- Joined
- Dec 2, 2016
- Messages
- 3,524
- Reason
- DX FIBRO
- Diagnosis
- 00/0000
- Country
- US
Reading the Fibromyalgia letters made me think I should write one like it, only talking about Depression. So I just now did.
And here it is:
I have spent more of my life depressed than I have spent being not depressed.
Most people don't think that is possible, but believe me, it is.
Many people don't think a child can be depressed, but believe me, they can be.
Most people say things like “What does he have to be depressed about?”, not realizing that the external circumstances of a person's life often have little to do with their depression.
Many people would not even believe me if I tried to tell them how depressed and despondent I am, because I have learned to hide it well. I hide it because no one wants to be around someone who is depressed. Not surprisingly, they find it depressing to be around someone who is acting or talking depressed. Or they are afraid it is catching. Or they want to help but they can't help.
Some people think that one can just "CHOOSE TO BE HAPPY". Some of these people will say that they simply "choose to be happy" and it works for them and so anyone can do that. And so, it is the fault of the person who is depressed if they are not happy, because they could just choose otherwise. This happens to be a common pop psychology buzz these days.
But, really, do you not think that if it were so easy.....if it were possible just to make a decision and things would change, that I would have done that years ago?
The truth is, over the decades of my depression I have made thousands of decisions to change things. I have “decided to be happy”. I have done affirmations. I have learned to meditate. I have exercised like crazy. I have spent a lot of time in nature. I got a dog. I studied Hatha Yoga so extensively that I qualified to be a yoga teacher. I tried a few kinds of spirituality. I danced, chanted, and prayed. I spent hundreds of dollars on self-help books ( and read and faithfully attempted everything they said), and thousands of dollars on counselors, psychiatrists, therapists, and various kinds of healers. I have taken herbs and tea and prescription drugs. I have studied my dreams, taken courses, joined support groups, and written journals. There is probably no approach to curing depression that I have not tried, and since I am a person who never does anything half way I have given each thing a pretty good try. As an example, I did not just try meditation for a month – I tried one kind for two years twice a day and a different kind for a year once a day. I even tried giving up. More than once. But I turned out to be such a spectacular failure at suicide that I reached the conclusion that I had best not try that again. With my luck, the next time I would simply end up paralyzed from the nose down or something and have to live a few more decades like that. Things can always get worse.
Sometimes something seemed to help, or actually did help for a while, and because deep down I seem to be a die-hard optimist in spite of everything I always believed that THIS time, I had the depression licked. But sooner or later the depression always came back again.
This is something that I live with every moment of every day, but most people around me do not even know it. I have to get pretty close to a person before I will even start to admit the depth and consistency of my depression. For one thing, it scares people away, as if it were catching. For another, let's face it, who wants to hear about it? And often people think that they need to try to help, but have no idea how to help and even though they are well-meaning sometimes the things they say are at best useless and at worst cruel.
I keep my appearance tidy and clean and my house tidy and clean. I go to work and I pay my bills. I have to do these things because I have no one who would do them for me; I am entirely on my own and have only myself to rely on. I can smile at you and chuckle at funny things and look as though I am doing fine and having a good time. This doesn't mean I am doing fine. It means that I learned very early in life to hide what is really going on inside.
Another thing is that depression affects people differently, and each individual handles it differently. One time a person, someone who happened to have MS, told me she did not believe that I was depressed because her sister had been depressed, and had spent weeks not getting out of bed or eating or washing, and since I looked fine I must not be depressed. I said that for her to say that to me was as if I were to say to her that I did not believe that she had MS because she could walk and talk and I once knew a man with MS who couldn't do either of those things, so that must mean that she didn't really have MS. Me – I can't afford to spend days in bed because no one but me will feed the dogs and pay the bills, and I am so used to being depressed that I learned a long time ago how to “pass for normal” in the world, so I drag myself out and do what has to be done.
But that doesn't mean it is easy. There is a whole stigma around depression and anxiety and all other mental illnesses. There is, even in the 21st century when science has proven otherwise and everyone should know better, still a prevailing attitude in this society that if you Just Tried Hard Enough you could overcome it. There's a reason for this. People do not want to admit that it is not a character defect – that it is possible even a strong person is helpless to overcome it, because that is too scary. It is a lot easier to blame the victim than to admit that it could happen just as easily to you.
But the truth is that many depressed people are stronger and more courageous than anyone knows. Do you have any idea what kind of strength it takes for a seriously depressed person just to get out of bed in the morning and do the things that other people find easy to do? And all the while not letting on to the world how challenging it is just to get through a day?
And sometimes, it is too much, and I don't get out of bed, or I break a date that I had to go do something with someone, or I fail to show up at the party because I just can't do it that day. When that happens I appear flaky, but I am not an unreliable person. I am simply a person who is struggling every single day with the invisible disease of depression, and because of that I experience life differently from people who are not depressed. I don't want pity or even sympathy, and because I hide it I often don't get understanding either. I know that that is due to my own choice to hide it, but believe me I have learned by experience to take this choice.
Speaking of choices, that is another thing. I have taken routes in my life that people do not understand. I am intelligent and capable and many people, especially relatives, have not understood why I never had a good career or ”made something of myself”. But it's not because I am lazy or don't care. It's because most of my life just getting through the day took up so much of my energy that I really could not manage law school, for example, in addition.
This writing doesn't have a fancy conclusion. I am not asking for anything except for people to think for a moment about what I have said. Maybe if you know people who are depressed, you will be less likely to tell them to pull themselves up by their bootstraps or snap out of it. Maybe you will be less likely to get mad or end a friendship if they cancel a date. Maybe you can offer just to listen, without judgment or trying to fix them, if they ever want to talk. Maybe you will realize that this disease can happen any time to anyone, regardless of how their life appears to other people. I hope that it never happens to you.
