how to drive the monster from the throne
July 12, 2011 5:28 PM Subscribe
I've been coping with the realization that I've been struggling with depression for twenty years. Did you escape? How? And how did you reconcile with the time in your life that you had lost to it?
I recently turned thirty, and with the reflection that comes along with entering a new decade, along with some detailed discussions with my therapist, came the realization that I have had some form of depression since I was a kid. It used to be a lot more crippling, hit its worst point from around 17-22, and from there I've slowly emerged. I've done a lot of things since then that I should be proud of, and I am, but only in this abstract way that gives me little satisfaction... like, I recognize my own accomplishments on an intellectual level, but any joy I feel from them is fleeting. I look back and I see the pattern: I keep fighting the same fight, over and over again, once or twice a year... what changes is that the battle makes me wearier every time.
I've really been struggling lately, especially this past week. I have moments where it's difficult to move and it feels like my nerves are on fire. The pain comes in waves, but it's all psychological. This morning I woke up feeling a little better, like a fever had broken, but I know it'll be back for me. At the center of it all is that one poisonous seed that's taken root: that I might never be free, that I might never get better. I know some people don't. Looking back on my life has made me realize how much of it has been stolen by this illness, and the grief that comes along with the recognition of that loss is a tremendous burden. I don't know what to do. I feel like it's a monster that lives in me and laughs at my attempts to dislodge it from its throne. It cuts me off from everyone and everything, it inhibits my creativity (even writing, which usually comes to me as naturally as breathing, is hard right now) and it magnifies the impact of every loss and disappointment well past what it should be.
Therapy helps, but not enough. Exercise helps, but not enough, and when the gravity of this illness makes your limbs heavy it's hard to even move enough to establish momentum. Diet modification helps, but it's hard to avoid slipping back, since I'm one of the millions who links food with comfort, and I only have so much strength to distribute. I am considering medication for the umpteenth time in my life after having failed to find anything that helped (I have an appointment with a psychiatrist that my therapist referred me to next week), but I am ambivalent about that at best. There's a part of me that feels like I'll always be trapped. I know they're just feelings, but they're so powerful, and again, I only have a limited amount of strength to devote to fighting them.
So, I want your counterexamples. I want more stories like Todd Hanson's. Personal experiences, if you're willing to share, or memoirs, if you've been touched by any, or both. Songs, poems, other works. I know that sadness is part of life, and I'm strong enough to weather that, but I've labored under the illusion that this experience falls into that category for a while, and I've since changed my mind that it's something else. I know there are no guarantees, and that I may be sick forever, that this may eat away at the time I've been allotted for the rest of my life. But I need to know that other people have broken free, especially after a long time believing that they wouldn't. I need to know that it's possible, and how it happened, and why.
I recently turned thirty, and with the reflection that comes along with entering a new decade, along with some detailed discussions with my therapist, came the realization that I have had some form of depression since I was a kid. It used to be a lot more crippling, hit its worst point from around 17-22, and from there I've slowly emerged. I've done a lot of things since then that I should be proud of, and I am, but only in this abstract way that gives me little satisfaction... like, I recognize my own accomplishments on an intellectual level, but any joy I feel from them is fleeting. I look back and I see the pattern: I keep fighting the same fight, over and over again, once or twice a year... what changes is that the battle makes me wearier every time.
I've really been struggling lately, especially this past week. I have moments where it's difficult to move and it feels like my nerves are on fire. The pain comes in waves, but it's all psychological. This morning I woke up feeling a little better, like a fever had broken, but I know it'll be back for me. At the center of it all is that one poisonous seed that's taken root: that I might never be free, that I might never get better. I know some people don't. Looking back on my life has made me realize how much of it has been stolen by this illness, and the grief that comes along with the recognition of that loss is a tremendous burden. I don't know what to do. I feel like it's a monster that lives in me and laughs at my attempts to dislodge it from its throne. It cuts me off from everyone and everything, it inhibits my creativity (even writing, which usually comes to me as naturally as breathing, is hard right now) and it magnifies the impact of every loss and disappointment well past what it should be.
Therapy helps, but not enough. Exercise helps, but not enough, and when the gravity of this illness makes your limbs heavy it's hard to even move enough to establish momentum. Diet modification helps, but it's hard to avoid slipping back, since I'm one of the millions who links food with comfort, and I only have so much strength to distribute. I am considering medication for the umpteenth time in my life after having failed to find anything that helped (I have an appointment with a psychiatrist that my therapist referred me to next week), but I am ambivalent about that at best. There's a part of me that feels like I'll always be trapped. I know they're just feelings, but they're so powerful, and again, I only have a limited amount of strength to devote to fighting them.
So, I want your counterexamples. I want more stories like Todd Hanson's. Personal experiences, if you're willing to share, or memoirs, if you've been touched by any, or both. Songs, poems, other works. I know that sadness is part of life, and I'm strong enough to weather that, but I've labored under the illusion that this experience falls into that category for a while, and I've since changed my mind that it's something else. I know there are no guarantees, and that I may be sick forever, that this may eat away at the time I've been allotted for the rest of my life. But I need to know that other people have broken free, especially after a long time believing that they wouldn't. I need to know that it's possible, and how it happened, and why.
