Delayed Reaction

So. My Dark Day happened about a month ago now. And usually that's the beginning of the depressive episodes, the social anxiety, the mild paranoia that everyone really just thinks I'm a big fat failure but they somehow passive aggressively won't tell me because they want to see me fail more (yeah, because that one's logical).

But that's not what happened this year. This year has brought a lot of great things in the latter half of the year - finishing grad school. Passing my RD exam. Getting a job. Making a great set of new friends. Dating some really great guys - and learning how to break it off with them and still remain friends because we just didn't work romantically. All really fabulous uppers. It's almost like I should have known it wouldn't last.

In a way I kinda have. I've had a pit in my stomach - this nervous feeling - for over a week now. I've been more consciously fighting the paranoia (successfully thus far, but still, I've been aware of it). I've been making myself be social even when I felt like I might be a little socially anxious - because it's good for me to get out.

And now it seems like it's all for nothing. Because here it is - my first big depressive episode of the winter. (drums roll, trumpets sound, cymbals crash, and choirs sing "Duh" in 5-part harmony) Talk about a delayed reaction to my Dark Day...

I was supposed to go out dancing tonight. I love the Wednesday night dance. It's at a bar - it's relaxing and has a really chill atmosphere. I love the people who go on Wednesdays. I love the music we choose to play. But all I wanted to do was sit and binge-watch The West Wing on Netflix and drink Cranberry Ginger Ale and eat PB&J for dinner. And I suppose one could make the argument that sometimes you just need a night in. Sure. But that's not what this is and we all know it. Despite my rationalizations otherwise, despite my logicking, despite my concessions to myself. This is depression. That gnawing sense of ennui, mixed with random anxieties, mixed with a sense of disarray, mixed with that horrible feeling of apathy. This is depression my friends. This. Is. Depression.

I wrote recently about playing the Blame Game with the Depression Entity. And one could make that argument that I'm blaming my failed social engagement plans on said Entity. But that's not what this post is. This post is part confession, part realization that the inevitable is not out-runnable (all efforts on my part notwithstanding), and part admission that no one or no Thing is to blame. It just is. Tonight I lost a battle. Not with the Entity. With myself. Not a battle in the sense of bombs and fighter plans or cannons and swordfights. But a battle of wills. And the depressed part of my brain triumphed tonight. It was just so much easier to sit on my comfy beanbag in my comfy clothes and not do things. So that's what I did.

Any number of counselors/social workers/ psychologists would tell me that I should be kinder to myself. That I should allow myself to have a day off. That I should forgive myself for succumbing to the easy hermetic attitude that accompanies any of my depressive episodes. And sure, I'll work very hard to forgive myself - because they're right in that sense. But are they right that I should allow this day off of myself when my intention was never just to take a day off but to consciously take no actions whatsoever, and thereby allowing a decision to be made without making it - namely, it became too late for me to get ready and out the door and to the thing tonight? Because it seems to me like "allowing myself" is code for "enabling myself" to give in to the pull of apathy.

What's the point of all of this? It's simple:

Depression doesn't wait for a convenient moment. Episodes pop up like pimples on a 16-year-old's face. And they are, most importantly, unexpected.

The Blame Game

Do you ever find yourself blaming the depression for bad habits or poor choices? As in, "I wouldn't do X if I wasn't this down," or "I must be more depressed since I just did X?" As if the depression is the answer to every negative thing in life?

Yeah, me too. It's so easy. It's THERE. The perfect scape-goat. You know that old depression med commercial (maybe for Zoloft?) where there's an umbrella that follows you around, only when you open it, it rains from the umbrella - because the umbrella is meant to represent your depression? I view my own depression similarly. Not specifically as an umbrella, but as a non-formed entity or presence that's always there. The Presence is stronger in the winter, but it is always there.

My point is that thinking of the depression as a separate entity that floats around like a shadow makes it super easy to place blame. Because there's a thing, an Entity. It's got substance of some sort (ideas are nouns too!) - and that means I can deflect blame for some (all? most?) of the stupid stuff I do onto the Entity that is not me. Convenient. Simple. It wasn't me, it was the depression. Boom.

Except, all I'm doing is a disservice to myself. If I simply get to blame everything wrong or stupid I do on the depression, all that does is allow me to trick myself into thinking that I'm above reproach. "It was the depression, not me." Meaning, of course I would never do anything like that. Only under the influence of the depression. But, if I allow that to be true all of the time, who's really in control here, me or the Depression Entity that I've created in my mind to separate myself in some way from my mental illness?

