Category Archives: Depression

I had relatively good news from Dr. G&P yesterday. My a1c was up slightly but I only gained 4 pounds. Considering how badly I was eating earlier this spring, that’s a good thing. All my other numbers were good. LDLs were way down! Yay me.

I had a shrink visit too, which was interesting. We’ve talked many times about the dad voice in my head. It’s clear and obvious and boils down to how much I suck and how I’ll never been good enough. I told the shrink last time to remind me to talk to him about the mom voice, which is far more subtle. Mom was never malicious, but the messages I got from her are equally toxic.

Mom often told me, directly or indirectly, that people were constantly judging me. If my room was a mess, she told me she hoped none of my friends came by because they wouldn’t like me if I had a messy room. I was supposed to be perfect, act perfect, or people wouldn’t like me. And she told me stories from her own life, stories of how she was overweight and no one liked her. Stories of how she didn’t have the same clothes as the other girls, so no one liked her. I’ve seen high school pictures of her and she wasn’t fat. But she had me on diets from about age 10 and I was sure I was fat – I’ve got pictures of me from then and I wasn’t. I think that she wanted to protect me but she left me believing that everyone watched and judged – and you know, you’re going to get a certain amount of confirmation of those ideas. We all have someone who has made fun of us for something.

I don’t know how much other people experience this kind of internal voice. I know at least some do, it’s not uncommon. But apparently it’s also not everyone. Affirmations work, apparently, for a bunch of people. People are able to challenge the negative voices. I’ve tried those things, many times. I can challenge the you suck voices. But it’s the other one, the one that knows that affirmations aren’t true, they’re just things I say to try and fool myself. That voice, I can’t seem to challenge. It knows that people won’t like me if my house isn’t perfectly clean – and it’s not. It knows that it’s not okay to be fat – and I am. It knows that I don’t, can’t wear the cool clothes. The best I’ve ever been able to do is to tell myself that other people tell me that the things I think are not true. That’s not a really effective challenge.

But perhaps we will find a way of getting past or ignoring those stupid voices. It seems so dumb to me that these voices, these pieces of childhood, can still have so much power over me this late in my life. I ought to be able to just say to hell with them and be who I am and happy with it. That’s all I want. Just to be happy being me.

One of the things I’m doing toward that goal is to eat. I mentioned it in a comment a while ago, I’m cooking. I’m trying not to be afraid of food and I’m eating a better balance of food, healthier food. I’m not eating a bunch of junk and I’m feeling much less like bingeing on junk food because I’m making real food. And I like that about me. I like to cook and be creative. I’m even baking again. And the novelty of having homemade bread around is wearing off, I’m eating less. And I hope eventually to be in better balance and cut portions gradually so I can lose weight in a healthy manner. And I don’t expect the impossible. I just want to be me. Happy with who I am – and a bit healthier than I am now. That doesn’t seem crazy to me.

One side effect of gabapentine, by the way, is blurred vision. It makes proofreading hard. So if I find mistakes tomorrow I will correct the typos then.

May is National Mental Health Month. Last summer, I wrote about going public with depression. Maybe that’s all I need to say on the subject. Maybe not. I wrote about what it’s like for me to experience depression and how I try to cope with it, I didn’t really write about what it’s like to live in our society with depression.

I’ve been sad lately. Not falling-down-the-rabbit-hole depressed. Not stuck-in-the-swamp overwhelmed with life. Just sad. My thoughts are sad. My affect is sad. My dreams are sad. I’m also still – so slowly – adjusting to the Neurontin. It’s hard to tell whether the sadness, the lack of energy, the low motivation, the desire to sleep are all about the drug or partly about the depression. Or whether I’m just sad.

Asking these questions of myself, not trusting my emotions, is part of living with depression for me. I recognize different aspects of depression in myself. I know part of it – especially the falling down the rabbit hole part – is probably biochemical. Part of it – particularly the stuck in the swamp part – is most likely situational. Part of it, I think, is just me. The person who tends to react to everything – stress, anger, fear, happiness, success, everything – with depression. I really don’t like this part. I think I’m a bad person. Weak. A loser.