Stop thinking about how much it stole from you - this too is part of the disease. Think about how you've survived.
posted by rtha at 6:01 PM on July 12, 2011 [20 favorites]
posted by rtha at 6:01 PM on July 12, 2011 [20 favorites]
I'm not sure how I escaped. I had a similar experience to you. My friends pointed out that ordinary people are happy, and I realized that I'd never been happy. I went to therapy, and took some meds and moved out of home. Cognitive Behavioral Therepy helped. There were some books and songs, but because they worked for me doesn't mean they'll work for everyone.
The trick is trying to do something, and counting small victories - a smile, a job, a good moment with friends. And always keep fighting.
posted by Lovecraft In Brooklyn at 6:17 PM on July 12, 2011 [1 favorite]
The trick is trying to do something, and counting small victories - a smile, a job, a good moment with friends. And always keep fighting.
posted by Lovecraft In Brooklyn at 6:17 PM on July 12, 2011 [1 favorite]
Have you been seeing the same therapist this whole time? Have you been doing the same type of therapy?
I ask because one type of talk therapy didn't work for me, even with the help of medications. I was rehashing my feelings over and over, and it just made me more depressed, which I would then get higher and higher doses of medication to combat, which made me feel slower and less aware, which fed my depression.
I finally had a terrible incident that left me hospitalized, and after that, I switched therapists to one who was more Cognitive Behavioral Therapy-based. He gave me sort of "mood assignments," where I was a more active participant in my own emotions and was more focused on building my own moments of happiness. That's exactly what I needed, and after a lot of work (a LOT of work! It wasn't at all easy), I found myself digging up out of the hole that was my depressive mind.
I still have depression episodes here and there, but I feel confident that I won't go back to feeling like I did when I was so horribly depressed in the past. I'm not saying that your therapist isn't a good one, but sometimes it takes a different approach, a different environment, or a different therapist to shake things up enough to make a difference.
As to the "lost" time, I sometimes reflect on my depression as time I could have been happier, but that time shaped who I am, so I try to see it as part of who makes me the person that I am today.
posted by xingcat at 6:19 PM on July 12, 2011
I ask because one type of talk therapy didn't work for me, even with the help of medications. I was rehashing my feelings over and over, and it just made me more depressed, which I would then get higher and higher doses of medication to combat, which made me feel slower and less aware, which fed my depression.
I finally had a terrible incident that left me hospitalized, and after that, I switched therapists to one who was more Cognitive Behavioral Therapy-based. He gave me sort of "mood assignments," where I was a more active participant in my own emotions and was more focused on building my own moments of happiness. That's exactly what I needed, and after a lot of work (a LOT of work! It wasn't at all easy), I found myself digging up out of the hole that was my depressive mind.
I still have depression episodes here and there, but I feel confident that I won't go back to feeling like I did when I was so horribly depressed in the past. I'm not saying that your therapist isn't a good one, but sometimes it takes a different approach, a different environment, or a different therapist to shake things up enough to make a difference.
As to the "lost" time, I sometimes reflect on my depression as time I could have been happier, but that time shaped who I am, so I try to see it as part of who makes me the person that I am today.
posted by xingcat at 6:19 PM on July 12, 2011
Add me to the "yes" list. I've been in and out of therapy for a while but in my early-mid-twenties had hit a sort of holding pattern. What changed:
The first was completely changing my life--I had been stuck in this "I need to finish my degree" mode despite being to depressed and unmotivated to do it. I gave up on this and decided to center my life around the one thing in life that made me happy: weightlifting. I moved across states to be near an awesome gym and took minimum-wage jobs to support myself. This was the first time I'd ever taken a chance like this and lived totally for something I truly loved. I'm poor, the jobs sucked, life could be frustrating, but I survived and am thriving (and it's incredibly empowering to know I could drop everything and move like that and not become homeless). I fully accepted that my happiness was my own to fight for or lose and did that. With the re-orienting of my life and growing confidence in my goals and choices I also grew a lot more confident about myself in general, and began to care a lot less about what others thought of me.
Changing my mindset and view was one step. It resulted in huge improvements but the last 30% was due to finally accepting medication. Basically I realized if I really wanted to pursue the above goals I decided I was going to do whatever it took to make sure my depression did not hold me back. And though I was anti-med and skeptical of their efficacy I decided to give them a shot. It was a fantastic decision--I did not realize meds would help me as much as they did. Without the above life changes I don't think they would've been that much help, but they really provided that last bit of assistance I needed.
It's also worth noting that because I've gotten into lifting and strength-and-conditioning I've been exercising a lot more the past few years, and that also helps with depression.
There is hope. It may require risks, it may require scary choices, but you can do it.
posted by Anonymous at 6:50 PM on July 12, 2011
The first was completely changing my life--I had been stuck in this "I need to finish my degree" mode despite being to depressed and unmotivated to do it. I gave up on this and decided to center my life around the one thing in life that made me happy: weightlifting. I moved across states to be near an awesome gym and took minimum-wage jobs to support myself. This was the first time I'd ever taken a chance like this and lived totally for something I truly loved. I'm poor, the jobs sucked, life could be frustrating, but I survived and am thriving (and it's incredibly empowering to know I could drop everything and move like that and not become homeless). I fully accepted that my happiness was my own to fight for or lose and did that. With the re-orienting of my life and growing confidence in my goals and choices I also grew a lot more confident about myself in general, and began to care a lot less about what others thought of me.
