Another month, another depressing post
Yep, I'm not posting much these days. The depression seems to be taking a lot out of me this winter. I've come to a slow realization that is actually has been taking quite a lot of out me for some time now – years, really. A couple of decades, if I'm going to be honest. Strange to think I've never really noticed the extent of it until recently. Partly I think that's because of a semi-stoic attitude I absorbed while growing up, this inclination to always try to minimize anything that might be going wrong ... a need to keep trying, and appear positive even when suffering, in order to not draw attention to myself or add to other people's burdens. Even when I've been completely falling apart, when anyone asks how I'm doing my automatic response is to reassure them that I'm OK, or at least getting better.
Part of that, of course, is also to reassure myself. It's scary to admit when I'm just not able to cope. Talking about it makes it feel more real; talking about being better makes that feel more possible.
But there is such a thing as denial. This winter, it's true, in the very large scheme of things I really am OK. Overall, though, I have to say ... not so much. I've been reading a lot and going over my old journals lately and am somehow now seeing it all from a different perspective. There have been many times when I've written about how I've deliberately designed my life for a minimum of stress, and I always thought of that as a good thing. Now I'm not so sure. I'm almost 45 years old and starting to see some of the results of my "take it easy" strategy, and am realizing that not only has it kept me from achieving some of the more important things I always thought I wanted out of life, it also has failed in its main (only) purpose – to protect me from anxiety, stress and depression.
I was willing to give up a lot – almost everything – to avoid the kinds of crashes I've experienced before. Who knows, maybe if I hadn't been living this way I really would have gone off the deep end by now. Or, maybe I would've developed more of the kind of strength I'm feeling the lack of now.
It seems pointless to wonder what might have happened if I'd done things differently. All I can do is start living differently NOW. I met with a new therapist this week and am feeling really positive and excited about working with her. She's someone I've known socially, sort of peripherally, for over 10 years, and I've always liked her and felt very comfortable with her, and in our first session I was impressed at her ability to identify themes and trends, and also to point out disconnects and contradictions I wasn't seeing on my own.
I also have an appointment for a physical next week, to check in on my diabetes plan and all the basic blood work, and also to talk with him about my depression. I'm feeling like for now, I want to avoid going back on meds ... although it scares me to think I might crash again. I went on a business trip to Southern California with Mr. A for eight days last week and spent most of the time at the library or reading by the pool – reading about depression, and antidepressant medications, and the brain, and trying to figure out how to get myself well ... And everything I was reading seems to indicate that I'm a damn fool not to take advantage of pharmaceuticals as early as possible. According to what I was reading, depression isn't just a mood disorder – that part is just a symptom. What's really going on is far more serious, and permanent. In super simplified terms, untreated major depression eats away at the brain – these are physical, structural changes that you can actually see. The longer you leave it untreated, the worse it gets, even if nothing appears to be changing ... As I've seen in my own life of late, you can go along for years apparently doing fine, and then one small shock (like getting laid off) can be enough to push you back over the precipice. Antidepressant meds can protect the brain from further damage and even help repair damage that's already been done.
That's the short version. The long version includes side effects, social stigma, long-term safety and maybe most compelling – the question of just who I would be if I were no longer "this way." Am I really ready to try to change this aspect of myself, when I've spent the last 18-20 years designing my whole life around it? And what if I do try to change it, and it won't change? What if I really am stuck being fucked up and having no energy or confidence or ability to concentrate, forever?
I guess if that happens, at least I'll know. This situation didn't develop overnight, and just because I have an appointment next week doesn't mean I have to start taking drugs again if I don't feel ready. I've never really tried St. John's wort, or any of the other herbal supplements that are recommended for depression ... That might be a more comfortable place to start, although I'm not sure I see herbs as being all that different than a pill from the pharmacy. It's all just chemicals, right?
And the fact that I've made a commitment to work with a therapist, and have actually started therapy, is a good indication that I am ready to try to do something about this. Change is scary, even when it's a change for the positive. Not as scary as the road I'm already on, though.
In other news: One of the first things I want to nail down with this therapist is – what the hell am I going to do for work now? The fact that a whole month has passed since I had the idea of getting an MSW, and I still have done almost nothing to move myself toward that goal ... That's disturbing to me. It shows me that there really is something wrong here. One thing I have figured out is that it's unlikely I'll be able to just apply to a program and be instantly accepted. There are prerequisites I haven't met yet, including a requirement that I demonstrate my involvement with related work (and be able to provide references detailing my contributions).
However. Last night I came up with a tentative plan to start moving in that direction. I don't know if it's a feasible plan, or if I'll be able to follow through, but the basic plan is to invest in a certificate as a massage technician, and complete training as a hospice volunteer. Both are things I've wanted to do for years and years, and never had the time. Right now, I have the time and the money, and can be actively working toward both goals within the next two weeks. I have an interview for the hospice training program next Tuesday, and could start the course for a massage certificate on February 2. The massage part is partly just because it's something I've wanted to do, and also because I love the idea of having that skill available to use in hospice work, either with patients or with their loved ones. And with my own loved ones, too. Touch has been so important to me all my life, and especially now, when I'm feeling so disconnected from life.