I know that people who care about me or who are otherwise my friends will object to that kind of thinking. But perhaps they’ve never lived with depression. Maybe they’ve never had people, even well meaning people, tell them that they just need to grow up. Or that they should pick themselves up by their bootstraps. Or that it’s not so bad. Maybe they’ve never been judged because they aren’t working. Maybe they’ve never had people walk away because they’ve talked about having attempted suicide when they were young. Or worse, that they sometimes think about death now, even if they have no plans to act on those thoughts. People really, really don’t want to hear that. Maybe they haven’t gone for months at a time having to force themselves out of the house. Maybe they regularly sleep for more than a few hours per night.

However that sounds, I don’t usually feel sorry for myself about that. People who haven’t experienced depression don’t understand it. It’s like people with diabetes complaining that everyone doesn’t understand diabetes. Much as I hate to admit it, before I was diagnosed and learned to live with it, I had no real understanding of diabetes. I thought I did. Looking back, it embarrasses me just how little I knew and the assumptions I made. So I recognize that people don’t get it. Some of them mean well. Some are truly judgmental. But most probably mean well.

Still, I’m embarrassed by depression. I judge myself harshly. I feel less than. I do believe at some level that I could be different, that I just don’t try hard enough. I talk to people about what it means to be clinically depressed but at heart, I’m not sure it applies to me. I should be stronger. I should be better. I should able too pull myself up. I should be able to force my way through this and be normal.

I know that’s not logical, or at least I think it isn’t. I also think that most – or at least many – people think that it’s true. I fear what people think even though I’m quite honest about my experiences here on the blog. Well, pretty honest. I don’t write about it often, I don’t want to drive people away. I tend to assume that people judge me, even when they don’t know me. I have the weight as an outward symptom of my depression so that serves as reason enough to assume people judge me. But then I make the same sorts of assumptions online. Like the other day when I reached out and posted a comment on a new blog and the person who writes it couldn’t even say “hello.” I felt rejected, alone, and wanting to never return to that blog even though I am enjoying reading her stories. I do that. I run away. I’ve also given up chasing people who walk away from me. I used to. I used to beg for them to care. Am I stronger for no longer chasing people or am I weaker because I don’t actually feel worthy of people caring, so I don’t try to make them. It takes me a while to let go. I give people a thousand chances.

Oh, as far as the blog thing goes, I don’t expect people to always comment. I have some friends who read and never comment, we keep up in other ways. I have online friends who show up once in a while, it’s always nice to see them. I also don’t expect constant responses if I comment on someone else’s blog. I do kind of expect a hello and I try to greet new people who stop by this blog. I guess I expect courtesy and maybe that’s unreasonable. I also confess that I know my total feeling of rejection is also unreasonable. I don’t know how to be different. I think I will keep reading that blog I like, but I will never comment again.

Anyway, that’s my experience with mental illness. I’d like to deny it. Depression doesn’t always qualify as mental illness. Sometimes it’s temporary. Sometimes it’s grief. But for me, this is the way it is.

I tried to go to the caregiver’s support group this Friday but apparently, in the months since I’ve been able to get there it has disbanded. I almost made it there one week in January but the support group guy had left just before I got there. Oh well. And I called for an appointment with the shrink but had to leave a voicemail. And never got a call back. And while part of me suspects that there was a problem with the voicemail, the rest of me thinks perhaps the shrink doesn’t want to see me anymore. After all, it’s been a long time since I made it there, too. I did go to visit at rehab and talked to a friend there for a while. I can’t afford to pay the monthly fee just to only get there a couple of times and I have a lot to get done this month. Perhaps next month. I’m not feeling motivated. I am feeling lonely and those rehab friends are not real life friends, even though I thought they were. I haven’t even been checking in at Calorie King. It’s hard to fit into a new forum and I don’t feel like I belong there. Or anywhere.

