Depression Is A Tough Bitch

Depression's been hounding me since my early twenties; clinically diagnosed (the result of Jennifer finally forcing me to deal with it) at 27. I've spent long stretches pursuing the talking cure and long stretches taking different medications. I've had short stretches of progress followed by long stretches of frustration and setbacks.

I don't make this post so I can work anything out for myself--though who knows, maybe I will. At this point I have a pretty clear-headed understanding of my situation. That said, it's still with me and, to varying degrees, may always be. I'm writing about this to give people I know some insight into my actions and behavior over, well, the past decade. Perhaps readers who don't know me might gain insight into someone they know who's in the same boat.

What compels me to do this, and to do it now? Distance, for one. Both geographically and emotionally. I never really let anyone know how much trouble I was in, or how much pain I was in. As close as I ever was to anybody back in Los Angeles, I never discussed my "problems." I wasn't going to burden anybody else, or waste anybody else's time with my bullshit. Everybody's got problems, who cares about mine? I certainly wasn't going to ask anybody for help--I was perfecting my own fucked up strain of martyrdom that was undetectable to anybody but me. And as my time in Los Angeles grew shorter and shorter there was no way I was going to start opening up--Johnny Funtime had to be the life of the party and keep the lights turned on and the stereo cranked to 11. And now I'm gone, and finding it way easier to express myself with the written word. A chickenshit approach, perhaps, but they do use that for fertilizer, don't they? Let's see if something sprouts up, shall we?

I always thought my tight-lipp-edness was for everybody's else's benefit. Not true. That was just me building a wall, brick by brick, to keep everybody out, or at least at a distance I could handle. I still haven't nailed down what it is I'm protecting myself from, and why (though I have some ideas, of course). But I'm starting to realize that the "what" and "why" don't really matter. I have to at least stop with the masonry. Then maybe I can move on to demolition. That makes metaphorical sense, but what do I really mean?

To start with, I've got engage with the people I care about. Now that I'm so far away it would be really easy to let the walls climb higher. Man, I can it feel happening even as I write this...hell, I can feel it happening despite the fact that I'm writing this.

Them: "How're things going out there?"
Me: "Fine. You know...[dissembling, noncommittal, mealy-mouthed nonsense].
The Me Trapped Inside My Head: "Actually, I'm feeling [REDACTED]."

I owe the people I care about more than that. And since I'm unable/unwilling to give it to them, I just avoid contact altogether, because I know how easy it is to retreat: into my head, into my marriage, into the apartment--places that are safe, places where the demands are familiar and so are the results. I almost looked forward to that upon arrival here, and pretty much announced it when I started this blog and jokingly said "now I can keep everybody in the loop and I don't have to talk to anybody." It's been six weeks and I still feel that way even though I know I shouldn't.

Grrrr....frustration's setting in. The more I write the further away I'm getting--I can't get the thoughts to come out in the effortlessly tossed-off, diamond-cut prose that you're used to.

I've strayed from the purpose of today's post--a bit of insight into clinical depression. Even now, this many years down the line, even while I'm on a combination of medications that are working very well for me, I still am susceptible to its vague but vice-like grip. Having been through the ringer so many times, I notice the onset more quickly, and I'm more quickly aware of being lost in its fog. So I've got that going for me, which is nice. And I even kinda sorta know how to break out of it now. But what's it like being "in it"?

sigh....

I imagine it's like an aging world class athlete's frustration: the brain knows what to do but the body just won't respond. It's paralyzing. The dark thoughts flex their considerable muscles and crowd out and choke the pencil-necked confident thoughts (those confident thoughts sure do have moxie, and, truth be told, they have an undefeated record. How do I know? The worms would be playing pinochle on my snout.) Can I pile on another metaphor? It's like stepping on the gas and the brake at the same time. If I merely sat in the car and did nothing, there'd be no frustration or confusion at going nowhere.

I know I need to get out of bed, shower, and get on with the day. I have a list of things that I need to do today, tomorrow, next week. But I don't. I can't? I won't? Which is it? Why is it? I guess it feels like a horrible admixture of the two--definitely worse than either alone. But it's often something that people not suffering from depression want to focus on, as if the answers would release its grip. But I've found that's mostly beside the point.

Why? Because I know if I just string together a few tiny, tiny "accomplishments" I can break its grip. I know it because that is how it always happens. This current bout started yesterday in the morning (note: I started this post about a week ago and let it marinate), I recognized it about mid-day, and, in the evening, discussed it with Jennifer. And it's in those discussions that the frustrations arise, for me and for her. She reiterates what I need to do, I respond with "I know, I know" and she says "you say 'I know' but you need to hear it because you're not doing it." Knowing what I need to do and failing to do it just makes the fog...foggier.

Lord, do I want to spare us both from this stupid dance. The exchange above is a sweet, sweet gift compared to what I've subjected her to over the course of our relationship. It's taken hard work on both our parts and a colossal amount of patience and love from her.

But even though I know, and she knows, what I need to do, it still took until well into the afternoon today (the day after I started writing this post) to bust through it. And I have to keep at it, gotta string together the small victories.

Maybe turn it into a winning streak.