Read time: 7 min.

I don’t know what it is about this holiday season, but depression has decided to crash the party. I’m worried, I’m exhausted, and I feel like I’ve already emptied every tool in my kit. When that wave hits, I have to anchor myself somehow to stay connected to something real. For me, that sometimes means quite literally putting my hands in the dirt and digging into the earth.

As a person with Bipolar II disorder, I spent my childhood building barriers to protect myself. These days, I recognize that those blockades were hearty constructs. I also realize that I’ve struggled with introspection for most of my life since it forces me to be vulnerable. It makes me feel exposed and defenseless, since vulnerability is intimidating. In the past, introspection during bipolar phases has led me down dark paths that aren’t always safe. 

Nevertheless, digging deep to understand myself is important even if I have to force myself to do it. Confronting my issues and traumas is deeply uncomfortable, but sometimes, I uncover something transformative that lets me tear down parts of my childhood walls. A pair of flowing wells led me to believe that deep digs are relevant in real life, too. I’d have missed out if I had never tried to unearth them. 

The first was in Blountsville. I’d passed through the tiny town a hundred times on US-35 but never paid much attention to a metal sign at the town’s western edge near Stoney Creek It screamed “WARNING” in red type. “DO NOT DRINK WATER,” it implored! Once I started searching for flowing wells, I found the sign impossible to resist. Language like that usually compels me to take a big swig of water, regardless of the safety!

I couldn’t see any water from my car that day, but I decided to heed the warning when I pulled over to take a closer look. Unfortunately, I had no idea where to start: the vegetation was thick, cars were whizzing by, and I didn’t want to draw attention from the nearby fire station. Disheartened, I left after just a few minutes. A second trip, a week later, was equally unproductive, so I decided to ask some friends about it when I got home.

One said that her dad stopped and walked her back to take a drink when she was a kid. Another remembered that he often stopped there on his way back from Cincinnati Reds games. One guy even claimed the well flowed freely as recently as 2015! All the stories contradicted what I’d seen. How could I have missed something so obvious that it needed a sign to warn people to stay away?

Discouraged, I put the place out of my mind for a couple of years. Then one day, I passed through with my mom and decided to give the hunt another try. After ten minutes of searching, it seemed like I was coming up empty again. I trudged back to the pull-off, ready to call it quits. As I was leaving, though, I spotted a brushstroke of red sludge peeking out from under the grass and husks. My heart leapt- red means rust, and rust means flowing wells! 

I couldn’t believe I’d missed that splash of red on my earlier visits. I crouched down and eagerly started sifting through the debris. There they were- bubbles and ripples! In just a few seconds, I uncovered the well itself. It still flowed, but most of the casing above the surface was gone. It had been right behind the sign the whole time. 

As dispirited as I felt along my quest, I’d never have found the Blountsville well if I hadn’t gone back and started digging. That lesson prepared me well for finding another in Madison County. One day, a woman shared memories of childhood visits to a “natural spring” I hadn’t heard of before. She recalled water flowing from a creek bank under a bridge on Mt. Pisgah Road.

That sounded like a flowing well to me, so I started researching. I was deep into a hundred-year-old map of the area when my source sent me another message: if I were to try and find the spring she mentioned, I’d need to bring a shovel.

Looking back, I recognize that this would have been a good moment for some self-reflection. At the time, though, I felt unstoppable! I had already discovered twenty flowing wells in Central Indiana and thought I knew exactly what to look for. A shovel felt excessive, and I certainly wasn’t going to slum it by traipsing through a ditch in search of a stick.

Without any equipment, I set out for Mud Creek and Mt. Pisgah Road the next day. I pulled off the road as the sun dipped low and carefully climbed down the boulder-strewn bank. I reached a clearing, looked around, and realized there was no flowing water! The usual signs of a well -the gentle babble and the water’s refractive sparkle- were nowhere to be found. The silence was only broken by the rustle of the husks in front of me.

Looking down at the vegetation, I really wished I’d brought a shovel. Even a stick would have helped me poke around for a sign like a rusty patch of earth or a trickle of water! Eventually, I found a branch and started probing near where the bank bottomed out. It took more effort than I expected, but a small pool emerged as I cleared away the grass and muck. Soon, a bubbling pipe appeared. I’d found the well! Later, I started calling it Vinson after the family who owned the land when it was drilled.

Even though the Blountsville and Vinson wells no longer flowed like they had in the past, discovering them felt like a triumph. On my way home both times, I realized that finding the wells was a lot like the introspective journeys I force myself to take. 

It’s true. Just as I had to dig to find the wells, my introspection involves diving into the deeper layers of my thoughts and emotions. It’s still uncomfortable, but sometimes, that means I have to overcome obstacles without any tools to help. Moreover, both require patience and self-compassion. It took three tries to find the well at Blountsville after all. Persistence is key to both exploration and self-discovery. I shouldn’t be so hard on myself.

I still struggle with introspection, but finding parallels to my well adventures has been helpful. As I get better at both, I’m beginning to see more positives emerge. Just as flowing wells provide vital water, introspection has helped me uncover hidden strengths and insights that ultimately help me grow. Eventually, I hope the tallest of the walls I built as a child will wash away for good. That’s an important goal to keep in mind as I start to struggle this holiday season.