Earlier this week I spoke my mind about depression on two different websites. I was depressed at the time, but I worked my way through it by communicating my emotions to the world outside of my own mind. The response I got from my friends caring and well meant. But I think I detect some confusion, particularly since many of you don't know the context of my life experiences. So I'm going to speak again on this subject, now that I am not depressed.
You see, I believe that depression is just as natural a side of life as happiness. You can't have one side of the coin without the other, and it's not necessarily something that needs to be cured. I've met people who seem to be happy 24 hours a day, and personally, I think they're fucking psycho. Can't stand to be around them. They give me the heebie jeebies. Seriously.
It's when the two sides of the coin are out of balance that trouble starts to brew. And I do realize that I am not in any way a good example of what a "balanced" person should be. I could definitely use a good jolt or three of happiness in my life. And there are times, like when I wrote my last entry, that my dark side threatens to swallow the whole, regardless of the coin metaphor. But there's something you have to understand about me. You see, I am not really sane. I am what I believe a psychologist would call a "functional" psychopath.
If you have ever seen the movie "A Beautiful Mind," you might understand what I mean. If you haven't, I recommend it. It's a true story about a man whose mind is damaged in such a way that he people and things that don't really exist, and this damage cannot be repaired. But he still finds a way to function in society without having to be locked up--to be a father, husband, teacher, and prize-winning genius mathematician.
I am not exactly a genius mind you, but I don't have to be. I'm not as damaged as he was. But I do believe I am damaged, in ways that are not truly repairable. But I have learned to function despite this.
As a child, I had to survive an alcoholic abusive father, a nasty divorce where my mother once had to hold my father at bay via gun point, and the death of three of my grandparents, all within the span of a few short years. This was the truly dangerous time, when I spiraled out of control into suicidal depression, and no one really noticed. My mother was too busy fighting to keep a roof over our heads, my brother was escaping the situation with drugs, and my peers, sensing weakness, swarmed over me like vultures waiting for the kill. I hid myself in my books, avoided interacting with anyone as much as possible, and prayed for death every single day.
But I pulled myself out of it. I had help, of course. No man is an island. Lots of people showed their love in many different ways, and without every single one of them I would not be alive today. But primarily it was me. I am a strong willed son of a bitch when I put my mind to it. Though many who know me now would laugh to hear me say it. But I am, when it comes to the big things in life. After get that close to death and pull yourself back, everything else seems small in comparison. I found reasons to go on, despite horrible emotional pain. Every single morning I found reasons to get out of bed. The main one being that death comes eventually, no matter what. Why rush into it, and throw away all that life has to offer? It just might surprise you. And after much time, I discovered that I was right. Life surprises me all the time. I still have days when I think death might be much better, but I am very patient....
It has been suggested that I see a doctor. I have. I was in therapy before I was in even in junior high school. The guy didn't do me much good, but he gave me some useful tools, and I picked up other things along the way. Group therapy sessions, self-help books, primal scream therapy, church, the works. I've tried it all at various times in my life. The key for me though has always been my writing. That is what works best for me. I started out with a huge dark cloud of nasty emotions hanging over my head every day, that I didn't know what to do with or where it came from, and it caused me pain and anguish constantly. But when I wrote about my emotions, I figured out how to name them, one by one. And names have power. Once you know what you're actually dealing with, you can figure out why a problem exists, the reasons behind it. And that gives you the power to find solutions. Talking to other people helps even more, when you find out you are not alone. But that's something I had to build up to.
And so after many, many slow years, one step at a time, I got better and better, until I discovered that I didn't have anything left to write about. I knew myself, I knew my emotions, and I had resolved all issues, at least as far as these sorts of things ever get resolved. So I finally got to the point where I was cured, and everything was perfect, and I lived happily ever after. Right?
Wrong. I still got depressed, sometimes for no reason at all. I discovered that my brain chemistry sometimes gets out of whack. That's when I started taking Zoloft, an anti-depressant medication. And the change was extraordinary after it finally soaked in, like a veil that was lifted that I didn't even know was there. Not that I was suddenly very happy, but I felt normal, like I had never felt before in my entire life. It was really amazing. Though of course there are side affects, including sexual ones. Eventually I weaned myself off of it, and yet I was able to maintain my even keel, for the most part. I learned to recognize when depressions are coming on, and I can actually control alot of it simply via my diet, eating regularly and healthfully, whether I feel like it or not. And occasionally it can't be controlled, but then I lock myself in my room and find other things to do besides interacting with people, and usually after a good sleep I feel alot better.