Changing my mindset and view was one step. It resulted in huge improvements but the last 30% was due to finally accepting medication. Basically I realized if I really wanted to pursue the above goals I decided I was going to do whatever it took to make sure my depression did not hold me back. And though I was anti-med and skeptical of their efficacy I decided to give them a shot. It was a fantastic decision--I did not realize meds would help me as much as they did. Without the above life changes I don't think they would've been that much help, but they really provided that last bit of assistance I needed.
It's also worth noting that because I've gotten into lifting and strength-and-conditioning I've been exercising a lot more the past few years, and that also helps with depression.
There is hope. It may require risks, it may require scary choices, but you can do it.
posted by Anonymous at 6:50 PM on July 12, 2011
Hi there, me last year.
I'm about your age. I've been depressed for more of my life than not. Lonely, too. Your monster analogy makes a lot of sense to me (I've one of my own - he has a name and everything). I tried therapy until I couldn't stand the idea of starting over again with yet another fucking counselor or whatever the hell, I tried medicine of many kinds, I tried all the diet and exercise stuff (which worked right up until it didn't). I believed myself damned to be ever under his power, and if I was to ever break free it could only come once I had found some measure of success as a writer and a cartoonist and once I was alone no longer. And I was dead wrong on all counts.
Let me give you the reader's digest version of how I got free. If you'd like deeper detail, feel free to MeMail and we can take it from there. Thing is, I only barely understand how it happened. In the end, my freedom came to pass almost without my notice.
Like I said, I've been lonely for most of my life. I had a bad habit of trusting women I shouldn't and putting far too much stock and importance in romantic relationships. I would reckon I'd learned my lesson, but then I'd meet another gal that would bowl me over and the whole thing would start again. It seemed like my life was in reruns, you know? Even so, when I met Perri (let's call her) last spring I believed utterly that this time would be different. That, in fact, all my past disappointments were a necessary preamble to my meeting the one great love of my life. For a spell there, I was glad that I'd lost a past gal to my best friend and another to drug addiction and another to a nervous breakdown and on and on because if it had worked out with any of them, there wouldn't have been room for Perri in my life. We had a time, she and I: I've never felt better matched to anyone. I had never believed escape was so possible, and the more entwined she and I became, the closer I felt to being free of my monster. I loved her so much that I felt like I'd lied to every other woman I had claimed to love before.
Now, trouble was, due to circumstances in motion long before we met, Perri had to move away at the beginning of last summer. We tried to make a clean break of it but wound up falling into a long distance relationship. And we made plans for me to come visit her for ten days at summer's end. From that point forward, all my thought and energy was bent upon seeing Perri again - I thought she was the answer I'd been waiting for. Every day that came was another in the way of our reunion, until at last I boarded the plane and went to see her.
There's some painful details here that I'm gonna skip over. Suffice it to say that the trip was a disaster of proportions I could not begun to have anticipated. Everything that could have gone wrong did and our relationship crumbled before my eyes. At seven days left in my stay the situation was beyond all hope salvaging, motherfucking Kobiyashi Maru. I couldn't escape it either, I had no recourse but to grind through the pain and humiliation until I could go home. I had bet the house on what I thought we had and lost it all.
When I came home, I was done. Done. It felt like I had to will myself to breathe. I looked into the future and could perceive nothing but the same cycle over and over (and over and over) again. It wasn't even despair anymore but cold resignation. And a damn near bottomless thirst for whisky. First thing I did when I got home was to dump every drop of bourbon in the house into a large glass, then go sit out in the yard to drink it, chain smoke and Fail to Cry. It started raining, I stayed put. It stopped raining, I stayed put. My friends tried to help until they realized they couldn't. Two months in the boozehole followed, until school started back up. I chose a class solely based on it still having room and started joylessly grinding through it, as all other things. This interval was the closest I've ever been to legitimately suicidal.
What was strange, though, is that with this resignation came a bizarre sort of apathetic fearlessness. There were things I'd always wondered about trying but never had for fear of failing. And there were things I'd been doing because I believed I loved them, even though they had done little but frustrate me for some time. At the top of my curiosity list was stand-up comedy. Being at a point where I felt I no longer had anything to lose, I decided to join my school's comedy club and give it a try. At first, it fit in well with my feeling of life being a monumental joke - indeed, I had come to regard the preceding months (and indeed, even the years leading up to them) all as one elaborate setup to the punchline which was the disastrous trip to see Perri and every goddamn ridiculous thing that happened there. Bombing wasn't frightening - who the fuck cared when there wasn't a point to anything anyhow?
Since I had nothing else in my life which pleased, I threw myself into being a comedian. At first because I needed there to be a point to something again and later because I came to love doing comedy for its own sake. I bombed a bunch at first, but I learned every time and eventually a night came where I killed. It was a revelation. I kept at it and kept improving. I developed a reputation locally as a comedian which I never managed as a cartoonist. I stopped drawing and didn't notice for months. There was always another show, always another open mic to hit, always another bit that was almost there. It was scary every time I went up, but I kept doing it anyway. There was one last girl I pinned too many hopes on and another bout of despair but I kept performing anyway.
