Falderol

Digging in

There's so much to write, but somehow I can't find it in me to put it down on paper. For now, I want to link to two articles that anyone who's ever dealt with depression should read -- or anyone who knows someone suffering, because it might provide insight into that world.

This one, found by Dooce, gets it all right. The guilt: why me, when so much is right in my life? The pain: constant, buzzing, debilitating. Read it here.

This one, by Judith Warner, made me want to fly to New York to hug her. In a world where we're convinced that all Americans are overmedicated, going on depression meds can be a harrowing experience. You feel like you're caving in, like you should be able to heal yourself. There are friends you can't talk to because they are too quick to speak out against medication. But Judith gets it right: maybe we should stop viewing it as an all-or-nothing issue. Perhaps the truth is closer to this: that for the first time, we're able to help people who used to help themselves through alcohol, drugs, dangerous behavior, isolation, or suicide. If meds can bring people like me back from the human mind's darkest corners, should we be so quick to condemn them?

I'm not okay yet. I've been on a full dose of my SSRI for about three weeks, so I still have days like yesterday where I feel like I'm backsliding into despair. But I'm clawing my way back, one slow dogged scrape at a time. I want to write about it -- it's the most therapeutic tool I have at hand right now. But I don't know if anyone's out there anymore. I don't know if anyone wants to hear this stuff.

One step closer to knowing

One of the most disheartening aspects of depression, at least for me, is the self-doubt it creates. Suddenly, you begin to question everything, from your own state of mind to your future. Logically, rationally, this is something I can treat. It isn't severe, nor is it disruptive to the point where I can't go to work or take a shower. Well, on occasion taking that shower might involve an hour's work, but at least it gets done. (And hey, I'm damn clean after all that time.)

And yet. If you ask me how I feel right now, I'll debate whether to tell you that there's an undercurrent of anxiety running just below the surface. I know full well that I will get over this, but I haven't quite internalized that message. Instead, I find myself asking the questions that a lot of depressed people ask. What if it doesn't get better? What if I'm doomed to repeat this cycle again and again? When my life is relatively pleasant, why can't I just be happy? What is wrong with me?

When you have a thyroid condition, it takes awhile to adjust. There's always a little part of you monitoring every weight fluctuation and energy shift, wondering if it's time to get the levels checked. Normal becomes a relative term. I'm afraid that this could be similar. Will I be looking over my shoulder now? Wondering if my latest crying jag is just frustration, or the sign of something bigger? I don't want that to happen. I won't let it.

I made a difficult decision yesterday to go on antidepressants. It's funny: by definition, depression messes with your brain. Yet, choosing to mess with it -- even if it's to clean up the original problem -- rattles me. I'm very, very scared of antidepressants. I'm afraid of their side effects, and of what happens if they don't work. I'm afraid of what happens if they do.

I'm also a little tired of explaining it to people. Yes, the medications are prescribed too often...but sometimes, some of us actually need them. If I thought I could do this myself, I would. Believe me: I've been agonizing over that for two months -- probably longer, on a subconscious level. If I knew how to fix this, I would. But even when I'm having a run of good days, as I've been, there are signs that I'm not entirely in control here. I'm still too anxious. I still jump to wild conclusions about the future on no evidence whatsoever. I have little OCD tics that flare like signal fires in the distance. Even today, when I was reeling from the first pills and wondering how I'd make it through the adjustment period, I thought about trying to go it alone again. But deep down, I know I need to try this now. Alone is too big, too much. I might be okay, but I wouldn't be all right.

CB leaves tomorrow, and I don't want him to go. He is a calming influence right now. I love my family, but they can be intense and stress-inducing; they don't know how to react, and so they get bigger and louder, talk about everyday things like bird feeders and television when I just need someone to tell me that this is going to get better. CB isn't like that. I know he doesn't know what to do, but nine times out of 10 he manages to be as supportive as anyone I can imagine. He is my rock, while the rest of us are just waves crashing around him. I feel terrible about the mixed emotions I have regarding my family. They've opened their home to me after a long time of being on my own, and they are doing the best they can. But I've been independent for so long, and I'm nervous that I might let myself become too dependent when I'm in close proximity to them. Being so connected has its disadvantages. So, living with the family is a mixed bag, but I can't go back to England right now. I need to work on me before we move for CB's postdoc. I know this, and I agree with it...but it doesn't make his leaving any easier. I wish we could be done with this LDR already, even though we're more than halfway there.

I know things will work out. I have to believe that, because I need to keep the right state of mind to move through this. It'll happen, and I just need to learn to be patient. But lord, sometimes I wish I could just skip to the part where things feel right again.

Step one

One of the most frustrating things about depression is the inability to predict when it will strike. While life hasn't been great lately, I wouldn't call it particularly taxing in recent months; perhaps that's why it arrived this fall, when I'd let my guard down after a difficult year. Now, it's become cyclical. A run of good days, followed by a couple where I fulfill all the stereotypes (head in a fog, trapped in a hole, unable to get out of bed...you name it). Every time it eases, I think I might be over the hump. Every time it returns, it's a little more demoralizing.

This blog is not going to be about depression, but depression is part of this blog. Writing is one of my biggest coping tools, and I'd be a fool not to use it. At the same time, there are a lot of details I'm not sure I want to share -- you never know who might find you in the blogosphere, and I also hesitate to tell my friends just how messed up things can get over here. I might write a lot of posts and never publish them, which seems to be the case as of late. Eventually, as I climb back out of this ravine, I'll start publishing more often about a wider variety of topics. Now, though, it can be a protracted struggle to do anything beyond what must be completed on a given day. Too, I find I'm guarding my emotions, because depression makes you mistrust everything you think and feel. For someone going through it the first time (or maybe the second -- I'm still not sure), it's extremely challenging to sort out what's you and what's the depression when your thoughts tumble like rags in the dryer.

This is uncharted territory for me. Please don't read if you don't want to know or if it makes you feel uncomfortable; if you know me personally, it might be easier. I'll post everything that isn't about depression to my other blog. If you do continue, I hope I find ways to make the trip worthwhile.

A post worth reading

Jon Armstrong's "How I Do" -- for anyone who's had to be there during a partner's struggles with depression.
It's been a difficult year, and posts like this help me feel less alone. Of course, so does CB, who holds onto me when my worse self is pushing him away.

Happy holidays, all. Be kind to yourselves.