This is the beginning of what shall serve as my vault for storing my thoughts, memories, fears, secrets, regrets, triumphs, and conclusions about depression and my experiences living with it. It won't be pretty, false, or sugar-coated. Just the honest truth as I have lived it. And, somewhere between the sorrows, the pain, the difficulties, and the grief, I hope to find the clarity to re-realize the hopes, dreams, and happiness that I often feel are overshadowed...
***The date stamps I created for this and the following posts (all seeming to have been written between the hours of 6:30pm to 11:45pm) are merely so that you can read them in order. They were written in a certain order that I feel is necessary to keep as I post them on my blog. So, although posts usually appear as most recent first, in the case of these posts on "November 27" (the day I started writing the series in my old journal, that is) they are shown on the page as earliest first, most recent last.***
About Me
- Nina
- I'm an avid swing dancer, a proud Minnesotan by birth, and I've got a soft spot for Boston. I love anything British, used bookstores, and delicious smells emanating from the kitchen.
Monday, November 28, 2005
Darkness Falls...
It seems like every year it creeps up on me and hits me right at the time I'm least expecting it - i.e. I've been waiting and watching for it, I wait longer and longer, something in my brain temporarily convinces me that perhaps it won't hit me as hard this year, I forget to notice the signs of approaching depression, then BOOM! it's upon me and I missed its arrival. EVERY SINGLE YEAR. You'd think I'd have learned the pattern by now. I expect it to hit around mid-October, it doesn't, Halloween distracts me, early November still sees me feeling okay, it hits me mid-November - right in time for Turkey-Day. And I suddenly "notice" because someone else points it out to me - I can't see it anymore because the gradual arrival of the depression has pulled a blanket over me. It's so god-awful frustrating.
---
There is a lot of dread involved with my SAD. I dread the onset of depression as winter approaches. I dread the dwindling amount of daylight. I dread my mood when the depression sets in. I dread what others will do or how they will react when the depression comes. The anticipation is usually worse than the actual event - speaking generally on all subjects - but with SAD, the anticipation and the actual effects I anticipate are pretty evenly awful.
---
There is a lot of dread involved with my SAD. I dread the onset of depression as winter approaches. I dread the dwindling amount of daylight. I dread my mood when the depression sets in. I dread what others will do or how they will react when the depression comes. The anticipation is usually worse than the actual event - speaking generally on all subjects - but with SAD, the anticipation and the actual effects I anticipate are pretty evenly awful.
The Fruitless Battle...
My depression is an "it." An "other." Oh, "it's" connected to me, inside of me, always with me. But I don't see it as a part of me. [I will discuss how fruitless and bad for my mental health this is a bit later on...] The depression is a shadow, a leech that sucks on my emotions and my mental state. But I can't seem to accept "it" as a part of who I am. I fight "it" with every ounce of my being. I will "it" to leave me alone, to pass me by this year, to not put me through the torture all over again. I try to find a way to convince myself that I will someday "win" this fight - and that victory will ensure that the depression will never reture again.
Somehow - acceptance (true and full acceptance) of my depression spells defeat to me. It implies that I have lost, that the depression has beaten me, that I must submit to "its" will as a part of the terms of my defeat. And I, being the stubborn person that I am, cannot allow that to happen. I must be victorious. I must show "it" that "it" can't get the better of me.
This fight, battle, war, personal vendetta - whatever you want to call it - is so pointless. There is nothing to fight. No matter how har I mentally kick and scream, the depression is there, will always be there. Not as a separate entity and enemy, but as a part of what makes me ME. A definition of who I am can never claim to be complete without the depression. The depression isn't an "it" - it's "me."
I often find myself - catch myself - thinking that the "real me" hibernates in the winter and is replaced by a lesser copy of "me" wearing this mask of depression. When I "shed the mask" in the springtime, the true me shows her face once again. Do we see how silly this is? I'm always the "real me." I don't go anywhere. I feel different in the wintertime, yes, but it's still ME. I'm not hidden behind a mask - I'm not hibernating - I'm always ME.
What's funny is that the perception that my true self is hidden by the depression each winter actually gives the depression the victory points in this "battle." I fight with "it." Accepting "it" as "me" would give me the victory because "it" wouldn't be successful in taking me over every winter.
The ultimate paradox: Accepting the depression means I've lost my battle against "it." Accepting the depression would mean I have won the battle because "it" would not have gotten the best of me.