I came to crave the stage in a way that I never quite craved the page. When I got the chance, I transferred out of the program I didn't care about and got into a theater program. Thirteen years had passed since I last did any acting and performing like that again was even more terrifying than comedy. But shit, I was getting graded on this so I kept showing up. The program culminated in two full scale dramatic productions and I was the male lead in one of them. The program ended and I auditioned and was cast in another show. I kept doing standup inbetween rehearsals. I made a slew of new friends performing, amazing people I never would have met if I hadn't begun last fall utterly without hope.
A couple weeks ago, as we dress rehearsed and tightened up our show for opening weekend, I realized that I couldn't remember the last time I'd been depressed. It's a hell of a thing - I can't quite explain it. For years, I'd pressed and pushed and scrapped against my monster to no avail and suddenly he was just gone. I'd been too busy to even notice him going, having too much fun to have the time to be sad. Maybe it'll come back when our show wraps at the end of the month. Or maybe I'll double down on my standup dates or get a callback off my last audition and will stay too busy to despair of anything. All I know is that, for the moment, I'm having the time of my life. Twenty years, the monster grew. In a few months, he vanished.
Damn, that wasn't as abbreviated as I meant to make it.
tl,dr? I broke and reassembled as something better because I finally tried something I'd always meant try once I was worn down enough to not care about the risks of trying it. Something that was exciting but also frightening. It's still scary every time I go up to the mic, but it's also worth it every time.
So, if you can, the question to ask yourself is "What would I do with nothing to lose?" Is there something you always suspected you'd be good at but were afraid to maybe be bad at? Is there something you've thought of doing but worry bout the risk involved? What if you weren't worried about that risk anymore? Is there something that, when you see others do, you begin to get an itch in your spine, like you almost have to get in there cuz your instincts are pointing toward a better way to do it. Good. Does it scare you a little? Even better. DO THAT THING, fuck it up horribly and DO IT AGAIN anyway.
Good luck to you. You can beat this, even if you don't believe that's true right now.
posted by EatTheWeek at 7:03 PM on July 12, 2011 [8 favorites]
I'm about your age. I've been depressed for more of my life than not. Lonely, too. Your monster analogy makes a lot of sense to me (I've one of my own - he has a name and everything). I tried therapy until I couldn't stand the idea of starting over again with yet another fucking counselor or whatever the hell, I tried medicine of many kinds, I tried all the diet and exercise stuff (which worked right up until it didn't). I believed myself damned to be ever under his power, and if I was to ever break free it could only come once I had found some measure of success as a writer and a cartoonist and once I was alone no longer. And I was dead wrong on all counts.
Let me give you the reader's digest version of how I got free. If you'd like deeper detail, feel free to MeMail and we can take it from there. Thing is, I only barely understand how it happened. In the end, my freedom came to pass almost without my notice.
Like I said, I've been lonely for most of my life. I had a bad habit of trusting women I shouldn't and putting far too much stock and importance in romantic relationships. I would reckon I'd learned my lesson, but then I'd meet another gal that would bowl me over and the whole thing would start again. It seemed like my life was in reruns, you know? Even so, when I met Perri (let's call her) last spring I believed utterly that this time would be different. That, in fact, all my past disappointments were a necessary preamble to my meeting the one great love of my life. For a spell there, I was glad that I'd lost a past gal to my best friend and another to drug addiction and another to a nervous breakdown and on and on because if it had worked out with any of them, there wouldn't have been room for Perri in my life. We had a time, she and I: I've never felt better matched to anyone. I had never believed escape was so possible, and the more entwined she and I became, the closer I felt to being free of my monster. I loved her so much that I felt like I'd lied to every other woman I had claimed to love before.
Now, trouble was, due to circumstances in motion long before we met, Perri had to move away at the beginning of last summer. We tried to make a clean break of it but wound up falling into a long distance relationship. And we made plans for me to come visit her for ten days at summer's end. From that point forward, all my thought and energy was bent upon seeing Perri again - I thought she was the answer I'd been waiting for. Every day that came was another in the way of our reunion, until at last I boarded the plane and went to see her.
There's some painful details here that I'm gonna skip over. Suffice it to say that the trip was a disaster of proportions I could not begun to have anticipated. Everything that could have gone wrong did and our relationship crumbled before my eyes. At seven days left in my stay the situation was beyond all hope salvaging, motherfucking Kobiyashi Maru. I couldn't escape it either, I had no recourse but to grind through the pain and humiliation until I could go home. I had bet the house on what I thought we had and lost it all.
When I came home, I was done. Done. It felt like I had to will myself to breathe. I looked into the future and could perceive nothing but the same cycle over and over (and over and over) again. It wasn't even despair anymore but cold resignation. And a damn near bottomless thirst for whisky. First thing I did when I got home was to dump every drop of bourbon in the house into a large glass, then go sit out in the yard to drink it, chain smoke and Fail to Cry. It started raining, I stayed put. It stopped raining, I stayed put. My friends tried to help until they realized they couldn't. Two months in the boozehole followed, until school started back up. I chose a class solely based on it still having room and started joylessly grinding through it, as all other things. This interval was the closest I've ever been to legitimately suicidal.
