Note: This post is about the roles of depression and anxiety in my life. It's part of this blog because the blog itself is an attempt at doing the things I love despite the sometimes overwhelming compulsion to do nothing instead. Feel free to skip or read on, as it pleases you.
Left untreated, my depression is like a persistent humming. The sort of ominous, sound and feeling of presence televisions give off. The problem is, instead of becoming accustomed to it, I become more sensitive to it. A weird feeling of "something's not right and I don't like it", that grows everyday and starts pushing everything else out.
I don't know how long I've had it, but I can pretty much guess that those times in my teens where I would be compelled to sit in the corner of my room, alone, and stare blankly into space were not typical teenager behaviors. I didn't realize it at the time. Everyone said being a teenager was hard, so why wouldn't corner-huddling be a thing? In my teens, I thought of "depression" as being epitomized by an emo kid. Feelings of sadness and negativity invading everything a person does. I didn't realize that lacking emotion, having to sit around feeling hollow, but not particularly sad, could be depression too.
It wasn't until I moved in to a dormitory in university that I realized most people didn't have spates of complete inactivity, while they waited for the world to come back into focus. That's when things changed, with the realization that most people were switched "on", all the time. They enjoyed their hobbies without the up and down of being completely engrossed and suddenly losing interest. They liked being with friends, pretty much whenever they had free time. They seemed at peace with the world instead of vaguely concerned about that ominous humming. No corner-huddling.
I couldn't keep up. I could not remain "on" all the time, and attempting to just made me irritable. How did these people not need to recharge? How did they pretend things were interesting all the time? What was wrong with me that I had to go for long walks to get away from all the happy people? It got to me, and I started having anxiety attacks where I dissociated from myself.
This is how my internal monologue might go:
I'm hanging out with a group of friends. Everyone is having a good time.
*Starts feeling blank*
This is boring.
You were just enjoying yourself a moment ago.
And now I'm not, let's leave.
No, I just got here, let's just hang out and have fun.
There are too many people here. Their mere presence feels like an intrusion on my person.
Oh come on, get over it.
*realizes I've been staring into space too long, attempts to smile, probably grimaces*
What is wrong with me?! I probably look like a jackass!
Let's just leave then.
No, I don't want to.
*Torturously tries enjoying self... fails*
*In Panic* Why is no one else this uncomfortable?! What is wrong with me?
*Brain starts dissociating to remove self from situation*
If you don't know what dissociating is, for me it's like huddling in the corner of my mind. I'll start seeing my environment from a bird's eye view and all conversations in the room sound like they are far away. Or sometimes I become hyper focused on something, like the sound of water running through the pipes, or an itch on my arm, and all I can see is the visualization of that water or a microscope's view of the itchy spot on my skin. It means your senses aren't reporting in correctly.
Dissociating is a neat treat if someone tells you to visualize yourself as a dog, or image a diagram as a 3D model, but it's not fun when you are forcibly dissociated by your brain and made to be a passive observer of the world going by while you feel scared and confused.
Despite these episodes, growing boredom and hopelessness and even some suicidal ideation, I didn't get help for several years. I can fake "normal" pretty well, and if I was seen as a little quirky? Oh well, I am a bit geeky after all, and people expect some of eccentric behavior. I worked hard at my job, I supported myself and my little family. I even attended a little UU church's service for a few years. Unremarkable, by most accounts. Except on the inside I was spending more time in my corner and putting my body on autopilot.
If you've ever walked into a room with a clear purpose and promptly forgot why you were there, you know what it has been like for me doing my hobbies. I start to do something I love doing, like writing, building something, or reading a beloved book, but it just feels uninteresting and awkward. I sit there waiting for a good feeling to come over me, but there is none, just nothingness. It becomes harder and harder to convince myself to continue and impatience takes over.
I tried old standbys, I tried taking up new hobbies. I tried changing my diet and exercising more and differently. I tried seeing old friends and making new ones. When everything failed, I give in to the depression more and more. I isolated myself because that's what depression told me I wanted. I said to hell with exercise because I have never once experienced the "high" that people claim to get from it, only pain and boredom. I stopped trying to do things I enjoyed, because I didn't enjoy very much. Quick to annoy and constantly distracted, I finally realized that I wasn't the man I wanted to be, that something was wrong.
I tried therapy for a long time, because I really didn't want to be on drugs. Therapy wasn't particularly helpful to me, but I dutifully went. I switched doctors to see if I could find one I clicked with a time or two, but it always fell flat. After continued troubles I gave in, and started a protracted path to finding what particular medication worked best to keep my depression under control. Eventually, I did find medication that helps me, I also discovered a thyroid condition and a few medical issues that when taken care of, help me regulate my depression easier.
Thing is? After years of stepping away from the things you love, it's not easy to take them up again. I'm having to relearn that DIY projects are fun and not a pointless, messy waste of time. I need to remind myself that riding my bike isn't all pain in my knees, I like feeling the wind on my face. I no longer expect to feel "happy" or "fun" or "excited". So I have to talk myself into it, sometimes with an underlying fear that all I'll feel is nothing. Fear is the henchman of depression. It holds my arms behind my back while depression beats me down. When I'm tied up, it makes fun of me for action and for inaction.
Nothing has taught me how to stand up to a bully the way fighting my own fear has. Fear would have me second guess everything I do. And I will not. I'm not going to berate myself for trying, or for being afraid to try. I simply do what I can when I can, and make peace with my choices as I go. I don't always win against depression and fear, but losing the battle isn't as important as how I fight it.
And that's why this blog exists. It's a record of my fight against depression. And if I stop writing... Well, maybe I didn't win that time, but it stands as a record of the times I won, and that's still something.