I feel lonely. And sad. And really, really tired. I don’t feel like anyone really cares – and who can blame them? I have acquaintances at rehab, at the nursing home, at the grocery store, online and hell, even at Walmart. People I say hello to and chat with a bit if I am there. But not people who are real friends. I’ve said it before, I know, but have found no way to resolve it. I am unlikely to meet people sitting here at home. And I have no idea of where to go and how to meet people. At least, not people who might be more than acquaintances. It might be impossible.

I am sorry. It’s just one of those days. It’s supposed to rain. I hope that it does. Perhaps a little rain will clear the stagnant air around here.

I read this article the other day: Going Public with Depression.

Editor’s note: Politicians Jesse Jackson Jr. and Patrick Kennedy have each recently revealed struggles with depression and mental illness. After the death this week of “Top Gun” director Tony Scott in an apparent suicide (it’s unclear whether Scott suffered from mental health issues), CNN’s Kat Kinsman writes that talking freely about personal mental health issues and suicidal thoughts, whether you’re a public figure or a private person, can help those who share the struggle.

It’s definitely worth a read.

I’ve tried to write about my experiences with depression on this website, most of which are now lost in the ether. There remains my infamous a boat with a view which I included in my About page. Often, I feel like trying to talk about depression makes people uncomfortable and that has never been my goal. I don’t really know that I make people uncomfortable other than the tendency of people to disappear when I start talking about it. These days, I usually only write in vague terms, noting when the depression is particularly bad.

Are we afraid to talk about depression and if so, why? Some of us know what depression is – and I’ll admit that we might feel a little superior to those who think that the blues are the same thing. Maybe people who don’t experience clinical depression feel guilty for not understanding? Or maybe those of us who do just assume that others don’t just because they haven’t been through it? And sometimes thinking or writing about depression is hard and reading about it is harder. I’ve never liked depression support forums. Sometimes they’re just very sad and other times there is a “he who is in the most pain wins” mentality that I can’t stand.

At any rate, I do think there is a benefit to going public. Depression is often seen as a weakness or a personal failure. I’ve run in to the not so helpful advice to basically pull myself up by my bootstraps. Get over it. And the thing is, depression is not possible to think yourself out of, at least from my experience. You can, and do, fake it on the outside or trudge your way through it, but inside, it’s an irresistible force.

What I think I want to talk about here is how I get through, which requires a little history. The first time I remember thinking of killing myself I was six or seven. I can picture myself, standing in the kitchen in the dark of the night touching the knives. What I can’t imagine is what was happening in my six or seven year old life that would merit those thoughts. My life wasn’t perfect but I can’t think that it was that bad. It’s one of the reasons that I believe that at least part of depression is physical. I recognize three different types of depression in myself. There is the depression that comes with chronic stress and problems in my life. There is, I think, a personality trait that causes me to tend to react with depression to those stresses and problems. And there is the medical or chemical depression that comes on all of the sudden, hitting hard and feeling impossibly bad. And that’s where I was the last few days.

Since that time, so long ago, I have had suicide thoughts – sometimes daily. I made a few attempts the year I turned 21 and made elaborate plans after that. I still think one day, particularly if I end up with Alzheimer’s, I will eventually take myself out. But most of the time, I recognize those thoughts are not really about wanting to die. They are about wanting out of this place, this life. Wanting to run away.

And that is one of the ways I get through. The first noble truth in Buddhism is that everything changes, nothing lasts forever. Neither the good nor the bad lasts. The very bad of depression doesn’t last forever. When you’re in the middle of it, it feels like it has always been this way and always will be. I had to learn, really learn and accept, that the darkness doesn’t last. It always passes, just as the sun eventually comes out from behind the clouds.

Doesn’t that sound trite? But it’s true.

Night only lasts so long. The problem is, or at least one of the problems is, that you don’t know how long it’s going to last. If I knew that this depression would last 12 hours or 12 days or even 12 months, knowing that there is an endpoint would help. Not having an endpoint is hard. Maybe this time it won’t end. The sun won’t come back up and it will be dark forever.