What was strange, though, is that with this resignation came a bizarre sort of apathetic fearlessness. There were things I'd always wondered about trying but never had for fear of failing. And there were things I'd been doing because I believed I loved them, even though they had done little but frustrate me for some time. At the top of my curiosity list was stand-up comedy. Being at a point where I felt I no longer had anything to lose, I decided to join my school's comedy club and give it a try. At first, it fit in well with my feeling of life being a monumental joke - indeed, I had come to regard the preceding months (and indeed, even the years leading up to them) all as one elaborate setup to the punchline which was the disastrous trip to see Perri and every goddamn ridiculous thing that happened there. Bombing wasn't frightening - who the fuck cared when there wasn't a point to anything anyhow?
Since I had nothing else in my life which pleased, I threw myself into being a comedian. At first because I needed there to be a point to something again and later because I came to love doing comedy for its own sake. I bombed a bunch at first, but I learned every time and eventually a night came where I killed. It was a revelation. I kept at it and kept improving. I developed a reputation locally as a comedian which I never managed as a cartoonist. I stopped drawing and didn't notice for months. There was always another show, always another open mic to hit, always another bit that was almost there. It was scary every time I went up, but I kept doing it anyway. There was one last girl I pinned too many hopes on and another bout of despair but I kept performing anyway.
I came to crave the stage in a way that I never quite craved the page. When I got the chance, I transferred out of the program I didn't care about and got into a theater program. Thirteen years had passed since I last did any acting and performing like that again was even more terrifying than comedy. But shit, I was getting graded on this so I kept showing up. The program culminated in two full scale dramatic productions and I was the male lead in one of them. The program ended and I auditioned and was cast in another show. I kept doing standup inbetween rehearsals. I made a slew of new friends performing, amazing people I never would have met if I hadn't begun last fall utterly without hope.
A couple weeks ago, as we dress rehearsed and tightened up our show for opening weekend, I realized that I couldn't remember the last time I'd been depressed. It's a hell of a thing - I can't quite explain it. For years, I'd pressed and pushed and scrapped against my monster to no avail and suddenly he was just gone. I'd been too busy to even notice him going, having too much fun to have the time to be sad. Maybe it'll come back when our show wraps at the end of the month. Or maybe I'll double down on my standup dates or get a callback off my last audition and will stay too busy to despair of anything. All I know is that, for the moment, I'm having the time of my life. Twenty years, the monster grew. In a few months, he vanished.
Damn, that wasn't as abbreviated as I meant to make it.
tl,dr? I broke and reassembled as something better because I finally tried something I'd always meant try once I was worn down enough to not care about the risks of trying it. Something that was exciting but also frightening. It's still scary every time I go up to the mic, but it's also worth it every time.
So, if you can, the question to ask yourself is "What would I do with nothing to lose?" Is there something you always suspected you'd be good at but were afraid to maybe be bad at? Is there something you've thought of doing but worry bout the risk involved? What if you weren't worried about that risk anymore? Is there something that, when you see others do, you begin to get an itch in your spine, like you almost have to get in there cuz your instincts are pointing toward a better way to do it. Good. Does it scare you a little? Even better. DO THAT THING, fuck it up horribly and DO IT AGAIN anyway.
Good luck to you. You can beat this, even if you don't believe that's true right now.
posted by EatTheWeek at 7:03 PM on July 12, 2011 [8 favorites]
On the day-to-day breaking free, something I find effective is "personal Kaizen" -- determining the smallest possible action I could take this second to achieve my goal.
Example: Going to the gym would help me achieve my goals, and I actually enjoy it, but sometimes I have difficulty getting motivated to actually leave the house and do it.
So, breaking it down, the first thing I could do is close my laptop. ;) Which is not hard to get motivated to do, and it gets the ball rolling. Then, I'd like to put the laptop down and plug it in. Then, I could stand up and grab my bag. Etc.
The key is breaking it down into ridiculously small steps that are hard to object to in and of themselves, and not thinking about the larger picture except for when you're asking yourself what small step comes next.
posted by trevyn at 7:19 PM on July 12, 2011 [9 favorites]
Example: Going to the gym would help me achieve my goals, and I actually enjoy it, but sometimes I have difficulty getting motivated to actually leave the house and do it.
So, breaking it down, the first thing I could do is close my laptop. ;) Which is not hard to get motivated to do, and it gets the ball rolling. Then, I'd like to put the laptop down and plug it in. Then, I could stand up and grab my bag. Etc.
The key is breaking it down into ridiculously small steps that are hard to object to in and of themselves, and not thinking about the larger picture except for when you're asking yourself what small step comes next.
posted by trevyn at 7:19 PM on July 12, 2011 [9 favorites]
I'm a few years younger than you. My hardest struggle with depression was from ages 12-23. I inherited it from my father, who inherited it from his father. My aunt on the same side also has depressive tendencies and we've been seeing the beginnings of them in her youngest son too, my 14 year old cousin. This may seem strange, but the pervasiveness of depression in my family is something of a comfort to me. It's just the way we are made, not a fault. (Logically, you know depression is not your "fault." But logic doesn't help much in the throes of it, either.)
For me, depression was alleviated by focusing my mental energy a lot more on other people. Not what they're thinking or how to be a doormat for them, but how I can help them out if possible, how they are good, how they are flawed but how very few of these flaws are seriously bothersome to me, so why do ALL of mine have to be? There is some significant uplift to be had from a mutually positive interaction with another person, no matter how small, even if it's just a good thought about them popping into your head. To be honest, I think time and growing up to find out that there's a big world of people outside the limitations of my peer group also helped.
