Really Not Quick Description of Depression–Part 3

31 Saturday May 2014

Posted by SuperDepressed in Uncategorized

Tags

angst, anxiety, clinical depression, depression, futility of life, terror, woe

And then one day, the butterflies are gone. The next day, the bee’s disappeared. The day after that, the flowers have all died, and the day after that, the sun stops shining. It doesn’t shine for a week, 2 weeks, 3 weeks, and then one day you go to look outside again, and and the window’s gone. Then the door. Then all the furnishings and electronics and books and music and everything else disappears from your house, which has somehow shrunk to 1 room. In that room, you sit on the floor, with no blanket or pillow, and it’s okay, you’re not cold anyway. You’re not anything. All your food tastes like water and dry bread, or not even like water and dry bread, but that’s okay too, you’re not really hungry. That person there, holding your hand, at least you still have them, and you remember when you cared and were grateful and loved them the way they seem to love you, but you can’t feel it anymore. You can’t feel anything. And slowly, you stop hearing them when they talk; you have earplugs in, permanent ones. Soon, their features start to blur. You realize you’re wearing sunglasses, in an already dimly-lit house, but you can’t take them off. And eventually, you realize you’re walking through water, and it’s okay, because apparently you can breathe under water, or you don’t need to breathe anymore, and some part of you is academically aware that that ought to be the coolest thing that’s ever happened to you, but since taking 5 steps from the couch to the computer–when the computer’s even visible, to you–is too much effort, and you’re sleeping 14 hours a night anyway, you can’t really muster any enthusiasm. And one day, you realize 3 months have passed since you stayed awake for more than 10 hours in a row, since you laughed at a joke, since you made love with your partner, since you did anything other than exist… and after a month of telling yourself not to, you come off the meds.

A week passes, maybe 2, and all of a sudden, you look at that person who holds your hand and you think, “I love you.” This is magic, this is heaven. Another week or 2, and in spite of a dozen mood swings and an episode of self-harming, you feel better than ever. You can hear music again. Your food tastes like whatever it is, not dry bread and warm water. Your chairs and couch and bed and tv all reappear, and you know exactly what you want to do with each of them–you sit in the chairs and talk, really talk, to the hand-holder, and you lie on the couch and snuggle them or watch dvds, and in bed, you do all kinds of stuff you haven’t done in half a year or more, and you record half a dozen things to watch on the tv because it’s all so INTERESTING. Maybe you even start writing a blog, or a book, or you start taking night classes in something you’ve always wanted to do, or you join a gym or get married or take a vacation to the Bahamas. Whatever you do, you can FEEL yourself doing it, and it feels good.

And one day, you go to your back door, and you walk through and onto your patio like there’s nothing to it. You bring some orange juice and a bagel, you sit outside in your dressing gown in the sun and you just ARE. And even without your partner, you’re okay. Better than okay. You’re great. When a butterfly lands on the back of your hand and has a sniff of your juice, you’re careful not to damage it’s wings, and by the time you’ve finished your breakfast and wandered back inside your house to get dressed, you feel invincible. It’s the best time of your life, and it’s made all the better by the memory of what came before. Your mornings on the patio are resumed, and you are pathetically grateful for every precious day you spend sitting in the sun.

And then, one day, you go outside… and you have this feeling. A feeling like you’re being watched, and you don’t know how, but you know the intruder means you harm… and you realize you have 2 choices. Live in constant terror, unable to function in any meaningful way, or live underwater, completely cut off from everyone else, unable to relate to anyone in any meaningful way.

And suddenly you realize that this is your life. Forever and ever, amen. And there is nothing, absolutely nothing, you can do about it.

(THE END)

Really Not Quick Description of Depression–Part 1

28 Wednesday May 2014

Posted by SuperDepressed in Uncategorized

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Tags

anxiety, clinical depression, depression, despair, fear, hopelessness, terror

I’m going to try to describe depression, now. ‘Depressed’ is a word that gets bandied around a lot, and although it’s a valid title for a lot of things, there’s a huge difference between what some shrinks call “reactive depression” and “clinical depression”. I used to have the one (and it was treatable, even curable, with more social contact and eating better and getting more rest and exercising and developing coping mechanisms). Now I have the other (and it’s treatable with medication, but never curable, and eventually the medication goes too far and puts me right back into the place I started out). Hence the need for an explanation… so here goes.

Life, with all its activities and places to go and things to do, is like a sunny backyard patio. There are some flowers around, in pots, with maybe the odd honeybee pollinating them, and a few butterflies fluttering about, and the day is mild and bright and although nothing’s particularly right or wrong, everything’s pretty peaceful. And even if the sky gets a little dark, or some rain falls, or the butterflies go away for a bit, or you maybe get stung by a bee, it’s okay, because, well, it just is. Into each life a little rain must fall, and all that jazz. And you’re a reasonably mature individual, you take some time looking after your own mental health, and so you understand that just because you’re not happy in the moment, that’s alright, that’s normal, that’s the way life is, and after all, how could you appreciate the good without the bad? (You obviously speak to yourself in clichés, just like me.) And everything is more or less fine.

One day, though. One day, you wake up and walk outside to your patio, and there’s just… a feeling that you can’t place. A feeling like someone’s watching you; here, in your safe, private backyard, where no one should be able to get in, there’s an intruder. And you don’t know how you know, but you know they mean you harm. You try to ignore them, maybe back slowly into your house, out of the light and into deeper, lockable safety, behind closed doors and bolted windows, but your back door slams shut before you can reach it, and then it just disappears. Your house is still there, but there’s no way in, it’s just 4 walls and 1 tiny window that’s big enough to show you all the things that used to be yours, but it’s nowhere near big enough for you to crawl through, and get back inside to safety. For just a moment, amidst the rising tide of panic, you are so, so profoundly sad for the loss of your things, yourself, that you forget to be frightened.

But all too soon, you realize you can hear the intruder again. You KNOW he is out there, creeping around in the woods, maybe climbing up the side of the house to pounce on you from the roof. You try to think of some way to fend him off, but you know you are ill-equipped, and any fight you get into, he’ll win. With no warning, the sky grows dark, and it’s so cold, the 1 lone bee and his butterfly friends have all flown away; and then hours pass, and eventually, from sheer exhaustion, you fall asleep, right there on the concrete floor of your patio, and you pray that the sun will come up as normal the next day. You’re not asking for much–you’re not even trying to get back into your house yet, because you know that’s impossible–but you’ll settle, and gladly, for a few hours in the sun, where you’re not being stalked by a stealthy, murderous trespasser. You fall asleep shaking, and even you can’t tell if it’s from terror or cold or maybe it’s God punishing you.

(TBC)