Somehow - acceptance (true and full acceptance) of my depression spells defeat to me. It implies that I have lost, that the depression has beaten me, that I must submit to "its" will as a part of the terms of my defeat. And I, being the stubborn person that I am, cannot allow that to happen. I must be victorious. I must show "it" that "it" can't get the better of me.
This fight, battle, war, personal vendetta - whatever you want to call it - is so pointless. There is nothing to fight. No matter how har I mentally kick and scream, the depression is there, will always be there. Not as a separate entity and enemy, but as a part of what makes me ME. A definition of who I am can never claim to be complete without the depression. The depression isn't an "it" - it's "me."
I often find myself - catch myself - thinking that the "real me" hibernates in the winter and is replaced by a lesser copy of "me" wearing this mask of depression. When I "shed the mask" in the springtime, the true me shows her face once again. Do we see how silly this is? I'm always the "real me." I don't go anywhere. I feel different in the wintertime, yes, but it's still ME. I'm not hidden behind a mask - I'm not hibernating - I'm always ME.
What's funny is that the perception that my true self is hidden by the depression each winter actually gives the depression the victory points in this "battle." I fight with "it." Accepting "it" as "me" would give me the victory because "it" wouldn't be successful in taking me over every winter.
The ultimate paradox: Accepting the depression means I've lost my battle against "it." Accepting the depression would mean I have won the battle because "it" would not have gotten the best of me.
The Feeling of 'Saying Goodbye to "Me"' Each Winter...
I define myself as an optimistic, happy, easily-amused, and joyous individual. Someone who laughs easily and smiles often. And when the depression hits - I have this perception that I say goodbye to all of that because it all becomes suddenly so difficult to maintain. I become more negative, pessimistic, sad and apathetic, emotionally-drained. Happiness suddenly takes effort. Joy isn't my default mood anymore. I feel like I say goodbye to my happy self to make room for my depressed self. Or alternately - actually, more accurately, like I'm waving goodbye to my happy, summer self as a train/boat/car/bus takes me away and travels to winter. And as my happy self gets smaller in the distance, I feel empty and cold and alone and vulnerable. And into that shell of me creeps the depression, growing ever stronger as I approach winter (the train's/boat's/car's/bus's destination). Like an extended period of that sadness that comes when you have to leave summer camp...knowing you'll get to return next year, but feeling like there's an eternity to pass by until you get to return.
My Obsession with "Normal"...
In the past, I used to say that "normal" didn't exist. That it was some made-up concept people created as a comfort blanket - to make themselves feel better - and as something to strive to become. It was my way of saying I didn't care what other people people thought of me. I would be myself because I liked being different - abnormal - weird. That was then. 1996. High school.
Somehow, I've lost that sentiment. I still describe myself as out-of-the-ordinary, peculiar, strange, but it's an empty description. I don't feel I live up to what these words mean. I have instead become obsessed with what it means to be "normal." I watch other people to try and figure out how to be more like what seems to make them normal.
I told my mom once, maybe a year or two ago, that I was beginning to accept the fact that I'm just an average person. That there's nothing extraordinary about me. And, while she expressed concern about this, I told myself this was a lesson in getting older - that accepting this was synonymous with giving up the childhood dream of becoming famous. I have since discovered how wrong I am. Being above-average, extraordinary, abnormal, and unique doesn't mean you're rich and famous (in the TV-personality, tabloid faces sense with too much money). I am extraordinary simply because I'm me. I am unique because I'm me. I am far from average because I'm me.
How do I know this, though? What told me that I'm not average?
- Friends. Rediscovering old friendships that meant so much to me. Creating new friendships that fill out my life and give me new people in my immediate world to care about.
- A fresh look at life. Feeling successful at my new job. Relieving the stress that has existed in my life. Moving and settling into a new life in Boston.
- Counseling. And reflection. Talking through more layers of "me." Rediscovering happiness over and over again as I learn to live with depression.
So. I don't feel average anymore. I've unaccepted my perceived "averageness" I guess you could say. But that has not wiped out my obsession with what's "normal."
My obsession with normalcy stems from my view of my depression as DIFFERENT. ABNORMAL. Both in the bad sense of the words. I want to desperately to not have depression, to not have to live with its effects, that I have been trying to figure out what makes people who don't have depression "normal" and try to emulate that in hopes that will drive out my depression.
We all see how fruitless this endeavor is, don't we? The people I observe and try to emulate - how do I know 1) what makes them "normal" and 2) if they always act that way and it works well for them, and 3) that they don't also have depression or some other mental disorder?