I also made an effort to become mindful of habits and activities that helped perpetuate my depression, no matter how painful or hard to correct they might be. In my case, these included: comfort eating junk food, spending time around my mother's family, staving off sleep and using free time to goof around on the internet. So essentially, I was not sleeping, eating poorly and gaining weight, not exercising, and spending about twice a week in the company of really negative people who looked down on me. I already had a predisposition to depression. Any wonder why I was so miserable?
Now when faced with these temptations, I force myself to be there mentally. It's a lot easier said than done, and you may have to take advantage of those upswing moments to work on it, because when you don't have the energy I'd imagine mindfulness and correcting your habits is really hard. For me, the corrections have been: not spending time around my mother's family, buying healthy food and preparing it for myself (I have learned that I love cooking), and forcing myself to get up and exercise whenever I feel that buzz of energy sitting at my computer. I treat my depression as I would the symptoms of any other disease -- the body needs nourishment to get better.
In the past year, I've had maybe one spell of real, down-to-the-bone despair, and that lasted approximately two or three days, and then it was done and I forgot it. I tried going to therapy again a few months ago and felt so silly in the first meeting because the decision to go had been an impulsive one based on years of habit. I haven't gone again. I still feel great.
I'll leave you with my favorite quote on the subject of depression, courtesy of Rilke. When I was in the middle of that brief sadness spell mentioned above, brought on by some unpleasant personal changes, I re-read this quote many times. Especially since you are concerned with thinking you have lost time to depression, I hope it will be beneficial to you:
Why do you want to shut out of your life any uneasiness, any misery, any depression, since after all you don't know what work these conditions are doing inside you? Why do you want to persecute yourself with the question of where all this is coming from and where it is going? Since you know, after all, that you are in the midst of transitions and you wished for nothing so much as to change. If there is anything unhealthy in your reactions, just bear in mind that sickness is the means by which an organism frees itself from what is alien; so one must simply help it to be sick, to have its whole sickness and to break out with it, since that is the way it gets better.
posted by houndsoflove at 8:21 PM on July 12, 2011 [4 favorites]
For me, depression was alleviated by focusing my mental energy a lot more on other people. Not what they're thinking or how to be a doormat for them, but how I can help them out if possible, how they are good, how they are flawed but how very few of these flaws are seriously bothersome to me, so why do ALL of mine have to be? There is some significant uplift to be had from a mutually positive interaction with another person, no matter how small, even if it's just a good thought about them popping into your head. To be honest, I think time and growing up to find out that there's a big world of people outside the limitations of my peer group also helped.
I also made an effort to become mindful of habits and activities that helped perpetuate my depression, no matter how painful or hard to correct they might be. In my case, these included: comfort eating junk food, spending time around my mother's family, staving off sleep and using free time to goof around on the internet. So essentially, I was not sleeping, eating poorly and gaining weight, not exercising, and spending about twice a week in the company of really negative people who looked down on me. I already had a predisposition to depression. Any wonder why I was so miserable?
Now when faced with these temptations, I force myself to be there mentally. It's a lot easier said than done, and you may have to take advantage of those upswing moments to work on it, because when you don't have the energy I'd imagine mindfulness and correcting your habits is really hard. For me, the corrections have been: not spending time around my mother's family, buying healthy food and preparing it for myself (I have learned that I love cooking), and forcing myself to get up and exercise whenever I feel that buzz of energy sitting at my computer. I treat my depression as I would the symptoms of any other disease -- the body needs nourishment to get better.
In the past year, I've had maybe one spell of real, down-to-the-bone despair, and that lasted approximately two or three days, and then it was done and I forgot it. I tried going to therapy again a few months ago and felt so silly in the first meeting because the decision to go had been an impulsive one based on years of habit. I haven't gone again. I still feel great.
I'll leave you with my favorite quote on the subject of depression, courtesy of Rilke. When I was in the middle of that brief sadness spell mentioned above, brought on by some unpleasant personal changes, I re-read this quote many times. Especially since you are concerned with thinking you have lost time to depression, I hope it will be beneficial to you:
Why do you want to shut out of your life any uneasiness, any misery, any depression, since after all you don't know what work these conditions are doing inside you? Why do you want to persecute yourself with the question of where all this is coming from and where it is going? Since you know, after all, that you are in the midst of transitions and you wished for nothing so much as to change. If there is anything unhealthy in your reactions, just bear in mind that sickness is the means by which an organism frees itself from what is alien; so one must simply help it to be sick, to have its whole sickness and to break out with it, since that is the way it gets better.
posted by houndsoflove at 8:21 PM on July 12, 2011 [4 favorites]
I'm 40 and I can mark pretty clear evidence of depression back into single digit years. I had no particular luck with medication and some fruitful but S-L-O-W progress during about 5 years of weekly therapy, but at that point I felt I'd pretty much hit the wall with that. I don't believe that I will ever be "cured" or "free". I think it is something that is wired into my brain all the way down to the roots.
I know I might not exactly sound like the example you are looking for but I want to tell you, at some point I realized that nothing in this world was going to stop and wait for me to get better. So I stopped waiting to get better, I stopped dwelling on how things would be different if I were better or (especially) how things could have been different if I had gotten better before that one job, before college, before high school. I have to live it the best I can, right here, right now, and remembering that and living it like I mean it is 99 percent of the battle against depression for me.