[That's a struggle I've, well, struggled with ever since I was diagnosed: who's in control? And if I cede control to the Depression Entity, who is really running my life? Hint: not me.] 

In order to truly come to terms with myself and my depression, I've known for awhile now that I need to stop viewing the depression as this separate Entity. The depression is just as much a part of me as my brown hair, my smile, my creativity, and my shoe size. The depression is part of my identity. I would not be who I am right now without it. I would be drastically different (and I like to think not nearly as fabulous). But, in order to allow the Depression Entity to dissolve I have to stop blaming it. I have to give up my scape-goat. I have to take responsibility for all of the stupid shit I do. [Let's be real for a second here... none of the "stupid stuff" I do is life-threatening or earth-shattering. I'm talking little things: like leaving the dishes in the sink overnight...not remembering to call my mom on her birthday...missing a deadline at work... forgetting to call HR about some mundane admin thing. But just because they're little things doesn't mean this applies any less.]

Aye, there's the rub. I love having a scape-goat. I don't want to say I'm to blame for the stupid shit I do from time to time. I don't like people seeing I'm less than perfect. Or at least that I'm as flawed as everyone else. Sometimes I feel like I need to prove myself more because of the depression. Like, "the depression doesn't make me worse, see guys? It makes me even better!" Which is ridiculous and silly and 100% real. And facing that is so much harder than dragging a Depression Entity behind me to act as the ever-convenient scape-goat.

What's my point in all of this rambling? Depression is easy to succumb to. It's easy to let it take over. Because it's so much easier to lie back down in bed and pull the covers over my eyes. It's so much easier to say the depression is the culprit and that's why I didn't call you mom - I was just having a down day. It's so much easier to watch 4 more hours of TV instead of doing the chores I should do so my roommates don't run into a mountain of dishes when they want to cook or bake in the kitchen. 

But just because it's easy doesn't make it right. And that's what I'm currently working on in my continued struggle with my depression: stopping the blame game and accepting the depression as truly a part of myself. 

Wish me luck.

Bad to worse...and how I keep the happy

It all started with a taxi ride. Okay no. It started with a job interview. That I had to get to. In SW DC. [Let's put this into context. I worked this morning in Bethesda. SW DC (the southern end) is 45 minutes by car or 1.5 hours by Metro.]

I'd miscalculated timing. To get to my interview. The Metro would make me a half hour late. Not okay. Answer: taxi ride. Expensive taxi ride. Ugh. But he gets me there on time. All good, right? No. My card gets declined when I go to pay him. Seems there's a hold on the check I deposited yesterday until Friday. Friday??? How does that help me? It doesn't. So I freak out. And I tell him I can't pay him. And he gets pissed. [rightfully so, here's this young white yuppie girl in a suit saying she can't pay this rather large fair after you drove her clear across the city] And threatens to call the police (which might have landed me in jail). But I'm crying at this point. And repeating "I'm so sorry, I don't know what to do." And telling him I'm trustworthy and I'll pay him and I don't know how to make him believe me.

So, we work out that I'll have to pay him later. He takes down all of my information. (So he can call the cops if I do try to evade the fare. Fair enough.) [See what I did there? Fare and fair? I'm hilarious.] And I let him keep my drivers license for collateral. [...right? exactly how stupid am i?] And we agree on a meet time. And I get out and miraculously ace my interview. [What can I say? I got mad interview game.]

Okay. Now I gotta get cash. So I call people. Lots of people. Too many people. How embarrassing. I'm broke, I need to pay this cab fare, and I feel like some beggar on the phone asking for money. Sure, friends/family are happy to help me out because I'm lucky and have awesome family and friends. But that doesn't change the feeling I get when I have to ask people for money. I feel worthless. And judged (yes by me). And irresponsible.

After a way-too-complicated web of complication, I find a way to get this man his money. And he doesn't show up. I wait AN HOUR. Because, you know, my phone's battery just died so that's helpful [if you didn't catch the sarcasm, I can assure you it's there]. And then I give up. And go home. Because it's warm there, and I can cry at will about how stupid I am and how bad this day has gone (except for that interview).

In the end? The cabbie was busy on a fare and he's going to drop by my house after his shift to get his money. Okay. Great. Relief! Angels sing! Fans do the wave! There is much rejoicing! The Monty Python guys dance a jig!

Here's the catch: depression sucks at times like this. Because it's so good at making me dwell on the negatives. All the stuff that went wrong. All the stupid decisions I made. All the embarrassment,  the shame.