As I write this out, it all just seems so silly. So obvious how mixed up I have made everything in my mind. And yet - these are all real feelings from RIGHT NOW.
12.5.05
To be normal...
Normal means being able to deal with the everyday responsibilities in life. Paying bills on time. Buying groceries. Setting appointments to take care of myself. Going to work each day. Calling the electrician, the plumber. Making and keeping friends. Handling stress.
Somehow, I've lost that sentiment. I still describe myself as out-of-the-ordinary, peculiar, strange, but it's an empty description. I don't feel I live up to what these words mean. I have instead become obsessed with what it means to be "normal." I watch other people to try and figure out how to be more like what seems to make them normal.
I told my mom once, maybe a year or two ago, that I was beginning to accept the fact that I'm just an average person. That there's nothing extraordinary about me. And, while she expressed concern about this, I told myself this was a lesson in getting older - that accepting this was synonymous with giving up the childhood dream of becoming famous. I have since discovered how wrong I am. Being above-average, extraordinary, abnormal, and unique doesn't mean you're rich and famous (in the TV-personality, tabloid faces sense with too much money). I am extraordinary simply because I'm me. I am unique because I'm me. I am far from average because I'm me.
How do I know this, though? What told me that I'm not average?
- Friends. Rediscovering old friendships that meant so much to me. Creating new friendships that fill out my life and give me new people in my immediate world to care about.
- A fresh look at life. Feeling successful at my new job. Relieving the stress that has existed in my life. Moving and settling into a new life in Boston.
- Counseling. And reflection. Talking through more layers of "me." Rediscovering happiness over and over again as I learn to live with depression.
So. I don't feel average anymore. I've unaccepted my perceived "averageness" I guess you could say. But that has not wiped out my obsession with what's "normal."
My obsession with normalcy stems from my view of my depression as DIFFERENT. ABNORMAL. Both in the bad sense of the words. I want to desperately to not have depression, to not have to live with its effects, that I have been trying to figure out what makes people who don't have depression "normal" and try to emulate that in hopes that will drive out my depression.
We all see how fruitless this endeavor is, don't we? The people I observe and try to emulate - how do I know 1) what makes them "normal" and 2) if they always act that way and it works well for them, and 3) that they don't also have depression or some other mental disorder?
As I write this out, it all just seems so silly. So obvious how mixed up I have made everything in my mind. And yet - these are all real feelings from RIGHT NOW.
12.5.05
To be normal...
Normal means being able to deal with the everyday responsibilities in life. Paying bills on time. Buying groceries. Setting appointments to take care of myself. Going to work each day. Calling the electrician, the plumber. Making and keeping friends. Handling stress.
The Hidden, and Often Neglected, ADD...
I not only have depression. I also have, linked to it, ADD. Adult-style. (Apparently that makes it different somehow from the kind kids have, though exactly how I'm not sure.) But my ADD often gets set off to the side in my self-reflection and self-analysis sessions. I tend to focus on the depression because those effects are more noticeable, more intense.
Maybe I just feel more accomplished at coping with my ADD than I do with my depression, so I don't need to focus on it? I do often forget it's there.
Or maybe thinking about it too much makes me feel more "broken" - just one more thing wrong with me...
Maybe I just feel more accomplished at coping with my ADD than I do with my depression, so I don't need to focus on it? I do often forget it's there.
Or maybe thinking about it too much makes me feel more "broken" - just one more thing wrong with me...
Broken...
I feel broken. I have felt that way since freshman year of college. That was the year I developed my cat and dust allergies, and the year I developed lactose intollerance. Add a daily pill to my life. And optional pills if I want dairy (which I pretended for so many years didn't work because I couldn't deal with another pill in my life). Then, the next year revealed depression and ADD. Enter another medication - twice-a-day. (I eventually got it to once-a-day, sure, but the pill still exists.) In my mind, I was now even more broken.
Really, if you count discovering a need for glasses in my senior year of high school, I've felt broken since 1998. That's 7 years. Perhaps that's another reason for my obsession with normalcy. I yearn for the days when I didn't know any of that existed. (Oh, it probably did - at least the depression and ADD.)
And, it didn't stop with sophomore year. Junior year, I discovered I couldn't breathe very well when I ran. Enter a new medication: an inhaler that I use when I exercise to battle my exercise-induced asthma.
I feel broken. I feel negatively abnormal. And I've never really come to terms with this feeling, I don't think.