Another piece of this puzzle is that when we were on that trip last week we had dinner with Mr. A's old boss, and he offered to start sending me some editing work – Mr. A thinks it could average out to be as much as 10-20 hours a week. If that works out, it could be a great way to keep some income flowing while I get my prerequisites and volunteer experience under way, and start moving toward grad school.
So maybe that's a contradiction right there – I just said I'd done almost nothing about achieving this goal, and yet ... that's not really true. I've started therapy (for necessary support while I make these changes), done a lot of research, made appointments, set aside funds for all of the above. I guess I do have a habit of being hard on myself when I talk about things I want to do, because so often my ideas are so much bigger than my ability to follow through. I don't want to give myself even a molecule of credit until the results are in. But maybe now is a good time to practice giving myself the benefit of the doubt, and at least a point or two for having made the effort to clearly frame some intentions, even if I haven't finished (or really even started) acting on them yet.
One final thought. Maybe it seems weird for someone who's been so affected by depression to choose, out of all possible volunteer opportunities, to work with people who are dying. I can't really explain why it feels right for me, but ... well, why does it? Hmm. Maybe part of it is just because I've never seen death as a scary, terrible thing. Especially when you know it's coming, it can feel more like an opportunity, and I think I could be good at supporting people through the experience. The connection with depression, I'll have to think about. I know that when I'm in a bad depression, I often feel a weird sort of longing to just Not Be Here anymore. To just disappear. Or not really to disappear, but more ... to be absorbed back into life. I can understand how it could be scary to die. And also, how it could be a blessing.
I want to figure out what it really means to be here, and not here. I suppose this is something I'll need to get a little more clear on before my interview with the hospice program next week.
P.S. Another exciting thing – I rescued a dog the other night! We'd had an insanely incredible thunder and lightning storm that afternoon, and he jumped his fence and was several miles from home when I saw him jogging along the highway in the dark in the pouring rain, inches away from rush hour traffic, looking for a place to cross. I pulled onto a side road and parked, and went back for him. He was soaking wet and filthy, an 8-year-old Brittany spaniel named Cash. He hesitated a bit, tried to escape under a bridge, then saw the creek was too full and followed me to the truck and jumped right in when I invited him. I called the number on his collar and got him back to his person. I made a joke about wanting to keep him instead of giving him back; it made me feel so good to be able to save him from being hit. Then last night the guy called me back, wanting to know if I was serious about adopting Cash. Apparently he's home alone almost all the time, and the guy's son lives with his mother now and doesn't have time for a dog. He did seem like a really cool dog, smart and gentle and well-trained, though I have my doubts about taking on such an accomplished escape artist. Probably the answer will be no, but I'm thinking about it.
Part of that, of course, is also to reassure myself. It's scary to admit when I'm just not able to cope. Talking about it makes it feel more real; talking about being better makes that feel more possible.
But there is such a thing as denial. This winter, it's true, in the very large scheme of things I really am OK. Overall, though, I have to say ... not so much. I've been reading a lot and going over my old journals lately and am somehow now seeing it all from a different perspective. There have been many times when I've written about how I've deliberately designed my life for a minimum of stress, and I always thought of that as a good thing. Now I'm not so sure. I'm almost 45 years old and starting to see some of the results of my "take it easy" strategy, and am realizing that not only has it kept me from achieving some of the more important things I always thought I wanted out of life, it also has failed in its main (only) purpose – to protect me from anxiety, stress and depression.
I was willing to give up a lot – almost everything – to avoid the kinds of crashes I've experienced before. Who knows, maybe if I hadn't been living this way I really would have gone off the deep end by now. Or, maybe I would've developed more of the kind of strength I'm feeling the lack of now.
It seems pointless to wonder what might have happened if I'd done things differently. All I can do is start living differently NOW. I met with a new therapist this week and am feeling really positive and excited about working with her. She's someone I've known socially, sort of peripherally, for over 10 years, and I've always liked her and felt very comfortable with her, and in our first session I was impressed at her ability to identify themes and trends, and also to point out disconnects and contradictions I wasn't seeing on my own.
I also have an appointment for a physical next week, to check in on my diabetes plan and all the basic blood work, and also to talk with him about my depression. I'm feeling like for now, I want to avoid going back on meds ... although it scares me to think I might crash again. I went on a business trip to Southern California with Mr. A for eight days last week and spent most of the time at the library or reading by the pool – reading about depression, and antidepressant medications, and the brain, and trying to figure out how to get myself well ... And everything I was reading seems to indicate that I'm a damn fool not to take advantage of pharmaceuticals as early as possible. According to what I was reading, depression isn't just a mood disorder – that part is just a symptom. What's really going on is far more serious, and permanent. In super simplified terms, untreated major depression eats away at the brain – these are physical, structural changes that you can actually see. The longer you leave it untreated, the worse it gets, even if nothing appears to be changing ... As I've seen in my own life of late, you can go along for years apparently doing fine, and then one small shock (like getting laid off) can be enough to push you back over the precipice. Antidepressant meds can protect the brain from further damage and even help repair damage that's already been done.