This post did promise to explain how I keep the happy in spite of all the bad, though. You know what I do? I take 3 deep breaths. (Okay sometimes 5 or 7 or 10.) Then I ask myself if I can do anything about the past. [Hint: the answer is always "no."] No. I can't. I can't change what happened. It happened. So I consciously turn off the worrying. I turn off the negative thought reel. And I give myself a break. I'm human. I make mistakes. I do dumb things. It. Happens.

How do I just turn the worry and the negative thought reel off? Practice. It used to take me a day or two (or 5) to turn that all off. Usually by then, time had moved far enough that I could skip turning it off and just focus on forgetting it.

But, the truth is: practice. I bought a self-help book (Feeling Good, by David D. Burns). And I did the exercises in the first several chapters. And it was corny as hell. But it taught me how to challenge the negative thought reel. How to reverse it. Or simply shut it off. And I practice all the time - for a good 6 or 7 years now. And I talked with my counselor. She and I worked on how to let things go that I can't control. Interestingly, I found that was easiest when I focused in what I could control in the situation. I can control my reaction (sorta/sometimes). I can control my breathing! Awesome. I can control what I do next, be that asking for help or walking down a sidewalk or hiding under coats. [I've always wondered what that proverbial coat closet looks like. The one with all the coats that we all talk about hiding under. I imagine it as a large mound of coats heaped over a square footstool in a small sorta-walk-in closet. And when you go hide under them, you curl up on that footstool.] Learning to refocus on what I could control in order to stop worrying about what I couldn't control took a lot of hours with my counselor and a lot of practice. Again, we're talking 6 or 7 years here.

I practiced. I still practice. I call it "going to my calm place" - but that's kind of a misnomer because I don't really envision myself going to a place. Instead I ask the important question (can I do anything about the past), get the inevitable answer [insert clip of Rafiki hitting grown Simba over the head with his walking stick and saying "Eet doesn't mahttah, it's een de pahst"], and that answer has become a trigger that almost automatically grinds through the process of calming me down. And once I'm calm, I can reflect on what went well in the situation. What did I do right? What good came out of it? And once I have the answers, I've found my happy.

It strikes me that I know people who can naturally do this. They've been good at it all their lives. But how nice it is that it can be learned. It can be practiced. It can be taught.

(Of course, it's only October, so this is easier for me to do now than it will be in the dead of winter...but the only real difference is that what I've practiced takes a little longer, and a little more effort and focus. It's not nearly as automatic in the winter time. But it still works, and that is the ultimate point.)

I'll close with one of the best things that David Burns taught me in Feeling Good:
Happiness is not a state of mind that rushes over you. Happiness is a choice. And it's not always the easiest choice. But it's always the choice that feels better in the long run.

Never forget...whom?

(This is copied from a Facebook post I wrote earlier.)

I'm struggling today, folks. 9/11 has become this "holiday" of sorts in which we're supposed to take a moment to stop and remember the men, women, and children who lost their lives during the attack of the World Trade Center and the Pentagon. This day in 2001 was "our rallying cry against terrorism" - that subsequently led to useless wars that only served to kill how many more Americans in the name of justice? And to make the Middle-Eastern countries of the world resent us even more. We answered terrorism with terrorism (don't mince words with me...war is a form of terrorism).

And, what about the terrorism that happens inside our own country? Police brutality. Sequestration of native peoples. The Defense of Marriage Act. Rape culture. Ridiculous rules blocking folks from getting federal and state aid. Sexual assault not properly addressed on college campuses. Or in the military. Hell, look at our history! We wiped out how many indigenous people in this country to claim it as the "New World?" We wiped out how many African and Caribbean tribes for the slave trade (and all of the horrors that went along with it)? All forms of terrorism. And it didnt stop after slavery was abolished in this country. Jim Crow laws. Segregation. How about internment camps for Japanese-Americans after Pearl Harbor? Terrorism, my friends.

We tout our society, our country, as the epitome of the free world. Newsflash: it's not. We stand on the bloody battlefields of our own terrorism on the "not us" from our past and yell foul when someone else does it to us. This is the "free world" for those with the right color skin, the right amount of money, the right religious views, the right sexual orientation, the right background.

So you see my struggle. I feel for those families who lost loved ones on 9/11/01. My heart breaks with the cruelty of that horrific day. And, yet, my heart also breaks with equal measure for the innocent families who have died in the Middle East in our drawn out retaliation to show the "Terrorists" they can't mess with us.

See, I am proud to be an American, because I know that I am free - a lot freer than many people in many other countries around the world. And I won't forget the men who died who gave that right to me. But the "men who died" aren't just the freedom fighters in our war with Britain for our independence. It's all of the other peoples who died simply for the crime of being in our way, just so we could stand victorious in conquering this new world that would be our free nation. And yet, however much I am free, I recognize that not every American gets to speak those words with equal assurity. That song doesn't apply to every American today.