"Broken." The word is festering inside me.
Really, if you count discovering a need for glasses in my senior year of high school, I've felt broken since 1998. That's 7 years. Perhaps that's another reason for my obsession with normalcy. I yearn for the days when I didn't know any of that existed. (Oh, it probably did - at least the depression and ADD.)
And, it didn't stop with sophomore year. Junior year, I discovered I couldn't breathe very well when I ran. Enter a new medication: an inhaler that I use when I exercise to battle my exercise-induced asthma.
I feel broken. I feel negatively abnormal. And I've never really come to terms with this feeling, I don't think.
"Broken." The word is festering inside me.
Sunday, November 27, 2005
...and Small
When I lose control, when I feel I no longer have a handle on the situation, I feel very small. Right now, I feel about 2 inches tall. Work has becom an overwhelming tidal wabve of thing I haven't done, things I forget to do, things I don't know about but should. LB freaked out at me today - thing after thing after thing that I forgot to do, or didn't know I had to do. By the end of the day, I had told her "No, I didn't do that either" so many times that you'd need fingers and toes to count them all. The whole month of November, I feel like I've dropped the ball so many times. 2 inches tall. Someone's gonna step on me and squash me completely if I don't start finding a way to get a handle on things. LB's gonna fire me if I can't figure it out.
A typical story to provide an example of the small feeling. I shrink every tiime something goes wrong, whether at work, at home, with my friends, in the confines of my own room. Shrinking like "Honey, I Shrunk The Kids"...and I hate feeling short. I hate feeling like the world is so much taller (read: stronger, mroe confident, better able to handle their lives) than I am.
A typical story to provide an example of the small feeling. I shrink every tiime something goes wrong, whether at work, at home, with my friends, in the confines of my own room. Shrinking like "Honey, I Shrunk The Kids"...and I hate feeling short. I hate feeling like the world is so much taller (read: stronger, mroe confident, better able to handle their lives) than I am.
The Ever-Changing, Not Entirely Predictable Symptoms
Appetite:
Sometimes it seems like I'm always hungry. Sometimes it's just that there's food to eat and I'm bored so I eat it. Sometimes it's the feeling of comfort I get from certain foods - and so I eat food all the time.
And sometimes it seems I'm never hungry. I'll forget about meals. Or food is suddenly unappealing. And so I eat very irregularly.
Both are so unhealthy, I know - I'm just saying that these two both affect me - striking a crazy balance every winter. And throughout the winter I'll realize I've suddenly gained 5-10 pounds in a week only to realize a month later that I lost 5 pounds in 6 days. It's not a binge-and-starve sort of thing...more an "extreme interest turned disinterest and back again" sort of thing.
Sleep:
There are days when I want to sleep the entire 24-hour period that constitutes "a day." I can't get myself out of bed. My muscles feel like I've run a marathon. I'm constantly tired even if I do manage to roll myself out of bed.
And then there are days when I can't sleep even if I try. I have periods of insomnia that will last for a week...10 days. I'll sleep maybe 2-3 hours a night, and begin to feel like I'm losing my mind due to lack of sleep. I go on a week or two of extremely strong sleeping pills because that's the only stuff that will put me to sleep. This insomnia is not simply the "lay in bed, toss and turn, fail to count sheep" sort of insomnia. It starts before I even hit the bed. I just won't feel tired, and suddenly realize it's 2:00am. I won't get up and put pj's on and go to bed. It's almost like I'm afraid to go to bed, because if I do, I'll just lie there and be awake with nothing to do but think about being awake and how tired I'm going to be at work the next day.
And there's no pattern, that I can discern, for which type of abnormality in my sleep schedule I will feel at any given time during the winter months. It's an ebb and flow, with small durations of "normal" sleep patterns in the middle of the two extremes. Sometimes I can sleep, sometimes I can't. Sometimes I can't make myself go to bed, other times I can't make myself get out of bed. It's frustrating, so so frustrating...
A bright side in all of this?
Sure...albeit a sort of twisted, strange bright side. The problems I have with sleep and eating patterns have given me a pretty accurate way of figuring out when I'm suffering from a depressive episode:
Abnormalities in one or the other usually just means I'm overly stressed about something. I try to find the source and eliminate the stress. But when abnormalities in both occur, I can be pretty sure that I've hit a depressive episode. Especially if I can say that I've gone through a week of some sort of combination of sleep and eating pattern inconsistancy, then I generally know I'll be hitting a slump (meaning a depressive episode) soon, if I haven't hit it already.
