Monday, June 23, 2003
I don’t talk about my depression for the same reasons why I don’t talk about being robbed – if it’s never happened to you, you simply cannot relate, period. Also, even if you have experienced either it does no real good to talk about it because it’s always different for everyone so there’s not even a common ground to be found.
I’ve lived with depression for…well, as far back as I can remember, really, so I’m rather in-tune with my cycles. “Cycles” is probably the wrong word here, as there’s nothing cyclical about it. Maybe it’s more like I know when the depression is going to hit me the hardest – it’s always there, you see, not too far from the surface, but it will at times flare up…see, even “flare up” is the wrong way to view it, that makes it sound like I suffer from hemorrhoids or something. (Are you starting to understand why it’s so hard to put this into words?) I could say that I can feel when my darkest days are coming but even that sounds melodramatic and false. Again, you either “get it” or you don’t so I’m not going to berate myself too much here for using the wrong words.
The most interesting thing I’ve found about keeping a blog is that I can go back and read my entries and pinpoint exactly where my high manias and low depressions begin and end. To someone on the outside looking in it’s probably not quite as obvious but to me there might as well be scribbled notes in the margins saying, “See, right here is where you recognized what was happening…and here is when you finally came out of it.” There’s no one thing I can point to that is a definite indicator or warning that I’m about to hit a high or low but I know it when it happens. Walking down the hallway I’ll stop and swallow a bit harder than I need to and I can feel the depression sweep in, almost like it’s entering down my throat and flowing through my veins until I can feel it in my fingertips. Nothing sets it off; it just happens. And I know that for the next couple of weeks (if I’m lucky) I sort-of take leave of myself. Sometimes it lasts longer, sometimes it’s shorter, but I never think of it in terms of time – I’ve made that mistake in the past and it’s the absolute wrong thing to do. Imagine on Christmas Eve being told that Christmas Day has been suddenly moved to February and you have an idea of how crushing it can be if you think of depression in terms of time.
See, that right there will make no sense to you if you’ve never been where I am. Hell, maybe it only makes sense to me regardless, I don’t know.
I hate how people perceive depression as a whole and the casual way the word is bandied about, even by people who suffer themselves. I hate the commercial for whatever anti-depressant that is, the little purple pill? It has the cartoon of the badly drawn sad little orb walking along with a cloud above his head raining on him wherever he goes. The voice over gives you an indication of how you can tell if you’re depressed…something along the lines of, “If you feel sad or blue for a week or more at a time on a regular basis, talk to your doctor…you could have depression.” Cut to the sad little pill and guess what’s happened? He’s now being followed by a happy sun and a rainbow! Oh, thank you, little pill, for saving me from my “blues” – and I don’t think this medication is going to be over-prescribed at all, nosiree.
That’s not to say that I don’t think the pill can and does work for some people – I take issue with the delivery of the message. If you’re sad and it’s interfering with the rest of your life then sure, by all means get yourself a pill. But to medicate yourself because you have a tendency to feel sad on a regular basis smacks of escapism. People get sad, it happens.
When I’m in a depression one of the absolute last words I’d use to describe myself is “sad”. The opposite of depression is mania…would you describe a manic as “happy”? Hell no. In my depressions (and I’m only talking about myself here – want to get that disclaimer out there so as to avoid offending anyone else who suffers) I would probably describe myself as absent. I’m simply not here. Everything is gone – motivation, energy, perspective – it’s like living in a vacuum. There is just…nothing. I don’t notice anything; I can barely function. That’s not entirely accurate, as I can function but it’s almost robotic – in a hypnotic state, maybe? – and nothing really registers with me. I have to look, then look again, then look for a third time before it clicks.
Compare that to when I’m in an “up” state…I am hyper aware of everything around me. It’s almost as though if I were to concentrate hard enough I could see individual atoms vibrating and bouncing off one another.
The hardest times come when these two worlds try to collide – up and down, both fighting for control and attention. It can get so extreme that I can literally feel it in my gut like I’m on a roller coaster. Those are the only times when I truly feel afraid.