I guess my ultimate struggle with today is that this national day of recognition seems really hypocritical to me. Never forget what? Yes, on 9/11/01, we as a nation were attacked. In our own backyard. And I truly believe every American felt that deeply, across every demographic divide. But that sentiment didnt last, as the downtrodden in this country went back to being downtrodden. What have we done as a nation to combat terrorism, really? War. (is a form of terrorism - see above) How about internally? How about those people who don't need a slogan "never forget" because they're faced with terrorism from their own "fellow Americans" every day?

You can't selectively "never forget." You can't only "never forget" the atrocities of 9/11 and not remember all of the other suffering felt by so many Americans who haven't had a war cried out in the name of their suffering and losses, in the past or present.

I will never forget. But today reminds me not to forget about so many other people besides just those who died on 9/11/01.

One mother's story of her depression

I wanted to share the Washington Post's story from a mother dealing with mental illness with you all. It is incredibly touching. And a great example of how a mother creatively lives with depression every day. Inspiring.

It also, however, brings up some very unfortunate but all too true prejudices about mental illness found even within the medical community. Even among behavioral health providers. (Shame on that psychiatrist!) If we can't trust our own doctors and psychiatrists,  where are we supposed to turn???

On Robin Williams' recent suicide

I posted this as a status message on Facebook today. It's part of what prompted the revival of this blog. Give it a read:

Disclaimer: this may not be be the most coherent thing I've ever written, but it is from the deepest places of my heart and it is deeply important to me.

Thinking about Robin Williams' death today as I wake up and start my day. After the immediate shock from last night, I realize that beyond the raw grief of losing such an amazing man with such an amazing ability to touch my heart in so many ways (Patch Adams, What Dreams May Come, Hook, Aladdin, Mrs. Doubtfire, et al.), I'm also grieving for a more general problem that touches everyone as silently as Robin Williams did aloud. Depression hurts. Depression is real. Depression is silent. And depression can be deadly without help and support. But all to often people suffer is silence, alone and ashamed. I blame our society, our cultural constructs. So many people look the other way, or worse shun those who suffer from depression. But suddenly, when the news picks up a story about a depression - related suicide, everyone suddenly cares about depression. It's almost as if that celebrity was worthy of being depressed and so can be forgiven the shame of having been so. And it becomes a tragic end that people talk about for fora few days and then forget about because it doesn't affect them personally. And it makes me angry. Not at individual people. At the whole construct. Depression affects EVERYONE. Whether they consciously know it or not. Everyone likely knows someone suffering from depression, whether openly or silently. And as long as depression - related suicides continue, it IS a problem that touches everyone. It is still everyone's concern.

Depression hurts. It hurts mentally, emotionally, and physically. It consumes days, weeks, entire lives. But it's not just just the depression itself that hurts. It the knowledge that so many suffer alone due to lack of support and lack of proper insurance coverage for access to mental health services. It makes my heart break for every person out there who doesn't know that there is another way out besides suicide.

Depression does not have to be a death sentence. It does not have to be a silent weight to carry like Atlas with the weight of the world. Because I am lucky enough to have help and support for dealing with my own depression, depression has made me strong, more compassionate, and more alive. Depression does not have to be something scary and negative. It is simply another part of life for some of us. It helps shape who I am. And my sincerest wish is that others may come to see their depression in in a similar light.

My other wish is for those individuals who do not suffer from depression. I wish for you to understand why depression is not a mark of weakness or shame. I wish for you to realize that depression is not contagious (yes, I've actually been asked that before). I wish for you to stop giving advice on how to "pull yourself out of of it when you're feeling blue." I wish for you to help create a supportive society in which people with depression feel safe speaking up. And I wish that you actually read all of this and will take away something that will make you think twice before judging the next person you encounter with depression.

A 6-year hiatus

So, it's been almost seven years since my last post. And so many things have happened in that time. The one thing that never changes: depression and I still live together. We have our moments, but overall, we live very peaceably together these days. I'm revamping this blog because it's something deeply personally and very important to me. I used to post to it anonymously - I had a separate gmail account for it any everything. But I realized that I wasn't really being real that way. I was adding to the nameless, faceless mass of people who suffer from depression everyday due to societal stigmas and fears. I firmly believe that this attitude toward depression (and all other mental health disorders and diseases) is debilitating and unjust in our current society. And so, I am putting my name on it. Proudly. Have a read at posts I did in my mid-20s. And watch for new content as I put life back into this blog.

Stay strong. --Nina