You might say at this point "but I am living with it the best I can" and yes, precisely, that is exactly my point. The person with one leg should not feel bad about taking twice as long to run the marathon. How do they get faster? By growing the leg back? The get faster by running as best they can with what they've got.
The most dangerous insidiousness, the self-reinforcing nature of this malady is precisely in these feelings: that it doesn't matter, that it is meaningless, that feeling better doesn't matter because feeling bad will come back, that we have to suffer again and again over time lost, over opportunities lost. These feelings are not caused by the effects of depression they ARE the depression. I tell myself it is just as meaningful, just as important, that it matters just as much even when I don't feel it and that means get up and get on the treadmill. I tell myself again and again that what is really important isn't that the bad feeling comes back but that it goes away again. It doesn't last forever. The good comes back. I try to live it and love it for all it is worth for as long as its there. And sometimes, more it seems as time goes by, I feel something even when it's bad that is maybe akin to a person in chronic pain engaged in a meaningful pursuit, or like that one-legged runner finding the joy in their own damaged stride.
I don't believe it's realistic after 3+ decades to think I am going to be cured of depression, that I will ever be free of depression, but I am beating depression. When I am holding back tears on the treadmill I am landing punch after punch right on its stupid face. You like that, depression? Here's some more. You can't make me stop any more. It's this that has allowed me to marry, buy a house, raise a child without letting the anxiety overwhelm me. It's what keeps me trying new things, even when it feels impossible that there can be any kind of above-average creative or career success for me now that I'm headed right into the middle of middle age. It feels bad sometimes. And I can be okay with that. I am fulfilled: right here, right now.
posted by nanojath at 11:59 AM on July 13, 2011 [6 favorites]
I know I might not exactly sound like the example you are looking for but I want to tell you, at some point I realized that nothing in this world was going to stop and wait for me to get better. So I stopped waiting to get better, I stopped dwelling on how things would be different if I were better or (especially) how things could have been different if I had gotten better before that one job, before college, before high school. I have to live it the best I can, right here, right now, and remembering that and living it like I mean it is 99 percent of the battle against depression for me.
You might say at this point "but I am living with it the best I can" and yes, precisely, that is exactly my point. The person with one leg should not feel bad about taking twice as long to run the marathon. How do they get faster? By growing the leg back? The get faster by running as best they can with what they've got.
The most dangerous insidiousness, the self-reinforcing nature of this malady is precisely in these feelings: that it doesn't matter, that it is meaningless, that feeling better doesn't matter because feeling bad will come back, that we have to suffer again and again over time lost, over opportunities lost. These feelings are not caused by the effects of depression they ARE the depression. I tell myself it is just as meaningful, just as important, that it matters just as much even when I don't feel it and that means get up and get on the treadmill. I tell myself again and again that what is really important isn't that the bad feeling comes back but that it goes away again. It doesn't last forever. The good comes back. I try to live it and love it for all it is worth for as long as its there. And sometimes, more it seems as time goes by, I feel something even when it's bad that is maybe akin to a person in chronic pain engaged in a meaningful pursuit, or like that one-legged runner finding the joy in their own damaged stride.
I don't believe it's realistic after 3+ decades to think I am going to be cured of depression, that I will ever be free of depression, but I am beating depression. When I am holding back tears on the treadmill I am landing punch after punch right on its stupid face. You like that, depression? Here's some more. You can't make me stop any more. It's this that has allowed me to marry, buy a house, raise a child without letting the anxiety overwhelm me. It's what keeps me trying new things, even when it feels impossible that there can be any kind of above-average creative or career success for me now that I'm headed right into the middle of middle age. It feels bad sometimes. And I can be okay with that. I am fulfilled: right here, right now.
posted by nanojath at 11:59 AM on July 13, 2011 [6 favorites]
Response by poster: Thanks to all of you for your responses, both those of you who responded here and those who contacted me privately. I really appreciate all of the perspectives and experience you've offered; knowing that this community was good for that was one of the things that made me comfortable posting here. I could spend a few hours here responding to everything, but, just to make some key comments and answer a question or two:
Stop thinking about how much it stole from you - this too is part of the disease. Think about how you've survived.
I've tried to frame it this way to myself before, and it seems to be the most effective frame of any, but I struggle with the examples of people whose lives it's claimed, either by draining them of life so that they have no joy, or by killing them outright... be they people I know personally, higher profile cases like Spalding Gray and David Foster Wallace, or even members of our community. It's contemplating that this disease has the potential to kill me that scares me. Those cases haunt me. I suppose it's a good thing that it scares me, since it means I'm not in a place where that sort of ideation is happening, but just the thought that I could end up in a place where that decision seemed to make sense is frightening.
Have you been seeing the same therapist this whole time? Have you been doing the same type of therapy?
I just started with my current therapist a couple months ago. Her style is a mix of psychodynamic and CBT and I think it will be effective for me, at least for now; I find the CBT programming methods helpful (I ran through Feeling Good on my own once a couple years ago and I imagine it's probably time I did so again) but I also appreciate having a place to air things I've carried with me for a long time. I've been in and out of therapy over the years (some more effective, some less) but I think part of why it didn't click for me before was because I didn't want to be branded with the 'D' word and so I didn't fully engage; after having survived the darkest years, I wanted to be 'cured' and have that be that. It's only recently that I've accepted that these episodes aren't part of normal, healthy functioning, and need to be attacked head-on for what they are.
because when you don't have the energy I'd imagine mindfulness and correcting your habits is really hard.