So, in my infinitely optimistic state, I guess even these crazy symptoms serve their purpose in some marginally good way.
Sometimes it seems like I'm always hungry. Sometimes it's just that there's food to eat and I'm bored so I eat it. Sometimes it's the feeling of comfort I get from certain foods - and so I eat food all the time.
And sometimes it seems I'm never hungry. I'll forget about meals. Or food is suddenly unappealing. And so I eat very irregularly.
Both are so unhealthy, I know - I'm just saying that these two both affect me - striking a crazy balance every winter. And throughout the winter I'll realize I've suddenly gained 5-10 pounds in a week only to realize a month later that I lost 5 pounds in 6 days. It's not a binge-and-starve sort of thing...more an "extreme interest turned disinterest and back again" sort of thing.
Sleep:
There are days when I want to sleep the entire 24-hour period that constitutes "a day." I can't get myself out of bed. My muscles feel like I've run a marathon. I'm constantly tired even if I do manage to roll myself out of bed.
And then there are days when I can't sleep even if I try. I have periods of insomnia that will last for a week...10 days. I'll sleep maybe 2-3 hours a night, and begin to feel like I'm losing my mind due to lack of sleep. I go on a week or two of extremely strong sleeping pills because that's the only stuff that will put me to sleep. This insomnia is not simply the "lay in bed, toss and turn, fail to count sheep" sort of insomnia. It starts before I even hit the bed. I just won't feel tired, and suddenly realize it's 2:00am. I won't get up and put pj's on and go to bed. It's almost like I'm afraid to go to bed, because if I do, I'll just lie there and be awake with nothing to do but think about being awake and how tired I'm going to be at work the next day.
And there's no pattern, that I can discern, for which type of abnormality in my sleep schedule I will feel at any given time during the winter months. It's an ebb and flow, with small durations of "normal" sleep patterns in the middle of the two extremes. Sometimes I can sleep, sometimes I can't. Sometimes I can't make myself go to bed, other times I can't make myself get out of bed. It's frustrating, so so frustrating...
A bright side in all of this?
Sure...albeit a sort of twisted, strange bright side. The problems I have with sleep and eating patterns have given me a pretty accurate way of figuring out when I'm suffering from a depressive episode:
Abnormalities in one or the other usually just means I'm overly stressed about something. I try to find the source and eliminate the stress. But when abnormalities in both occur, I can be pretty sure that I've hit a depressive episode. Especially if I can say that I've gone through a week of some sort of combination of sleep and eating pattern inconsistancy, then I generally know I'll be hitting a slump (meaning a depressive episode) soon, if I haven't hit it already.
So, in my infinitely optimistic state, I guess even these crazy symptoms serve their purpose in some marginally good way.
Pulling the Wool Over My Eyes...
A big problem I have is when I'm not in a downslope of depression. (Being depressed doesn't mean you're ALWAYS down and sad and, well, depressed. There are up days and down days.)
When I'm having an up day/week/span of time, I'm happy - I feel like "me" again. I feel like I can take on the world. I feel free.
And it's in that frame of mind that I'm often able to fool myself into thinking the depression is going away - that I'm "getting better." Like a "light at the end of the tunnel" type of feeling, telling myself to "hold on, we won't have to endure this much longer."
Sure, on some levels that's partially true. Since my depression is seasonal, my difficulties SIGNIFICANTLY decrease in the summer months. But it never actually goes away - and it's not going to go away. So I'm no better at accepting this - I just keep trying to find ways to get this depression to go away...
When I'm having an up day/week/span of time, I'm happy - I feel like "me" again. I feel like I can take on the world. I feel free.
And it's in that frame of mind that I'm often able to fool myself into thinking the depression is going away - that I'm "getting better." Like a "light at the end of the tunnel" type of feeling, telling myself to "hold on, we won't have to endure this much longer."
Sure, on some levels that's partially true. Since my depression is seasonal, my difficulties SIGNIFICANTLY decrease in the summer months. But it never actually goes away - and it's not going to go away. So I'm no better at accepting this - I just keep trying to find ways to get this depression to go away...
The Need/Urge/Desire to Get Others "In The Know"
What is it with this "milestone" of being able to tell people I have SAD? I almost see it as this rite of passage for really *knowing* me. I make it this big thing in my head - when is this right time to let this person in? - can this person handle knowing me with this added info?
