Hubris - Pride

There's this story in the Bible where Elijah is the one, lone prophet of God who hasn't been executed... he's managed to escape this wicked king and queen who want to eradicate the old theology and make way for new gods. Elijah is like constantly on the lam and in hiding and like, "WHY AM I HERE!?!"

But he has these moments of brilliance, when all his dilly-dallying and depression fall away and it's like he's imbued with power.

One such moment is a showdown between the prophets of God (read: only Elijah. that's it) and the prophets of the false gods (estimated at 450 for Baal and 400 for Asherah).

Picture such a thing! Lone Elijah facing down this horde of powerful prophets, with the king and all the people of the country on their side!

But Elijah wins.

The prophets of Baal and Asherah try to incite the power of their gods for hours, to absolutely no avail. Then Elijah's turn comes. He asks the God of the Israelites to prove to them that he exists, that he's still there, that he's still powerful.

AND BAM!!!!!! FIRE RAINS DOWN FROM HEAVEN AND CONSUMES EVERYTHING!!!!!!!

You'd think he'd be on top of the world after this. But instead, he goes into deep, deep depression.

I feel that in my soul.

I've experienced it several times now.

The first time was during Family Christmas a year or two ago. It was the 5th such holiday my family had forgotten to invite me to. I was literally sitting at home Christmas night, crying into my soup, because my family had once again forgotten to invite me to a holiday after I had carefully wrapped three giant bags of gifts for them.

I eventually texted one of my sisters, who brought it to the rest of the family's attention that I was absent, yet again. They eventually invited me over. It was another stark reminder that as a single woman, I was easily forgettable... I brought no grandkids or in-laws into the mix and as a mere individual, was too easy to overlook.

Oh, but I made that Christmas memorable! (I know you're going to read what happened next and think, "Maybe THAT'S why your family doesn't invite you to holidays. But it was the first time I've ever done this).

I. lost. my. shit.

My brother-in-law and father started talking about the 2nd Amendment and gun laws and the loss of freedom. And I just couldn't help it, I had to weigh in. And then things got more heated.

And I finally snapped.

"I'm sick of you talking down to me!" I told my father, whom I had revered for the first 35 years of my life. "You think that you know better than every other person on the entire planet about absolutely everything! It's insane! You're not smarter than me! Do you know how many degrees I have now!? I'm done with you talking down to me!"

And my mom sat next to him and nodded vigorously throughout my monologue.

And then somehow guns turned into religion, as they so often do, and then I lost my shit even more.

"I hate your god!!!" I yelled. "I literally hate the god you raised me to believe in! He's cruel and  mysoginistic and bigoted and vengeful, and I hate every single thing about him! Why would anyone want to believe in such a hateful being?!?!?!"

Then my mom burst into tears and ran out of the room. My sister melted down because it was her first time hosting Family Christmas as a married woman with her own house, and my brother-in-law went after her.

Then it was just me and my dad. And after some more heated arguing, I burst into tears and said, "I'm afraid I have Borderline!!! I'm afraid I inherited it from Mom, and that's why I can't form attachments to people!!"

Dad jumped off the couch and came to wrap me in a hug, which is pretty unusual for him because as a Vietnam combat vet, he is not a very demonstrative individual and seems to lack some basic emotions.

"Oh, you're okay," Dad patted me. "You don't have to worry about that. I know all about Borderline, don't I? Trust me, you don't have Borderline."

And even though I'd insisted on multiple doctors and therapists screening me for Borderline and Bi-polar just in case, and even though every one of them repeatedly tried to tell me I didn't have either... my dad's ultimatum was like, all the reassurance I needed. I needed a hug from my dad and to know that he still loved me even if I hated the god he believed in.

You'd think I'd really be on a mountaintop after that, wouldn't you?

Only... after that, I went into a deep, deep depression.

Just like Elijah.

It's like... this was the first time I had ever, EVER stood up to my parents and told them exactly what I believed and why. I was a perfect kid throughout my high school years. They didn't want me to date? Fine, I wouldn't date. They wanted me to get straight A's at school? Done. They wanted straight A+ grades? Okay, I would try. They wanted me to work my way through college and grad school? Got it. They wanted me to believe in this Being with like five million rules? I tried. I really did. 

And then, at like 40, I just snapped and told them exactly what I thought of everything. 

Cue: debilitating depression.

It was like I couldn't believe I had let everything out and now I could never get it back in. I could never face what I had done publicly, so the only thing left was oblivion.

I think that's probably what Elijah felt when he ran away to the desert and tried to die.

And it occurred to me that all great moments of triumph are also harbingers of total mental collapse. Why is that? Why is it that at the height of Selfhood, one frequently plunges into despair?

I'm asking this now because this is where I'm at.

I spent the summer traveling and gardening and writing, just like I'd always intended to. And I felt proud of myself for about 10 minutes. But then, at the height of feeling like a badass, I collapsed like a black hole. Stopped eating and sleeping. Quit lesson-planning and figured I could wing it because, hell, it's only 7th grade, and I can't concentrate long enough to plan a lesson.

I am Elijah in the desert.

And maybe it's because this nice guy someone set me up with ended things recently because he didn't like my political views.

And maybe it's because the guy who broke my heart a year ago moseyed on back just to say he was "confused" (Thank you so much for that. And for catching me up on all the women you've dated since!)

Or maybe it's just the way of the world. In Greek philosophy, hubris is the idea that human beings aren't meant to get too proud of themselves; if they do, the gods will take them down. You can't do too well for yourself or get too big for your britches. 

It does feel, sometimes, that whenever I almost, a little bit, start to come around the bend in the road that is Depression, the gods cut me back down to size.

They're like, "No. We spared you from Borderline. But don't think you're just going to turn around and be normal or happy."

When will it end?