This is the hardest thing. There are all these things I want to do, and that I know in an abstract sense at least stand a chance of making me feel better, but sometimes it's just. so. hard. to. move. Some of this is just being tired from work, but I know a lot of it is depression, too. The breaking down of things into smaller and smaller steps seems like it might work, so I'm going to try that and see.
I know I might not exactly sound like the example you are looking for but I want to tell you, at some point I realized that nothing in this world was going to stop and wait for me to get better.
nanojath, your example is fine with me. It sounds like you're going through all the processes of living, above all, and that's what I want for myself. I think I know how to fight the fight (not that my methods couldn't use some refinement) but my faith has been faltering lately that it would ever amount to anything.
Thanks again, everyone. I've been a member of this community for seven years and reading it for longer, and while I've never made a front page post or figured prominently in any discussion, the collective wit and wisdom here has seen me through a brutal breakup, two graduations, three moves, and the start of a career... not to mention the many times it's warded me away from making disastrous decisions. You are a brave and insightful group with a lot of compassion and I wouldn't have felt comfortable writing this anywhere else, even anonymously.
Time to take up my sword and head into battle another time.
posted by Kosh at 4:10 PM on July 13, 2011 [1 favorite]
Stop thinking about how much it stole from you - this too is part of the disease. Think about how you've survived.
I've tried to frame it this way to myself before, and it seems to be the most effective frame of any, but I struggle with the examples of people whose lives it's claimed, either by draining them of life so that they have no joy, or by killing them outright... be they people I know personally, higher profile cases like Spalding Gray and David Foster Wallace, or even members of our community. It's contemplating that this disease has the potential to kill me that scares me. Those cases haunt me. I suppose it's a good thing that it scares me, since it means I'm not in a place where that sort of ideation is happening, but just the thought that I could end up in a place where that decision seemed to make sense is frightening.
Have you been seeing the same therapist this whole time? Have you been doing the same type of therapy?
I just started with my current therapist a couple months ago. Her style is a mix of psychodynamic and CBT and I think it will be effective for me, at least for now; I find the CBT programming methods helpful (I ran through Feeling Good on my own once a couple years ago and I imagine it's probably time I did so again) but I also appreciate having a place to air things I've carried with me for a long time. I've been in and out of therapy over the years (some more effective, some less) but I think part of why it didn't click for me before was because I didn't want to be branded with the 'D' word and so I didn't fully engage; after having survived the darkest years, I wanted to be 'cured' and have that be that. It's only recently that I've accepted that these episodes aren't part of normal, healthy functioning, and need to be attacked head-on for what they are.
because when you don't have the energy I'd imagine mindfulness and correcting your habits is really hard.
This is the hardest thing. There are all these things I want to do, and that I know in an abstract sense at least stand a chance of making me feel better, but sometimes it's just. so. hard. to. move. Some of this is just being tired from work, but I know a lot of it is depression, too. The breaking down of things into smaller and smaller steps seems like it might work, so I'm going to try that and see.
I know I might not exactly sound like the example you are looking for but I want to tell you, at some point I realized that nothing in this world was going to stop and wait for me to get better.
nanojath, your example is fine with me. It sounds like you're going through all the processes of living, above all, and that's what I want for myself. I think I know how to fight the fight (not that my methods couldn't use some refinement) but my faith has been faltering lately that it would ever amount to anything.
Thanks again, everyone. I've been a member of this community for seven years and reading it for longer, and while I've never made a front page post or figured prominently in any discussion, the collective wit and wisdom here has seen me through a brutal breakup, two graduations, three moves, and the start of a career... not to mention the many times it's warded me away from making disastrous decisions. You are a brave and insightful group with a lot of compassion and I wouldn't have felt comfortable writing this anywhere else, even anonymously.
Time to take up my sword and head into battle another time.
posted by Kosh at 4:10 PM on July 13, 2011 [1 favorite]
« Older Sincerity: If you can fake that, you've got it... | How would you navigate No-Hire Agreements in your... Newer »
This thread is closed to new comments.
YES.
"How?"
I finally got radical and changed pretty much everything in my life - from contact with family (none now - each individual relationship failed on it's own once I started honoring my own well-being above what they thought of me), to letting go of repeating or clinging to shitty jobs (dysfunctional employer/boss/organization dynamics) ESPECIALLY if these relationships resembled my family dynamic in any way (i.e.,I do more work, but accept less power/money/respect) - even if it meant being broke for a while. Then I ditched the shitty men. Then the shitty friends. Then my shitty treatment of myself (or maybe that last part came first??)
It's a process. I think a lot of people are depressed today because messages in society teach us to value the person or institution more than they should value a Win-Win Dynamic.
No matter what the situation is, if you pick the win-win scenario (or politely reject folks who aren't about the win-win and reserve your energy until that next healthy and mutually beneficial opportunity presents itself...) then you can not go wrong.
Anyway. That's what dramatically changed my life after struggling (and failing) for over 20 years.
YMMV, this is all IMHO.
posted by jbenben at 5:49 PM on July 12, 2011 [4 favorites]