I am one of those 350 million people, and I'm telling you that openly because I have zero shame about that fact. Studies have shown a high correlation between intelligence and depression diagnoses so I guess I have that going for me. People who don't have a depression diagnosis are sometimes pretty ignorant about it, and are hurtful to those of us who take up arms against this demon on a daily basis. There are billions upon billions of resources out there from depressed people and professionals that aim to dispel myths and increase awareness and sensitivity. I just want you to know what it's like when you're in a depressive episode, so you can help someone while they're going through it, and be supportive, and make people suffering with this feel comfortable talking about things so that they can get help.
Depression is not a function of weakness. People don't get into depressive episodes because they failed to handle things on their own. That's like saying developing a blister is your failure to properly deal with a burn. No. Both of those things are natural, predictable, biological responses. I have met and talked to so many people who I recognize right off the bat as being in the same boat as me, and when I try to engage them in a conversation about depression, they rebuff me as if to say "depression is for losers." Call me a loser to my face, I dare you. In Lady Gaga's song "Born This Way," her message is taken as a gay anthem, but I love it because she says, "God makes no mistakes, you were born this way." You were born with this brain chemistry. You were born with beautiful eyes and an absurd sense of humor and a talent for baking or choosing really good restaurants and also your brain is built this way instead of that way. God makes no mistakes.
So I already told you that "depression" and "sadness" are not the same thing. People who suffer from depression do sometimes have normal emotional responses to things, like crying at that part in I Am Legend when the dog turns into a zombie. People with depression can get really angry if they're wronged because - omg - they're human beings. So if you know someone has depression, and is maybe taking something for it, do not ever tell them to "go take your pill" if they're acting in response to something. And so help me if you say this to a veteran. If you do, I will find you, and I will personally throat punch you. I might need a step stool to do it but if I'm determined, I'll do it.
If you've never battled this demon, it would be really difficult to imagine how it feels to someone who does. People who don't suffer from depression talk about those of us who do as if we just need more something - more God, more faith, more sleep, more love. But that undermines our daily fight to stay above the water line. Like I'll never have any idea what getting punched in the balls feels like, and I couldn't imagine childbirth if I tried. People can describe both of those things to me but you can't elicit an actual sympathetic response to pain unless you've felt it. But depression isn't pain, and I think I might be able to get you to imagine how we feel when things get bad. I should add, this might sound counter-intuitive, but we don't always know when we're slipping into an episode, and we might not even recognize it when we're knee-deep in an episode.
Imagine that someone has given you a robot, and asked you to sit inside and control the thing. You spend all day inside this mechanized creature, controlling its every move. You tell it to walk, you tell it to eat, you tell it to interact with the world. But you don't feel anything, and you know you're not feeling anything, because you're just driving the thing. The robot is the one doing all the experiencing. Soon, you stop telling the robot to eat anything, because you aren't tasting anything, so who cares? You can't experience the joy of eating, so you just kind of forget about it. You stop telling the robot to read a book, because the words aren't being registered by you, because you're busy with the task of keeping the robot upright and functional. Then, you'll stop wanting to do much of anything, because everything is a sisyphean task; you're rolling a boulder up a hill all day, and it just rolls back down, and you have to push it right back up, so you just stop doing anything. You're exhausted from all the pushing and don't feel like lugging this big, heavy robot around anymore.
Except you can't get out, because the robot is your own body.
Sometimes, this realization that you're not feeling anything, and you're not enjoying anything, will make us feel profoundly sad, in our own little way. We realize that we used to feel things, we used to enjoy things, we used to be able to get out of bed without a pep talk. And the fact that we can't do those things anymore fills us with just a deep, profound sadness. Which makes us want to climb back into bed. And not eat. And not do anything we used to love doing.
So you can see how this could become a very large, debilitating problem.
I have the honor of being friends with several people who suffer with this, and we can all talk about it freely, and we all know the warning signs in each other, and we know exactly the advice to give when we see the others suffering. Depression wants to isolate you from everything, and it does this by saying "who cares?" enough times that you believe it. If you are in this position, I promise you, a lot of people care. You would be amazed at how many people care.
For me, my warning sign that I'm about to enter into the Forbidden Forest of Episodes is that it takes me longer and longer each morning to have my coffee. I loooove my morning coffee, I enjoy every part of it, so when I start putting it off, I know that I'm losing interest in it. Losing interest in something that brings me that much joy is a big old red flag. When I see this coming, I know I have to do the following:
1) Get active: This one might as well be "climb Mt. Everest" when you're in the thick of it, but you must, absolutely must, do something. Set an alarm on your phone to go off every 90 minutes and make yourself do ten push-ups. Go for a quick walk around your block. Vacuum your house. Do something that physically gets your heart rate up.
2) Get creative: I knit, or paint, or organize, or clean. Any task that gets me out of my own head and gives me something to devote my full attention to does wonders for pulling me out of that awful forest.
3) Talk: Tell a friend that you think that you've got "The Gremlin" on your back, or that you can feel that gremlin coming. I love the metaphor of the Gremlin, because sometimes it very much does feel like an annoying, persistent little creature who has taken up residence on your back.
4) Schedule an appointment to see a doctor: I am currently under the care of a no-nonsense, not-at-all friendly psychiatrist who is probably the most gifted human being who has ever practiced medicine. I have seen several psychiatrists in the course of my depression, as you might have to end up doing. Some prescribed me things that made me feel AMAZING while I was on them, without ever telling me that the withdrawal would result in me sobbing my eyes out into my best friend's sleeve halfway through the new James Bond movie, for no reason. Some prescribed me medications that did absolutely nothing for me. The VA finally prescribed me Prozac, which made me feel so normal, I was elated. But after two years, I realized that "normal" shouldn't include The Gremlin, even a little. And that's when I found my current doctor, who instantly knew what was going on, and added the lowest possible dosage of Wellbutrin to my daily Prozac. And oh. my. goodness. I didn't realize how long it had been since I last laughed until I actually started laughing again. So after years of trial-and-error, we have found my ideal prescription, and I feel awesome. I'm still myself, but that Gremlin is in a cage inside an archive somewhere far, far away.
Just as I would take medicine for pneumonia if I were afflicted, I take my psychiatric medication. Feeling normal is a wonderful thing that a lot of people take for granted. Encourage the people you know who are suffering to take steps to get active, get talking, get creative, and get a good doctor. Don't ever tell someone that it's "all in their head" or that they should just "snap out of it" or "get a good night's sleep and you'll feel better in the morning" because that's absurd. No one tells a man who's just been kicked in the babymaker to just "snap out of it," and no one would dare tell a woman in labor that it's all in her head.
I once read this amazing article about suicide and jumping off bridges. There is a line that has stayed with me since the article was published in 2003:
“I instantly realized that everything in my life that I’d thought was unfixable was totally fixable—except for having just jumped.”
Everything is fixable. The Gremlin can be conquered, your attitudes toward mental health issues can be enlightened, and we can all be better. Go forth, and be compassionate!
No comments:
Post a Comment