The fear is a normal part of it all for me…sometimes I’m afraid for myself and of myself. Not that I’ll do anything rash or stupid, mind, but afraid for what I’m feeling and how little control I have over my mind. I complained once that being pregnant made me feel like a hostage in my own body and this is a similar feeling, only with my mind instead. In times like these I fight for control but sometimes I have to ride the waves and make the best of where it takes me. Imagine it as ship on the ocean stuck in a hurricane, or hacking your way through a dense, unknown jungle with a machete. Compare that with depression being standing at the bottom of a lake…it’s still a frightening situation, yes, but it’s somehow such a different kind of fear.
I wrote this once when my two worlds were fighting each other:
It’s a disjointed account, to say the least, but if you “get it” then you “get it”.
I think I wrote this more to understand where I’ve been for the last few weeks, and maybe to help my husband understand. For as long as we’ve been together I could never find the right words to describe it or to make him know what I mean when I say things like, “I’m afraid of reaching ‘that place’ and cannot let myself go there so I’m fighting with me, but when I hit it, you’ll know it for what it is.” See? Makes no sense. There’s no sign language, no facial expression, no real point of reference to adequately convey the emotion. Words are even a miserable substitute.
I know I’ll never be able to control this part of me but I think I’m at the age where I’m ready to own it. Unfortunately, that also means I have to own everything that goes along with it, from the “reasons” to the actions to the results. I think I can do it.
I’ll not pretend that this is very insightful nor will I be so arrogant as to believe I speak for anyone other than myself. I’m not trying to excuse any part of what I say or do and I don’t feel as though I’m particularly unique in this…I’m just sayin’ is all.
I’ve lived with depression for…well, as far back as I can remember, really, so I’m rather in-tune with my cycles. “Cycles” is probably the wrong word here, as there’s nothing cyclical about it. Maybe it’s more like I know when the depression is going to hit me the hardest – it’s always there, you see, not too far from the surface, but it will at times flare up…see, even “flare up” is the wrong way to view it, that makes it sound like I suffer from hemorrhoids or something. (Are you starting to understand why it’s so hard to put this into words?) I could say that I can feel when my darkest days are coming but even that sounds melodramatic and false. Again, you either “get it” or you don’t so I’m not going to berate myself too much here for using the wrong words.
The most interesting thing I’ve found about keeping a blog is that I can go back and read my entries and pinpoint exactly where my high manias and low depressions begin and end. To someone on the outside looking in it’s probably not quite as obvious but to me there might as well be scribbled notes in the margins saying, “See, right here is where you recognized what was happening…and here is when you finally came out of it.” There’s no one thing I can point to that is a definite indicator or warning that I’m about to hit a high or low but I know it when it happens. Walking down the hallway I’ll stop and swallow a bit harder than I need to and I can feel the depression sweep in, almost like it’s entering down my throat and flowing through my veins until I can feel it in my fingertips. Nothing sets it off; it just happens. And I know that for the next couple of weeks (if I’m lucky) I sort-of take leave of myself. Sometimes it lasts longer, sometimes it’s shorter, but I never think of it in terms of time – I’ve made that mistake in the past and it’s the absolute wrong thing to do. Imagine on Christmas Eve being told that Christmas Day has been suddenly moved to February and you have an idea of how crushing it can be if you think of depression in terms of time.
See, that right there will make no sense to you if you’ve never been where I am. Hell, maybe it only makes sense to me regardless, I don’t know.
I hate how people perceive depression as a whole and the casual way the word is bandied about, even by people who suffer themselves. I hate the commercial for whatever anti-depressant that is, the little purple pill? It has the cartoon of the badly drawn sad little orb walking along with a cloud above his head raining on him wherever he goes. The voice over gives you an indication of how you can tell if you’re depressed…something along the lines of, “If you feel sad or blue for a week or more at a time on a regular basis, talk to your doctor…you could have depression.” Cut to the sad little pill and guess what’s happened? He’s now being followed by a happy sun and a rainbow! Oh, thank you, little pill, for saving me from my “blues” – and I don’t think this medication is going to be over-prescribed at all, nosiree.