That's the short version. The long version includes side effects, social stigma, long-term safety and maybe most compelling – the question of just who I would be if I were no longer "this way." Am I really ready to try to change this aspect of myself, when I've spent the last 18-20 years designing my whole life around it? And what if I do try to change it, and it won't change? What if I really am stuck being fucked up and having no energy or confidence or ability to concentrate, forever?
I guess if that happens, at least I'll know. This situation didn't develop overnight, and just because I have an appointment next week doesn't mean I have to start taking drugs again if I don't feel ready. I've never really tried St. John's wort, or any of the other herbal supplements that are recommended for depression ... That might be a more comfortable place to start, although I'm not sure I see herbs as being all that different than a pill from the pharmacy. It's all just chemicals, right?
And the fact that I've made a commitment to work with a therapist, and have actually started therapy, is a good indication that I am ready to try to do something about this. Change is scary, even when it's a change for the positive. Not as scary as the road I'm already on, though.
In other news: One of the first things I want to nail down with this therapist is – what the hell am I going to do for work now? The fact that a whole month has passed since I had the idea of getting an MSW, and I still have done almost nothing to move myself toward that goal ... That's disturbing to me. It shows me that there really is something wrong here. One thing I have figured out is that it's unlikely I'll be able to just apply to a program and be instantly accepted. There are prerequisites I haven't met yet, including a requirement that I demonstrate my involvement with related work (and be able to provide references detailing my contributions).
However. Last night I came up with a tentative plan to start moving in that direction. I don't know if it's a feasible plan, or if I'll be able to follow through, but the basic plan is to invest in a certificate as a massage technician, and complete training as a hospice volunteer. Both are things I've wanted to do for years and years, and never had the time. Right now, I have the time and the money, and can be actively working toward both goals within the next two weeks. I have an interview for the hospice training program next Tuesday, and could start the course for a massage certificate on February 2. The massage part is partly just because it's something I've wanted to do, and also because I love the idea of having that skill available to use in hospice work, either with patients or with their loved ones. And with my own loved ones, too. Touch has been so important to me all my life, and especially now, when I'm feeling so disconnected from life.
Another piece of this puzzle is that when we were on that trip last week we had dinner with Mr. A's old boss, and he offered to start sending me some editing work – Mr. A thinks it could average out to be as much as 10-20 hours a week. If that works out, it could be a great way to keep some income flowing while I get my prerequisites and volunteer experience under way, and start moving toward grad school.
So maybe that's a contradiction right there – I just said I'd done almost nothing about achieving this goal, and yet ... that's not really true. I've started therapy (for necessary support while I make these changes), done a lot of research, made appointments, set aside funds for all of the above. I guess I do have a habit of being hard on myself when I talk about things I want to do, because so often my ideas are so much bigger than my ability to follow through. I don't want to give myself even a molecule of credit until the results are in. But maybe now is a good time to practice giving myself the benefit of the doubt, and at least a point or two for having made the effort to clearly frame some intentions, even if I haven't finished (or really even started) acting on them yet.
One final thought. Maybe it seems weird for someone who's been so affected by depression to choose, out of all possible volunteer opportunities, to work with people who are dying. I can't really explain why it feels right for me, but ... well, why does it? Hmm. Maybe part of it is just because I've never seen death as a scary, terrible thing. Especially when you know it's coming, it can feel more like an opportunity, and I think I could be good at supporting people through the experience. The connection with depression, I'll have to think about. I know that when I'm in a bad depression, I often feel a weird sort of longing to just Not Be Here anymore. To just disappear. Or not really to disappear, but more ... to be absorbed back into life. I can understand how it could be scary to die. And also, how it could be a blessing.
I want to figure out what it really means to be here, and not here. I suppose this is something I'll need to get a little more clear on before my interview with the hospice program next week.
P.S. Another exciting thing – I rescued a dog the other night! We'd had an insanely incredible thunder and lightning storm that afternoon, and he jumped his fence and was several miles from home when I saw him jogging along the highway in the dark in the pouring rain, inches away from rush hour traffic, looking for a place to cross. I pulled onto a side road and parked, and went back for him. He was soaking wet and filthy, an 8-year-old Brittany spaniel named Cash. He hesitated a bit, tried to escape under a bridge, then saw the creek was too full and followed me to the truck and jumped right in when I invited him. I called the number on his collar and got him back to his person. I made a joke about wanting to keep him instead of giving him back; it made me feel so good to be able to save him from being hit. Then last night the guy called me back, wanting to know if I was serious about adopting Cash. Apparently he's home alone almost all the time, and the guy's son lives with his mother now and doesn't have time for a dog. He did seem like a really cool dog, smart and gentle and well-trained, though I have my doubts about taking on such an accomplished escape artist. Probably the answer will be no, but I'm thinking about it.
Labels: depression, vacation, work
