Depression is back and it's bad. It started a few months ago, just a dark irritation working along the edges of my mind, disturbing my sleep, and sapping my energy. It gained momentum in the winter months, despite my attempts to focus on the positive and good.
Depression slides into my brain, changes my thinking, and warps my perspective. Intellectually, I understand this, but I feel powerless to steer it in a different direction. Also, I'm exhausted. Exhaustion doesn't help.
I've had up and down days, and for the most part, nobody has been able to tell I'm going through something. If nothing else, I'm an outstanding and accomplished actress.
Right now, the logical part of my brain and the emotional reality are locked in a tenacious struggle for dominance. When I'm in this state, I can't tell what's true. There is no situational root cause for this depression, but anything that has ever caused me pain or anxiety has bubbled up to the surface of my thinking and overwhelmed any sense of perspective I might normally have. I see myself in turn as a horrible monster, a pathetic loser, a worthless attempt someone made at forming a human being.
I've been pushing back against this for months, and the effort has worn me out. I've become exceptionally withdrawn, although I can summon up a reasonable facsimile of a personality for professional situations or whenever otherwise necessary.
The gaps between appearing normal and showing where I really am are getting bigger. I know that for the most part, I have a flat affect. I'm distracted, I've shut down to a certain extent, and I can't concentrate. The phrase, "I'm sorry, what did you say?" comes out of my mouth many times a day. It's not that I'm not paying attention, it's more like I've become so tuned out of everything beyond my own thoughts that I'm not even aware conversations are happening around me, let alone might include me.
I take the train to work, and unlike everyone else onboard, I'm not staring at a phone or listening to my iPod. I stare out the window, but I couldn't tell you what I see. Nothing registers.
Because I ruminate on a very intense level, one thing that brings me some relief from the intensity is attempting not to think at all. For the last couple of weeks, I've taken to sitting and just staring into space, even if there is someone else present. What I've come to realize is that when I do this, the people who witness it find it very disconcerting and become uncomfortable. What they don't get is that the lack of interaction, the way I disconnect, feels so much more comfortable for me than trying to act like I'm engaged with whatever is happening around me. There really isn't anything wrong with sitting in a chair and staring into space, is there? Apparently, there is.
It seems to me--and I am an exceptionally perceptive person--that anyone who knows me finds me unbearable to be around. I wish that the people who spend time with me could show me the same compassion and tolerance I have shown them during their respective episodes of discomfort. Why would anyone do that, though? I'm not worth the trouble. That's not a warped perception; it's a clear conclusion reached after years of observing the same outcome.
If I can't keep putting the effort required to appear that I am functioning normally, I'm not sure what will happen. For now, people around me have been commenting that I seem tired, worn out, subdued. No, I'm not subdued. I have intentionally withdrawn. I am withdrawn.
Really, being withdrawn makes me more bearable to others. It also means I don't waste what precious little energy I have.
A depression has rolled over me and I'm buried. Rather than try to dig myself out, I'm just going to ride it out. Also, I'm taking a different approach this time. Honesty. That's right, I'm pretty openly telling people I'm severely depressed, mostly with the hope they'll show some compassion, lower their fucking expectations, and cut me some slack. Why do we always put on a brave face for this shit? I'm so done with that. If I had the flu, I wouldn't pretend I didn't.
Don't think I haven't tried to do anything to change the course of events in my brain. In a recurring "Dear Abby" column on the topic of depression, the following advice is always given:
- Do good deeds
- Focus on helping others
- Get some physical activity every day
- Think positive thoughts
- Be grateful and express gratitude
- Listen to uplifting music
- Read something that improves your mind
- Show an interest in others
I walk briskly every day, and check the health app on my phone regularly to make sure I'm moving enough. I stretch. I take the stairs. I park far away.
When dark, dark thoughts cloud my logic, I try to think of happier things, but the dark thoughts keep winning. I've cut way back on NPR in the car and have taken to listening to the comedy station as much as possible. I have been binge-listening to TED talks as well as reading the Wall Street Journal, The Atlantic, The New York Times, and the blogs on the NPR website. Although I'm sure my mind is experiencing some improvement, my mood is not.
Uplifting music? The most played playlists on my iPod have the names "Fun," "Workout Jam," "Party Mix" and "Party Mix 2." Despite the beat and the tunes, I do not feel uplifted. At all.
Remembering to ask others how they're doing and to inquire about their interests is a bit of a struggle. First of all, it's not sincere and right now, at this point in my life, I truly don't care. My interest is feigned and forced. Still, I ask, I chat, I try to focus on what I'm being told, and I dispense appropriate responses and make the right facial expressions. I'm not sure what part of this exercise is supposed to assuage my depression, but I do it anyway. And throw in a few more good deeds.
Gratitude. I have never stopped being grateful. The feeling is there, the thoughts are in my head, but I've been so distracted, so muddled, I might not be verbalizing what I'm thinking. I think I do, but I can't be sure. Sometimes people indicate I haven't actually spoken. It doesn't mean I'm not aware of the things in my life that I'm grateful for.
And that's the thing. I know my life could be a lot worse, but that's irrelevant. The circumstances of my life in no way are connected to the depression in my brain. My life is perfectly adequate, and isn't that better than what most people get?
I wrote this down last week but didn't post it:
I'm very sad and have been for quite some time. I'd like to point out, this in no way means I'm ungrateful for the good things in my life. I just feel hugely inadequate in every way and it seems no matter what good things I try to do, my efforts are always found lacking. Don't hate me because I'm inadequate. I'm doing the best I can, even if I'm not up to the world's standards.
I fear I'll never be funny or interesting again. I will force myself to try. Might have to stop trying to be nice, though. I can't get that right. I need to remember the lessons of The Four Agreements, especially that everyone is the center of his or her own narrative, and as a result, my actions and words will be judged through that filter. My intentions may not even come into consideration.
When I'm profoundly sad, it's hard for me to see any good in myself, so
if anyone is unhappy with me I assume my self-loathing is justified. Obviously my hard-fought attempts at focusing on positivity and optimism
haven't been working. Faking it is wearing me out. I'm sorry I'm so sad. I'll come back when I feel better. That could be a while. Sorry for my despair. My head is full. Kill me, please.
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