That’s not to say that I don’t think the pill can and does work for some people – I take issue with the delivery of the message. If you’re sad and it’s interfering with the rest of your life then sure, by all means get yourself a pill. But to medicate yourself because you have a tendency to feel sad on a regular basis smacks of escapism. People get sad, it happens.
When I’m in a depression one of the absolute last words I’d use to describe myself is “sad”. The opposite of depression is mania…would you describe a manic as “happy”? Hell no. In my depressions (and I’m only talking about myself here – want to get that disclaimer out there so as to avoid offending anyone else who suffers) I would probably describe myself as absent. I’m simply not here. Everything is gone – motivation, energy, perspective – it’s like living in a vacuum. There is just…nothing. I don’t notice anything; I can barely function. That’s not entirely accurate, as I can function but it’s almost robotic – in a hypnotic state, maybe? – and nothing really registers with me. I have to look, then look again, then look for a third time before it clicks.
Compare that to when I’m in an “up” state…I am hyper aware of everything around me. It’s almost as though if I were to concentrate hard enough I could see individual atoms vibrating and bouncing off one another.
The hardest times come when these two worlds try to collide – up and down, both fighting for control and attention. It can get so extreme that I can literally feel it in my gut like I’m on a roller coaster. Those are the only times when I truly feel afraid.
The fear is a normal part of it all for me…sometimes I’m afraid for myself and of myself. Not that I’ll do anything rash or stupid, mind, but afraid for what I’m feeling and how little control I have over my mind. I complained once that being pregnant made me feel like a hostage in my own body and this is a similar feeling, only with my mind instead. In times like these I fight for control but sometimes I have to ride the waves and make the best of where it takes me. Imagine it as ship on the ocean stuck in a hurricane, or hacking your way through a dense, unknown jungle with a machete. Compare that with depression being standing at the bottom of a lake…it’s still a frightening situation, yes, but it’s somehow such a different kind of fear.
I wrote this once when my two worlds were fighting each other:
Yesterday I woke up and everything about the world seemed sharper, somehow. I was acutely aware of the presence of the floor, of the faith that I place in the floor to just be. For a moment I had a wavering thought that if I, for one second, doubted the existence of the floor that I would fall through. Everything seemed to need an inordinate amount of attention that I otherwise don't afford such inanimate objects. From the moment I woke up I was working – before I even had my first cup of tea I had climbed a ladder and was cleaning the top of the fridge and long-neglected cabinets demanded my immediate attention. I was happy for the distraction, as every time I sat down to take a break I was inundated with thoughts of how false everything really is and how delicately woven our reality. I don't usually succumb to the Mode of Dangerous Thinking – it was just one of those days where you can see the cracks in the foundation, see inside those cracks at the spiders scurrying, at the ants burrowing, further and further into the earth until you realize that you're not looking into the crack but rather out from the crack. Life seems like a surveillance video that's been badly spliced to play an infinite loop and trick you into thinking the situation is calm, calm, calm when in fact everything's raging.
It’s a disjointed account, to say the least, but if you “get it” then you “get it”.
I think I wrote this more to understand where I’ve been for the last few weeks, and maybe to help my husband understand. For as long as we’ve been together I could never find the right words to describe it or to make him know what I mean when I say things like, “I’m afraid of reaching ‘that place’ and cannot let myself go there so I’m fighting with me, but when I hit it, you’ll know it for what it is.” See? Makes no sense. There’s no sign language, no facial expression, no real point of reference to adequately convey the emotion. Words are even a miserable substitute.
I know I’ll never be able to control this part of me but I think I’m at the age where I’m ready to own it. Unfortunately, that also means I have to own everything that goes along with it, from the “reasons” to the actions to the results. I think I can do it.
I’ll not pretend that this is very insightful nor will I be so arrogant as to believe I speak for anyone other than myself. I’m not trying to excuse any part of what I say or do and I don’t feel as though I’m particularly unique in this…I’m just sayin’ is all.
