.  It’s diet is not picky or finicky, but its appetite is ferocious and it will eat you whole.  After fed on, you are left in a dark hole with nothing left, nothing, but the task of rebuilding yourself once again.

It will return; it will always be back.  It is inevitable; the beast is part of me.  It is my depression and my anxiety that has manifested itself into a metaphysical 500 lb. Silverback Gorilla existing in my own psyche jungle.

Here are a few literal statistics to get a grasp of what I’m dealing with. Gorillas are the largest living primates. A mature male gorilla can be over 6 feet tall and weigh 300 to 500 pounds. He can spread his arms 8 feet across and is as powerful as 4 to 8 strong men.  Statistics, background information, are necessary before going into the ring, or waging a battle of any sort.  The war that I have been fighting has been a life long one, and I’ve assigned a symbolic animal to my enemy.  For me, to add a bitter sense of humor and glory to the struggle, a Silverback Gorilla is my depression and anxiety.

I’m 37 years old, and I know the Gorilla’s capabilities and physical prowess.  We’ve gone many rounds for many years.  In the beginning the Gorilla kicked much ass, and handed out some serious beat downs.  Sporadic months, adding up to years were loss in the ring.  In my twenties, I started fighting back, but I didn’t know my way around the ring, and knew nothing of jabs, crosses, and footwork.  I was battling more off of anger and frustration, pure survival driven chemistry.  I had no skills.

Luckily, in my late twenties I sought professional help. Eventually, the sparring coach, still working off of the boxing metaphor, taught me some techniques, some skills, some cognitive therapy that fine tuned my fight game.  The shrink, the therapist, the guru, whatever you want to deem mental health professionals, enabled me to develop my jab, my cross. Now, I can throw combinations, even some hooks, and a wicked uppercut.  Footwork, frees me up to stick and move, and avoid direct confrontations with the powerful Silverback Gorilla that is my life long opponent.

Presently, well into my thirties, I can handle my own in the ring.  Ironically, I’ve grown to admire and respect the Silverback Gorilla that sits on my shoulders, feeds in my mind, and rests in my heart.  The lifelong battling has made me who I am today, scar tissue and all.  I’m a lot tougher than I look.  At certain times, particularly stressful periods in my life, for example, the slow waiting for the birth of my child, the bell rings more often, and some of the bouts are 10 round slug fests, leaving me and the Gorilla exhausted.  After these matches, we embrace and compliment one another’s fighting skills, drive and stubbornness.  I’m going nowhere, and neither is he.  It’s genetic; family members, two to three generations removed have dealt with depression and anxiety.  I wonder if they ever assigned an animal to symbolize their dread?

Several weeks away from Stella’s due date I now prostrate on hands and knees, begging the universe to not pass on my genetic propensity for severe anxiety and chronic depression, leaving the Gorilla in the ring with me.  Enough Verde blood has been shed already.  Never, do I want my child to have to slide on gloves, bite down on a mouthpiece and need to practice the skills of cognitive fighting.  Never.

Primero Side Note - Actually, I love Silverback Gorillas.  They are beautiful mammals, three genes separated from homo erectus, us.  They are gentle giants, and peaceful vegetarians.  It’s a travesty what is happening to them and their natural habitats.  Research.

Segundo Side Note - More thanks to Dr. Hob and his infinite knowledge of alternative medicine and herbs.  Due to his suggestions, St. Jon’s Wort to battle depression and a concoction of numerous herbs to combat anxiety I have never taken a traditional, pharmaceutical antidepressant.  Thanks Hob!

Tomorrow: Karaoke Mike Goes International, Don Peligroso

This entry was posted on Thursday, July 24th, 2008 at 11:52 am and is filed under Fatherhood, Pending Fatherhood. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.