In addition to all this, I finally get to the part I consider to be permanent damage. You see, during all the years that I was figuring out why I should continue to live, other kids my age were learning how to interact and deal with each other. Psychologists call this "socialization," and it's a key stage of the psychological development of every human being, and must take place within various periods of childhood. They have extreme examples of people who were abused as children, kept locked away in rooms away from human interaction, who missed this stage. After many years of therapy and growth these people are able to function socially on a limited level, but never quite get it right, because the neurons in their brain didn't develop in the correct fashion. I feel that I am like that, in many ways. I truly do not understand how to interact with people. I cannot stress this enough.
After many years of work, I've gotten alot better at it. I still manage to make small improvements every day. But none of it comes naturally, and my signals get crossed. Even my body language is different from other people. It's similar to being color blind, only socially. Or perhaps it's more like a learning disability. People have tried very hard to teach me how, and I've tried very hard to learn. But no one seems to quite get how incredibly difficult interacting socially with other people really is for me. I'm not good at meeting new people, and far worse at meeting women. It takes me a long time to figure out how to talk to anyone new, I have to study them, learn how to interact all over again from scratch. I can hardly function at all in crowds, particularly parties or clubs. The more people there are in a group, the quieter I will get, because trying to figure out how to respond and interact with so many people at once that it overloads me and I shut down. It's very debilitating, and frustrating.
Anyway, I've gone on long enough on this issue. Let me just say that if I ever leave a post like the last one ever again, I'm not necessarily looking for anyone to fix me and make me all better, because I don't think it can be done. And I apologize if it makes anyone feel bad or uncomfortable, that's not my intention either. I just want to share what I am going through, so that I am reassured that I am not completely alone. If you're not sure how to respond, try thinking of a time in your life when you felt the same, and how you dealt with it. Or ignore it, and wait impatiently for my next post, where I return to my usual brilliant self. Like the one about the haikus. You can't get much more blindingly creative than that.
You see, I believe that depression is just as natural a side of life as happiness. You can't have one side of the coin without the other, and it's not necessarily something that needs to be cured. I've met people who seem to be happy 24 hours a day, and personally, I think they're fucking psycho. Can't stand to be around them. They give me the heebie jeebies. Seriously.
It's when the two sides of the coin are out of balance that trouble starts to brew. And I do realize that I am not in any way a good example of what a "balanced" person should be. I could definitely use a good jolt or three of happiness in my life. And there are times, like when I wrote my last entry, that my dark side threatens to swallow the whole, regardless of the coin metaphor. But there's something you have to understand about me. You see, I am not really sane. I am what I believe a psychologist would call a "functional" psychopath.
If you have ever seen the movie "A Beautiful Mind," you might understand what I mean. If you haven't, I recommend it. It's a true story about a man whose mind is damaged in such a way that he people and things that don't really exist, and this damage cannot be repaired. But he still finds a way to function in society without having to be locked up--to be a father, husband, teacher, and prize-winning genius mathematician.
I am not exactly a genius mind you, but I don't have to be. I'm not as damaged as he was. But I do believe I am damaged, in ways that are not truly repairable. But I have learned to function despite this.
As a child, I had to survive an alcoholic abusive father, a nasty divorce where my mother once had to hold my father at bay via gun point, and the death of three of my grandparents, all within the span of a few short years. This was the truly dangerous time, when I spiraled out of control into suicidal depression, and no one really noticed. My mother was too busy fighting to keep a roof over our heads, my brother was escaping the situation with drugs, and my peers, sensing weakness, swarmed over me like vultures waiting for the kill. I hid myself in my books, avoided interacting with anyone as much as possible, and prayed for death every single day.