So the second of my great truths is that I can’t believe what I think. The thoughts in my head are false. The negativity, the fears, all the crap in there is false. They tell me that the night will never end. And I have to believe that I can’t believe myself. Which is hard since those same internal voices that say that the darkness is real and unending tell me that I’m lying to myself when I tell myself that the darkness isn’t real, that it’s only temporary.

My third great truth is that I can keep going even when it feels like I can’t. I have small goals. I try to get something done every day. Sometimes, they aren’t very big things but I have to keep moving forward. It’s what we do. One foot in front of the other and all that rot. Most of the time it’s not all that dramatic – only some days, for me, does it really seem impossible. It’s been bad since last winter. I have to force myself out of the house but I do, at least two or three times per week. And at the very, very darkest part of the night, when I don’t feel like it’s possible to survive, there is my fourth great truth.

Suicide is selfish, at least at this time in my life. I have to take care of my parents, there isn’t anyone else that will do it. Plus, my life is not really that bad, it just feels that way – and I remember that I can’t trust those feelings. The darkness will not last forever. The fourth truth is, I guess, the combination of the others. That this is just where I need to be right now, I can’t run away, I don’t really want to die. The worst times do not last, but then again, neither do the best times. Enjoy the good times while I can, deal with the bad, and wait it out.

There are a bunch of links at the end of the article I linked to at the top of this post. I haven’t read them yet but they look interesting. Too much of that sort of thing is too hard to handle. But I include this, from the article which is from Stephen Fry. I’m just going to have to trust that the link is right. For now.

Here are some obvious things about the weather:
It’s real.
You can’t change it by wishing it away.
If it’s dark and rainy it really is dark and rainy and you can’t alter it.
It might be dark and rainy for two weeks in a row.
BUT
It will be sunny one day.
It isn’t under one’s control as to when the sun comes out, but come out it will.
One day.

When I first moved down here to stay with my folks while I rehabbed I was often awake in the middle of the night. And that’s another story I’ve promised to tell at some point. Perhaps I’ll clean up the partial story I already wrote on that. I fancied it up at one point but now that seems overdone and silly. I don’t know. The middle of the night is not the right time to figure those things out.

One of the reasons I was awake was that it was the only time I truly felt peaceful and quiet. The rest of the day I had people in and out all the time. Maybe that is what people with families deal with all the time but I have lived alone all my adult life. I’m too old to change. Yes, sometimes I feel lonely but I also really miss being alone. In the middle of the night, I can be really alone.

There are other reasons, of course, but I started thinking tonight about how peaceful this time of day is. No one wants anything from me. Stupid insurance companies aren’t sending me letters demanding I find someone to fix the flashing over the shed door and trim some stupid tree before August 14. I could worry about that but why? I could worry about what to do with Dad’s driver’s license too. It is time to renew but 1) I don’t think he should be driving and 2) if I don’t take him to get it renewed it’s not going to happen. Oh and 3) not having a license won’t stop him from driving if he gets it in his head to do so. And also 4) I just don’t want to deal with him about it. Nothing I can do about it at almost 4:00 AM.

I need to sleep soon. Turning my already screwy sleep schedule upside down is a bad idea. There’s also a sadness in the middle of the night. A darkness, not to be confused with actual darkness. A place of why bothering to worry about those silly things because nothing matters anyway. Where alone turns to loneliness and the knowledge that I will always be alone. And perhaps that I rationalize how I want to be alone because I don’t have a choice.

My life has always been about dichotomies. Maybe everybody has the same dichotomies and it’s just the middle of the night that makes them feel so perplexing.

I can tell it’s gonna be
Another night alone
And I don’t have the energy to go out on my own
When you’re gone, I just want to hide
I can’t go on,
Til you’re here by my side

But I will never give up, I’ll never give up
I’ll never believe that love just fades away
Never give up, I’ll never give up
I’ll never give up
I’ll never give up

In the middle of the night, I wanna reach for you
I’m so uneasy when you’re gone
I don’t know what to do
It’s so hard just to go downtown
I’m not happy
Til I’m home safe and sound

Tim Weisberg with Amy Holland