And here it is:
I have spent more of my life depressed than I have spent being not depressed.
Most people don't think that is possible, but believe me, it is.
Many people don't think a child can be depressed, but believe me, they can be.
Most people say things like “What does he have to be depressed about?”, not realizing that the external circumstances of a person's life often have little to do with their depression.
Many people would not even believe me if I tried to tell them how depressed and despondent I am, because I have learned to hide it well. I hide it because no one wants to be around someone who is depressed. Not surprisingly, they find it depressing to be around someone who is acting or talking depressed. Or they are afraid it is catching. Or they want to help but they can't help.
Some people think that one can just "CHOOSE TO BE HAPPY". Some of these people will say that they simply "choose to be happy" and it works for them and so anyone can do that. And so, it is the fault of the person who is depressed if they are not happy, because they could just choose otherwise. This happens to be a common pop psychology buzz these days.
But, really, do you not think that if it were so easy.....if it were possible just to make a decision and things would change, that I would have done that years ago?
The truth is, over the decades of my depression I have made thousands of decisions to change things. I have “decided to be happy”. I have done affirmations. I have learned to meditate. I have exercised like crazy. I have spent a lot of time in nature. I got a dog. I studied Hatha Yoga so extensively that I qualified to be a yoga teacher. I tried a few kinds of spirituality. I danced, chanted, and prayed. I spent hundreds of dollars on self-help books ( and read and faithfully attempted everything they said), and thousands of dollars on counselors, psychiatrists, therapists, and various kinds of healers. I have taken herbs and tea and prescription drugs. I have studied my dreams, taken courses, joined support groups, and written journals. There is probably no approach to curing depression that I have not tried, and since I am a person who never does anything half way I have given each thing a pretty good try. As an example, I did not just try meditation for a month – I tried one kind for two years twice a day and a different kind for a year once a day. I even tried giving up. More than once. But I turned out to be such a spectacular failure at suicide that I reached the conclusion that I had best not try that again. With my luck, the next time I would simply end up paralyzed from the nose down or something and have to live a few more decades like that. Things can always get worse.
Sometimes something seemed to help, or actually did help for a while, and because deep down I seem to be a die-hard optimist in spite of everything I always believed that THIS time, I had the depression licked. But sooner or later the depression always came back again.
This is something that I live with every moment of every day, but most people around me do not even know it. I have to get pretty close to a person before I will even start to admit the depth and consistency of my depression. For one thing, it scares people away, as if it were catching. For another, let's face it, who wants to hear about it? And often people think that they need to try to help, but have no idea how to help and even though they are well-meaning sometimes the things they say are at best useless and at worst cruel.
I keep my appearance tidy and clean and my house tidy and clean. I go to work and I pay my bills. I have to do these things because I have no one who would do them for me; I am entirely on my own and have only myself to rely on. I can smile at you and chuckle at funny things and look as though I am doing fine and having a good time. This doesn't mean I am doing fine. It means that I learned very early in life to hide what is really going on inside.
Another thing is that depression affects people differently, and each individual handles it differently. One time a person, someone who happened to have MS, told me she did not believe that I was depressed because her sister had been depressed, and had spent weeks not getting out of bed or eating or washing, and since I looked fine I must not be depressed. I said that for her to say that to me was as if I were to say to her that I did not believe that she had MS because she could walk and talk and I once knew a man with MS who couldn't do either of those things, so that must mean that she didn't really have MS. Me – I can't afford to spend days in bed because no one but me will feed the dogs and pay the bills, and I am so used to being depressed that I learned a long time ago how to “pass for normal” in the world, so I drag myself out and do what has to be done.
But that doesn't mean it is easy. There is a whole stigma around depression and anxiety and all other mental illnesses. There is, even in the 21st century when science has proven otherwise and everyone should know better, still a prevailing attitude in this society that if you Just Tried Hard Enough you could overcome it. There's a reason for this. People do not want to admit that it is not a character defect – that it is possible even a strong person is helpless to overcome it, because that is too scary. It is a lot easier to blame the victim than to admit that it could happen just as easily to you.
But the truth is that many depressed people are stronger and more courageous than anyone knows. Do you have any idea what kind of strength it takes for a seriously depressed person just to get out of bed in the morning and do the things that other people find easy to do? And all the while not letting on to the world how challenging it is just to get through a day?
And sometimes, it is too much, and I don't get out of bed, or I break a date that I had to go do something with someone, or I fail to show up at the party because I just can't do it that day. When that happens I appear flaky, but I am not an unreliable person. I am simply a person who is struggling every single day with the invisible disease of depression, and because of that I experience life differently from people who are not depressed. I don't want pity or even sympathy, and because I hide it I often don't get understanding either. I know that that is due to my own choice to hide it, but believe me I have learned by experience to take this choice.
Speaking of choices, that is another thing. I have taken routes in my life that people do not understand. I am intelligent and capable and many people, especially relatives, have not understood why I never had a good career or ”made something of myself”. But it's not because I am lazy or don't care. It's because most of my life just getting through the day took up so much of my energy that I really could not manage law school, for example, in addition.
This writing doesn't have a fancy conclusion. I am not asking for anything except for people to think for a moment about what I have said. Maybe if you know people who are depressed, you will be less likely to tell them to pull themselves up by their bootstraps or snap out of it. Maybe you will be less likely to get mad or end a friendship if they cancel a date. Maybe you can offer just to listen, without judgment or trying to fix them, if they ever want to talk. Maybe you will realize that this disease can happen any time to anyone, regardless of how their life appears to other people. I hope that it never happens to you.