But I pulled myself out of it. I had help, of course. No man is an island. Lots of people showed their love in many different ways, and without every single one of them I would not be alive today. But primarily it was me. I am a strong willed son of a bitch when I put my mind to it. Though many who know me now would laugh to hear me say it. But I am, when it comes to the big things in life. After get that close to death and pull yourself back, everything else seems small in comparison. I found reasons to go on, despite horrible emotional pain. Every single morning I found reasons to get out of bed. The main one being that death comes eventually, no matter what. Why rush into it, and throw away all that life has to offer? It just might surprise you. And after much time, I discovered that I was right. Life surprises me all the time. I still have days when I think death might be much better, but I am very patient....
It has been suggested that I see a doctor. I have. I was in therapy before I was in even in junior high school. The guy didn't do me much good, but he gave me some useful tools, and I picked up other things along the way. Group therapy sessions, self-help books, primal scream therapy, church, the works. I've tried it all at various times in my life. The key for me though has always been my writing. That is what works best for me. I started out with a huge dark cloud of nasty emotions hanging over my head every day, that I didn't know what to do with or where it came from, and it caused me pain and anguish constantly. But when I wrote about my emotions, I figured out how to name them, one by one. And names have power. Once you know what you're actually dealing with, you can figure out why a problem exists, the reasons behind it. And that gives you the power to find solutions. Talking to other people helps even more, when you find out you are not alone. But that's something I had to build up to.
And so after many, many slow years, one step at a time, I got better and better, until I discovered that I didn't have anything left to write about. I knew myself, I knew my emotions, and I had resolved all issues, at least as far as these sorts of things ever get resolved. So I finally got to the point where I was cured, and everything was perfect, and I lived happily ever after. Right?
Wrong. I still got depressed, sometimes for no reason at all. I discovered that my brain chemistry sometimes gets out of whack. That's when I started taking Zoloft, an anti-depressant medication. And the change was extraordinary after it finally soaked in, like a veil that was lifted that I didn't even know was there. Not that I was suddenly very happy, but I felt normal, like I had never felt before in my entire life. It was really amazing. Though of course there are side affects, including sexual ones. Eventually I weaned myself off of it, and yet I was able to maintain my even keel, for the most part. I learned to recognize when depressions are coming on, and I can actually control alot of it simply via my diet, eating regularly and healthfully, whether I feel like it or not. And occasionally it can't be controlled, but then I lock myself in my room and find other things to do besides interacting with people, and usually after a good sleep I feel alot better.
In addition to all this, I finally get to the part I consider to be permanent damage. You see, during all the years that I was figuring out why I should continue to live, other kids my age were learning how to interact and deal with each other. Psychologists call this "socialization," and it's a key stage of the psychological development of every human being, and must take place within various periods of childhood. They have extreme examples of people who were abused as children, kept locked away in rooms away from human interaction, who missed this stage. After many years of therapy and growth these people are able to function socially on a limited level, but never quite get it right, because the neurons in their brain didn't develop in the correct fashion. I feel that I am like that, in many ways. I truly do not understand how to interact with people. I cannot stress this enough.
After many years of work, I've gotten alot better at it. I still manage to make small improvements every day. But none of it comes naturally, and my signals get crossed. Even my body language is different from other people. It's similar to being color blind, only socially. Or perhaps it's more like a learning disability. People have tried very hard to teach me how, and I've tried very hard to learn. But no one seems to quite get how incredibly difficult interacting socially with other people really is for me. I'm not good at meeting new people, and far worse at meeting women. It takes me a long time to figure out how to talk to anyone new, I have to study them, learn how to interact all over again from scratch. I can hardly function at all in crowds, particularly parties or clubs. The more people there are in a group, the quieter I will get, because trying to figure out how to respond and interact with so many people at once that it overloads me and I shut down. It's very debilitating, and frustrating.
Anyway, I've gone on long enough on this issue. Let me just say that if I ever leave a post like the last one ever again, I'm not necessarily looking for anyone to fix me and make me all better, because I don't think it can be done. And I apologize if it makes anyone feel bad or uncomfortable, that's not my intention either. I just want to share what I am going through, so that I am reassured that I am not completely alone. If you're not sure how to respond, try thinking of a time in your life when you felt the same, and how you dealt with it. Or ignore it, and wait impatiently for my next post, where I return to my usual brilliant self. Like the one about the haikus. You can't get much more blindingly creative than that.