A couple of weeks ago I blogged in support of friends who were at a rough bend in the road of life. I told them to feel exactly how they feel, to embrace it, and to let the sadness or the grief or the rage flow. I stand by every single word I said. But I haven't been taking my own medicine. I have been ignoring my feelings, thinking they'll go away and all will be right the world again in no time and with no effort. That's not happening, so it's time for a different approach. Part of me hesitated to write about my own feelings, because how much more vulnerable could I be after this post? Will my reader think I'm seeking pity? The answer to that is no, I am absolutely not looking to be pitied. Rather, I aim to be true to my values and perhaps elucidate on a few factoids about me.
I've suffered from depression off and on for about 3 years now. As you know, I'm not so hot when it comes to major changes (a theme for an imminent post, spoiler alert), and mostly for the better, life is one ball of change from age 18 on out. I don't stay in my room like a hermit, under the covers with blinds drawn 24/7, and I have been lucky enough not to lose my ability to function. But sometimes, a cloud of despondency comes over me, and I feel like I'm drifting in the middle of the ocean, forever detached from those around me. It's an odd illness. It's part biological, part chemical, part situational. It doesn't listen to those it strikes. One can be driven mad by working backwards asking, "Why?" Why me? Why now? Why in this way? I've discovered that one only saps even more mental energy asking these questions.
Like any other illness, depression has a volatile behavior pattern. You can't control when it will hit you. It doesn't care whether you have an exam, a birthday party, even a casual lunch with friends. The main reaction, at least for me, is a semi-sudden feeling of "I don't want to be here," even if "here" is somewhere I would otherwise love to be. I also get a heaviness in the backs of my eyes, not like when they're brimming with big fat tears, but there's an oh-so-subtle sting of sadness. I feel incapable, inferior, unlovable, and I retreat mentally from my surroundings. Whether people can tell something is off does concern me, but unfortunately, the mental inertia I have when I feel this way wins out. When it will end is never certain. It's not necessarily a monotonous incubation. You can have sporadic moments of joy or meditative peace while the anguish lingers just enough to tell you, "Nope, you will not enjoy this moment 100.%" As with any emotion, depression does end, and life gets back to normal. You enjoy being where you usually enjoy being, interacting with people you love, and believing in your own agency. But it's still a problem.
The main reason I hesitated to share this was because of the stigma that comes with mental illness. Even though it can be as debilitating as any number of physical illnesses, it is sill seen in a negative light in society, especially in America, Land of the Happy. This upsets me. We don't pick on people with the flu or food poisoning (unless, say, you ate expired mayonnaise on a dare, in which case, you had to know what was likely to happen.) Why do we pick on people who feel just as run down, only in a different way? The inability to navigate life normally is a consequence of all illnesses, as is the inability to control whether or when we are infected. And labeling someone 'crazy' or 'Eeyore-esque' is disparaging and in my opinion derisive.
I hope you don't think I belong in a padded room or other institution. I also hope you don't think I have Munchausen's, because the last thing I need is sympathy. People with depression are people, after all, and what we want most is not to be pitied or mocked but to be understood as much as possible by those we love. Having experience with these bouts has taught me how to sense them and mitigate them. Music is a very effective remedy, especially Andrea Bocelli and Luciano Pavarotti. Exercise too. Food can be, but eating one's feelings has so many other negative consequences. Best to avoid that tactic. And as of this year, writing. Getting how I feel down on paper (on screen) is cathartic because it makes me feel less lost. I can see a bit of land ho while in that ocean, not quite as lost as I thought. It's a step toward getting back to my grounding. Ignoring my feelings only keeps me, us, adrift for longer.
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