Now, let me be clear on something: I'm not ashamed of my depression. I established with myself early on that this is nothing to be ashamed of - it's part of me, and I refuse to be ashamed of who I am. So it doesn't bother me that others know, so long as they don't treat me differently because of it.
But beyond my feelings about others knowing about my depression, I have this crazy NEED to tell others about it. I want them to know - no, really, I NEED them to know. And, I think it's because I want to see their reaction. Lately, I've noticed that I react to situations based upon how others react to the same or similar situations. - And this seems to be no different. It's almost as if I feel like: "if they can accept it and move on, then I should, too." (Taking their lead.) But it's also this need to be reminded that others can accept it and move on. - That way I can still be sure that I should accept it as well.
I also feel like I'm afraid of getting too attached to people (be it friends - girls or guys, guys I'm interested in, other people that don't fall into the first 2 categories) and having them leave me when they find out and can't handle it. (I never said I wasn't a little melodramatic...) So, if I tell them early on, I make sure they won't freak out and suddenly hate me later on.
A silly thing to fear, yes. But, it's there all the same.
I ned acceptance and I need the security in the relationship/friendship that the other person won't both upon discovering the depression.
I wish I didn't feel the need for these things, but *sigh*, there it is.
Now, let me be clear on something: I'm not ashamed of my depression. I established with myself early on that this is nothing to be ashamed of - it's part of me, and I refuse to be ashamed of who I am. So it doesn't bother me that others know, so long as they don't treat me differently because of it.
But beyond my feelings about others knowing about my depression, I have this crazy NEED to tell others about it. I want them to know - no, really, I NEED them to know. And, I think it's because I want to see their reaction. Lately, I've noticed that I react to situations based upon how others react to the same or similar situations. - And this seems to be no different. It's almost as if I feel like: "if they can accept it and move on, then I should, too." (Taking their lead.) But it's also this need to be reminded that others can accept it and move on. - That way I can still be sure that I should accept it as well.
I also feel like I'm afraid of getting too attached to people (be it friends - girls or guys, guys I'm interested in, other people that don't fall into the first 2 categories) and having them leave me when they find out and can't handle it. (I never said I wasn't a little melodramatic...) So, if I tell them early on, I make sure they won't freak out and suddenly hate me later on.
A silly thing to fear, yes. But, it's there all the same.
I ned acceptance and I need the security in the relationship/friendship that the other person won't both upon discovering the depression.
I wish I didn't feel the need for these things, but *sigh*, there it is.
Sudden Realization... (i.e. one step closer to understanding my battle)
Talking to my mom this evening while I walked to the dance, I came to this sudden realization...I feel like having depression is unhealthy.
Unhealthy. Huh. I said it before I really understood what I was saying, and it hit me - this FITS. Pieces fell together like the end of Free Cell on automatic card-fly-up-to-Aces mode.
Depression is considered a mental disease. Ah, there's the rub: disease = sick = unhealthy. Right? Well, mental disease is different as their is no cure, no "getting well." (Well, at least not without a constant stream of medication.) But you see more clearly where my fight comes from now? I've always been healthy - as a child, as an adult. I do not often get sick. And when I do, I get very impatient while I wait for all the "sick" to go away. But, I can't fight this like a cold or the flu.
So, a recap, of sorts, on how I feel about my depression:
- The feeling of being broken... "broken" = sick, weak, unhealthy
- The desire to be normal... "normal" = healthy, ridden with disease
- Having control... "having control" = having the ability to be cured, made healthy again
- Saying goodby to me... I see "me" as a healthy individual, but winter changes "me" to unhealthy.
Unhealthy. Huh. I said it before I really understood what I was saying, and it hit me - this FITS. Pieces fell together like the end of Free Cell on automatic card-fly-up-to-Aces mode.
Depression is considered a mental disease. Ah, there's the rub: disease = sick = unhealthy. Right? Well, mental disease is different as their is no cure, no "getting well." (Well, at least not without a constant stream of medication.) But you see more clearly where my fight comes from now? I've always been healthy - as a child, as an adult. I do not often get sick. And when I do, I get very impatient while I wait for all the "sick" to go away. But, I can't fight this like a cold or the flu.
So, a recap, of sorts, on how I feel about my depression:
- The feeling of being broken... "broken" = sick, weak, unhealthy
- The desire to be normal... "normal" = healthy, ridden with disease
- Having control... "having control" = having the ability to be cured, made healthy again
- Saying goodby to me... I see "me" as a healthy individual, but winter changes "me" to unhealthy.
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